The sun shone brightly through the glass mosaic tiles on the ceiling of the temple, sending a cascade of sparkling colors onto the worshipers below. People from all over the world came to the high temple to lay offerings at the feet of the golden statue of the sun god, Cors, that sat in the center of the large room. The priests were easy to pick out from the crowd. Dressed in their bright white linen gowns trimmed with gold, clothing as warm and clean and welcoming as the men themselves; they waited patiently to answer questions, guide onlookers, and assist with anything someone might need.

The High Priest took the people's opinions of the temple very seriously. He insisted visiting the Sun Palace should always be a pleasant experience, because you never knew when someone was laying an offering to pray for the health of a dying loved one or for help with a disaster that had befallen the family farm.

Tilsman understood the importance of such an attitude to the average person, but he didn't understand the necessity of the temple being all smiles and friendly faces all the time. Yes, Cors was a god of light and warmth, a father to them all, but one of the teachings that was less popular nowadays was the reminder that while the sun could warm, it could also burn.

The staunch old priest checked his watch, before turning his attention away from the reception hall and down one of the many corridors  hat snaked off of it. The Sun Palace was a winding labyrinth of offices, records rooms, and dormitories most people of the empire would never see. However, even those back halls and rarely entered libraries were as brimming with gold and marble and velvet as the main hall. No expense was spared in earthly dominion of the Great Father God.

"Making sure all the priests have on their biggest smiles, are you?"

Tilsman had to suppress a groan as he turned around to face the man he'd been waiting for.

"Fredrich," Tilsman responded with a curt, clipped tone.

Fredrich didn't seem bothered in the least by it. He never seemed bothered by anything. Maybe that was what drove Tilsman the maddest about him. He just bobbed happily through life without a care in the world, like a bubble on the wind. A bubble Tilsman would love to have the chance to pop.

"Shall we?" The jolly old priest asked, motioning down the hall.

Tilsman gave a sharp nod. "Let's get this over with then."

The two men must've looked like cartoonish opposites walking together, pulled straight from a child's two penny novel. Where Tilsman was tall and broad shouldered, Fredrich was a short, plump man. Tilsman's strides were long, confident, and purposeful. Fredrich bounced and meandered when he walked, occasionally having to trot a few paces to catch up when Tilsman got too far ahead. Tilsman's face was sharp, his features defined, with deep lines etched at the corners of his eyes and lips where his expression hardly ever changed. Fredrich had a bulbous speckled nose and a wide grin that showed the gap in his teeth when he smiled, and his eyes squinted when he threw his head back to laugh.

Unfortunately for Tilsman, it was near impossible for him to escape Fredrich. They both counted themselves amongst the leadership of the temple, and most of Tilsman's time was wasted arguing in circles around Fredrich's laissez-faire attitude when it came to handling church matters.

As the two men climbed their sets of stairs towards the top of the Sun Palace, Fredrich let out a winded huff. "You'd think, with the High Priest being so important, they'd make His Holiness's office more accessible," he said between hefty steps.

"His Holiness is still but a child, he doesn't need to be concerned with old knees and bad backs yet," Tilsman chided.

"Come now! You shouldn't speak so impertinently about his Holiness. He's a good young man. Only a child when you compare him to old wind bags like us. We should count ourselves lucky that the High Priest was selected so young. Youthful insight and energetic spirit are good for the temple."

Tilsman wanted to argue that he wholeheartedly disagree, but they'd reached the top floor of the temple and there were enough fellow priests running to and fro that he couldn't get away with voicing his opinion.

The two made their way to the hefty set of double doors at the end of the hall. They opened into the High Priest's study. Sizeable windows offered a beautiful view of the city below. Shelves of books and holy relics lined the walls. A small seating area with ornate couches and a gold and glass table sat to the left. In the center there was an oak desk that was broad and sturdy enough it made the young man sitting behind it look like a child playing in his father's office.

The thud of the door closing behind them roused the young man from whatever he was working on, causing him to jump a bit in his seat. Tight blond curls bounced on his head as he did and bright golden eyes focused on the two men. Those golden eyes were how they knew he was to be the next high priest. A blessing from Cors hat allowed the temple to seek him out.

"A-ah....Fredrich, Tilsman, is it already time?" He looked at the great grandfather clock that sat on the wall across from his desk. "Oh my it...it is already time, I'm so sorry," he said, standing and shuffling his papers around to attempt to get his work into some sort of order.

"No need to fret, your Holiness," Fredrich insisted.

The High Priest gave a nervous chuckle. "Thank you, Fredrich. Please, take a seat. The both of you," he said, motioning over to the seating area.

Tilsman sat on the couch nearest the door, Fredrich making himself comfortable next to him, and helping himself to the tea that was already out.

"Your Holiness, if you don't mind I'd like to get to the point, I believe we have important business to discuss concern-"

"Oh this tea is quite delicious!" Fredrich interrupted with a boisterous laugh. "Your Holiness, where did you get it?"

Tilsman clenched his jaw, gripping his hand into a tight fist in his lap. How long would it take to find that blowhard's neck under his double chin, so he could strangle him?

The High Priest smiled as he sat across from the elder priests, hardly acknowledging that Fredrich had just body slammed his way into the middle of the important conversation Tilsman was trying to have. "It was a gift from the King of the Green Isles. He brought it with him on his most recent visit."

"What a devoted man! He visits the Sun Palace rather frequently doesn't he?" Fredrich asked.

"He does. He's funding the new temple being built on the island. He comes  to get inspiration for construction," The High Priest explained.

"How splendid, I'll have to be sure to make a trip out there once it's finish-"

"As I was saying!" Tilsman finally lost his temper, startling both the High Priest and Fredrich with his abrupt outburst. Tilsman was practically bubbling in his seat at this point, his face as red as a school master who couldn't get his pupils to focus.

"Oh my, always right to business. As to be expected of the High Inquisitor," Fredrich said, setting his cup down with a little clank.

"R-right, yes of course." The child priest folded his hands in his lap to hide the fidgeting that would've been completely inappropriate for a temple official of his caliber.

Tilsman let out a slow breath through his nose, unclenching his jaw and trying to relax. "As I said when I requested this meeting, I'd like to discuss the snow storm."

"All this commotion so you can review the weather?" Fredrich asked with a small chuckle, sitting back in his seat. "If you wanted to talk about the snow you could've popped by any time."

The High Priest turned to Tilsman, cocking his head to the side in a gesture of confusion. "The storm?" He repeated, mirroring Fredrich's lackadaisical attitude concerning it.

"Yes. The storm. I know you don't leave the Sun Palace often, your Holiness, but the storm was by no means a regular occurrence. It snowed heavily, for two weeks, and was unseasonably late. The storm was so heavy that parts of the port in Kar, where the storm seemed focused, froze over. Two major trading vessels, full of cargo, sank in the river. We have no records of ice chunks large enough to sink a ship ever having formed there."

"So it was a bad storm-"

"It was a once in a lifetime storm," Tilsman said with a frown.

"You suspect the storm was of unnatural origins then?" The High Priest asked.

"I do."

"Of course he does! He thinks everything is unnatural." Fredrich interjected, picking up his tea cup again. "So a few ships sank, not unheard of. Ask a sailor, he'll say it was bad luck. Ask the captain, he'll say it was poor visibility. Ask a ship builder, he'll find fault in the ship. Ask an inquisitor, of course he'll think it's a witch's doing." Fredrich shook his head.

"It's no coincidence!" Tilsman slammed his fist on the table, rattling the china as well as the young High Priest. "One of those ships was transporting a sacred text that the excursion in Kanakabah recovered from the site of the first palace. You think a once in a lifetime storm just happened to hit the port where a ship carrying a priceless relic was set to dock?"

"Tilsman," Fredrich let out a sigh. "You're a good man, dedicated to your job, but you haven't caught a genuine witch in nearly forty years. You're scrambling for evidence where there isn't any."

"We caught conspirators-"

"You caught an occultist with an odd collection, a college professor with interesting tastes, and a family from the Seth kingdom that was still practicing their local folk rituals. I've read the reports, all of us have. Because whenever your inquisitors storm into town and drag people from their beds, accusing them of using magic, it's my people who have to clean it up. It's my boys who have to go to the regional temples and assure people the church isn't going to kidnap their sons and daughters in the middle of the night. That Cors is a kind, wise god who can tell the difference between a witch and a widow with a corn husk doll."

Tilsman's lips pursed as he fell silent. He glanced at the High Priest, reading the doubt Fredrich had painted all over his face.

"Your Holiness," Tilsman practically turned his back to Fredrich, trying to stop him from interrupting him. "I am sure of this, your Holiness. I know this is no act of nature. This is witches, treading in the rights of the divine, using magic to bend the environment to their will, when the Sun God is the only one who should command the sky and the sea. They spit in Cors face, and they'll only get bolder if they believe we will sit back and DO NOTHING against their actions." He pleaded, "Let me send my men to Kar."

The High Priest fell silent, looking at Tilsman long and hard. The eyes of churning gold locked on him, searching his face as he thought. After an unending minute, he sat back, nodding a bit. "You may send men to Kar, but we can't afford to be at odds with them. Their governor is an old friend of the emperor's, and we shouldn't cause trouble for him. And please, I don't want the people doubting their local priests. The people need to be able to turn to us in their time of need. If we push that trust any further, we're going to have our work cut out for us to get it back. I want you to ONLY take action if you have solid, solid proof of a witch."

Tilsman stood, bowing to the High Priest. "Yes, Your Holiness." He shot Fredrich a small look of victory, quickly exiting the room before there was the opportunity  for another argument to start up.

He was going to waste no time. Tilsman would gather his men and set out for Kar before anyone had the chance to get in his way.