"Someone's passing out tonight!" was the only part of Solomon's declaration that anyone heard. Price could have hugged the courier for joy. He let out a whoop and slapped the boy on the back. He turned around and nearly shrieked with fright at the death-glare from the short ranger in the corner.

"No- no alcohol," Price murmured, remembering his orders.
The short ranger continued staring at him.
Price gulped and scooted over next to Solomon. He opened his mouth to speak, but for a few moments, he stammered, unable to look him in the eye. "I'm- I'm- you know, I'm- sorry. You've tried to be a real pal, and I won't soon forget you. Truly, I'm sorry..."

He drew his sword and sliced at Solomon.

The whole room rung with unsheathed swords.

Solomon jumped backwards and landed on his rear, surprised by the sudden attack. He backed into a chair, which he grabbed with both hands, ready to swing. "I'm sorry too, big guy..." He then tossed a chair at Price and went to grab another one.

"Someone's passing out tonight, he repeated, hiding the thrill he got from a fight with a death glare aimed at his combatants.

Price raised his sword just in time. Fat lot of good it did him, though, when a chair-sized club came barreling at him. It connected with his left arm and batted the man over the counter. Three other rangers descended upon Solomon; one yelled out a battlecry and launched an overhead cut with a claymore.

The short ranger was nowhere to be seen.

Solomon attempted to sidestep the claymore, but his timing was off and he felt a vertical line of pain coming from his right shoulder, which was now cut deeply and bleeding. He takes a few steps back and leans on the bar, throwing a heavy iron mug of ale at the one that attacked him. He didn't dare let the pain get to him, he gritted his teeth and made himself ready for the next attack.

The ale mug struck the ranger squarely in the face. He yelped and collapsed on a barstool. Another ranger stood a little ways off, one foot back, his hand on the hilt of his blade. He lunged forward and sliced from the sheath.

Hearing the screams, the Princess cowered in the bed, clutching Solomon's staff. He doesn't have a weapon! He'll be killed! Should I go down there and give it to him? No, it's too unsafe. If they see me, they'll kill me. But they'll be sure to kill us both if Solomon doesn't have his weapon! I'm going down there. And where is that draft coming from? She clawed at the hairs getting in her eye and turned to locate the source of the draft.

There in the window knelt a black-robed girl with vibrant red hair. Amalthea didn't even have time to shriek as the ranger forced a damp cloth over her mouth and shoved a dagger in her heart. "My apologies, your highness," the ranger muttered as she gently let the princess to the floor. "Your boyfriend's next. You should have helped him when you had the chance - you could have turned the tide."

Fairmont raced through the hall and down the stairs to find her men struggling for dominance against a wounded courier. She flipped the dagger in her hand and sighed. Here lies yet another future I must destroy with my own hand. Lady Grey, this had better be worth it. With that, she perched on the railing and aimed her leap.

Solomon tried sidestepping again, stepping to the same side and gathering the same result. However, the already fresh cut was cut even deeper, and Solomon lost all feeling in his right arm. He grabbed another mug and haphazardly lunged at the attacking the third ranger, jamming the mug into their face repeatedly and with much prejudice. He hadn't seen the lady ranger yet, being in a sort of daze from the adrenaline and blood loss.

Fairmont leaped from the railing and plunged the dagger into Solomon's back. She pulled out the blade, flipped him on his back, and put her hand on his throat, dagger raised for the final plunge.

Then she looked into his eyes.

A tossing sea of dazed determination stared back at her.

Solomon would see eyes of purest emerald, bright windows into a soul not yet fully corrupted by the murders they committed. Her red hair draped around his face as she leaned closer to him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "When I have the power to raise you up, I'll come back for you, I promise." Then she pushed the dagger into his heart and twisted it.

"Forgive me."

"Wait... Amalthea..." was all he could exhale before his vision blurred, he went limp and pale, and death took him.

Rose Fairmont ripped out the dagger.

"It is done."

She turned around to find Price coming down the stairs lugging the princess over his shoulder. Her expression darkened. "What are you doing?" she demanded.
Price smirked. "Habeus corpus, y'know? Gotta have a body to show her ladyship, or she won't believe us."
"That wasn't the plan. I need the bodies to stay put if I'm to resurrect them later."
"Actually, it was the plan." He dropped open a signed order. "I'm to bring the princess's body to her ladyship for-"

Rose put up her hand. "Wait. I hear something."
Thin, labored breaths.
Her jaw dropped.

The princess was still alive.

Rose dropped the dagger and seized the princess out of Price's arms. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..." she repeated as she ripped open the dress and planted her palms on the girl's belly. The other rangers stepped back, shock lining all their faces.
"What the-?"
"What on earth are you doing?"
"Commander!"
"Are you ill?"

Rose gritted her teeth. "Shut up." The white light of magic formed in her hands as healing energies poured into the poor princess's body.

Suddenly, an explosion shattered the inn doors. The rangers readied their weapons. A woman in the signature gray cloak and hood of the Healers stood in the entryway. The men barely had time to react as powerful kicks sent them flying across the room. The last thing Rose saw was a trail of silver hair before a punch knocked her unconscious.

The gray-clad woman picked Solomon up and raced out of the inn. She'd barely taken cover behind a stone wall when Fellmoran cavalry rode in. The woman folded her hands and shut her eyes.

"Come back to us, Solomon Trent."
__________

Solomon sneezed.

And awoke to find the whole town on fire.

"You're awake," said a voice beside him.

His right hand burned with a fresh tattoo of a diamond star.

Solomon quickly got to his feet and in a combat stance, frantically looking about him. He breathed quickly and deeply as he looked around himself and at the flames. Everything that had occurred came back to him swiftly. The inn, the rangers, and the red haired rogue with eyes like emeralds, including those last words he heard from her. That promise and that apology. That dagger to his heart.

"I was dead." He exhaled. He had enough questions to last a lifetime, but their current location was less than perfect for him to ask them. This place burning around him was the closest thing he had to a home. One of the extreme few places he could rest his head without having to worry about any cutthroats stealing his deliveries. He crouched back down after noticing the Fellmorans. He looked at the grey haired woman with eyes of determination (and a bit of confusion). "I need my staff."

The woman picked up the staff and handed it to Solomon. For a moment, though, she did not let go of it. "I have chosen you to bear the Mark," she said, her voice strong and clear. "Make it count. I am going after the Fellmorans. The princess is still trapped in the inn. What will you do?"

She let go of the staff.
__________

Amalthea awoke to a roaring heat. She picked herself up off the floor and covered her mouth as she looked around. Tables, chairs, and dining implements lay strewn about the room, or what was left of it. Flames licked the wooden mugs and plates, and the roof glowed bright orange. The wooden floor lined up great walls of flame. And the doorway was blocked by a fallen, burning timber.

The princess dropped to her knees.

This is it. This is the end. It's all my fault. If I'd just had the courage to help, we'd be alive and happy. She clutched at her chest and grimaced as tears trailed down her cheeks and evaporated in the simmering heat.

"The window," someone rasped. The princess whipped around to see her killer, the red-headed girl, prostrate on the floor with a large splinter through her leg.
"The window?" Amalthea repeated.
"Yes, are you daft? The one-" The girl coughed. "-the one I came in through. Your room. Escape there."

The princess stared at her slack-jawed for a moment. "Okay. Sure." She ran upstairs, burst into her room, and sobbed at the sight of her window untouched by fire. "Thank the gods!" She climbed out, hung on the ledge, and dropped out.

Rose sat up and glanced around. None of her men were present. That meant the army must have rescued them before setting fire to the inn.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and crawled for the stairs herself.

"Stay alive. I have questions for you to answer." He said. The moment she let go of the staff, Solomon dashed as fast as he could to the inn, hoping that the woman was doing her best to distract or otherwise dispatch the Fellmorans as he ran in the open. When he made it to the inn, he attempted to enter through the front door, only to notice the burning wood blocking his way. He didn't even try to move, knowing that he would end up doing so, which would probably cause the entire from of the building to collapse. He then remembered the window he told Amalthea to escape through if the Fellmorans came along and -well- they were here, to say the least. He circled around the back to find the princess just below the window.

"AMALTHEA!" He half-shouted, half-whispered, running up to hug her. After a tear or few and the hug, Solomon put both hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "Is anyone else inside?!" He asked quickly.

"Stay alive. I have questions for you," Solomon said.
The woman nodded. "Understood. I wish you all the best." She took off at a sprint for the fleeing Fellmorans.

Shortly after Princess Amalthea hit the ground, Solomon came running up to her. "AMALTHEA!" He wrapped his arms around her and embraced her. The princess wrapped her arms around him. All his blood, sweat, and grime smelled like perfume to her - it was a sign he'd fought for her and lived to tell the tale. She gripped the cloth on his back and wept into his shirt.

Solomon put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her face. "Is anyone else inside?" he asked. Amalthea stared back at him. Should I tell him?
No. She deserves to die. Besides, if he rescues her, she might fall in love with him.

"No, there- there's no one else," she stammered. She scratched the back of her neck. "No one alive, I mean."

Solomon looked up at the window. "Look, you've been hurt. Sit down and rest. I'm going to check the inn... Just in case. I don't want anyone being left behind. Don't worry... I haven't felt more alive." He ran a few steps up the wall before kicking against it to get high enough to grab the window. It has been a while since he scaled cliffs, but even death didn't make him lose a step.

He put his elbows on the window after his arms, and he then pulled the rest of himself up the window and into their former room, where he started his search. "Hello? Anyone here?! Come upstairs! There's a safe way out!" He started shouting as he searched.

The wood of the staircase scraped at her elbows. The fire in the roof rained down ashes on her face. Yet she crawled on. All she had to look forward to was the next seam in the floor. If she could just get to the next seam, she'd be okay. She could get out of this hell-hole. The next seam would arrive, and then there would be another seam to reach.

Rose almost prayed for a swift death.

Then, a voice rang out over the roaring fire: "Hello? Anyone here? Come upstairs! There's a safe way out!"

Rose opened her mouth to respond, and a hoarse breath came out, followed by a string of coughs. There was no way he heard that. Please, don't leave me behind! Just stay a little bit longer. I'll get there.

Solomon might have heard the coughing.

And he did indeed hear it, the coughing was heard just above the roars of the flames, and Solomon rushed his way to the source, only to stop a couple of feet away. Her... He thought with disdain. He hesitated before picking her up and hoisting her over a shoulder. He started coughing as well, the air thick with ash and fire, thin with air.

He started back up to the room with the window and jumped down with her on his back. Right as he landed, the shock of the ground was enough for Solomon to drop her on the ground, and he fell to his knees, hacking and coughing. "I... I hate fire..."

Though the manner in which Solomon carried Rose was utterly unceremonious, she couldn't help feeling safe. Her physical torment was over for now. But she'd know that face anywhere, that of the man she looked in the eye as she ended his life. Feelings of security turned into guilt. He had no reason, no reason at all, to go out of his way to save her. Anyone in their right mind would have instead given her a little nudge down the stairs for revenge.

Not this man.

What was this feeling? Gratitude? She hadn't felt it in ages. As soon as he was out the window, Solomon dropped her to the ground where Princess Amalthea could clearly see them both. Every muscle in her body struggled to express the guilty gratitude welling up within her, but strength failed her. She could only look at him, clutch the edge of his shirt, and pray he understood.

The Princess had a completely different set of thoughts.

All Solomon had to do to make them both happy was to believe her lie. Seeing his killer face death should have torn at him, with his desire for revenge on the one hand and his sense of compassion on the other. She could have saved him the agony of making that decision, or of making a morally gray one in letting her die. Moreover, he'd single-handedly introduced a love rival into the equation, one whom, if Solomon didn't kill her, Amalthea definitely might for trying to take her crush.

All he had to do was believe her, and everything would have been fine.

Princess Amalthea couldn't bring herself to do anything except stare at the other girl for nearly half a minute.

Finally, she picked up her jaw off the ground and moved to help Solomon get up. Perhaps the situation could be salvaged if they got well away so the assassin girl couldn't find them again. "Come on, let's get moving. I don't want to know what happens if anyone comes back looking for survivors."

As Amalthea talked and the assassin clutched his robe, Solomon could only think. The complete mess that was his life the past few hours were slowly being organized in his head into a discernable thought. His first step was, as Amalthea put it, get moving, probably set up camp a ways from here in the forest neighboring the burning town. He was not, however, going to leave his killer behind to die. He picked her up again and hoisted her over his shoulder.

"She has some debris in her leg. Wouldn't last a day on her own." Solomon told the princess as he gathered his composure, clutched his staff, and started to walk towards the woods. "Let's find a place to make camp, treat wounds, and ask questions to our new friend here. She has quite a bit to answer for." He still wasn't thinking as clear as he could be, with one of the few places he could feel comfortable in burning down behind him. Once he was calmed down and the wave of emotions passed over, then he would talk, and maybe pass out on the most comfortable patch of grass he could find...

"She has some debris in her leg. Wouldn't last a day on her own," Solomon said. He started walking for the woods. "Let's find a place to make camp, treat wounds, and ask questions to our new friend here. She has quite a bit to answer for."
Amalthea followed beside him. She replied, "I don't see what difference it makes. She tried to kill you. I mean, if you want to interrogate her, be my guest, but there's hardly any point in nursing her back to health when she's just going to be executed upon reaching the captial. Traitors don't live long, in my experience."

Rose listened to the two argue about her fate. In truth, she didn't care too much - the princess was right, she didn't deserve to live. But here she was, alive, and even if Solomon never removed the spike in her leg, he'd still given her far more than a murderer like her could ever hope to receive.

It was high time to stop being a burden.

"Wait," Rose gasped. "I can- I can remove the spike and heal my leg on my own. The soldiers will not be coming back, since they will have burned everything of value. We can set up camp here without fear of retribution. Please let me take care of the injury; that way, I can walk on my own and you do not have to carry me."

Amalthea rolled her eyes. "Sure, and let you run away. We should tie you up first."

Rose shook her head. "Do it after the healing. I need my hands for the procedure."

Solomon nodded. "Right. Let me just put you down." Solomon let Rose on the ground gently. He sat down a few feet in front of her and looked off towards the village. he fires burning in the distance made the air feel warm, and there was enough light to see quite a distance into the dark woods. Do we even need a campire...? he thought. He then looked at Amalthea.

The girl that started all this, spun his life out of control, may have been the reason many have died. No. He shook the thought from his head. This was not her fault. "Amalthea, we could at least make our guest comfortable before we talk about execution." He stated, looking at Rose now.

The Fellmoran assassin. The last thing he saw before his death were her emerald eyes, the picture of them looking into his own eyes as a dagger rested into his heart. "While you heal yourself, I believe you can talk. With that said, explain yourself. Your name, your affiliation, everything you possibly can. Please." He sounded tired, sweat wetting the dirt on his face, his cloak stained with blood. His own blood. He couldn't feel a single bit of it. The numbness was all there is at the moment.