“Do not make me repeat myself, we will not waste manpower investigating fairy tales”

“But your majesty, you must understand I too would dismiss just a claim under normal circumstances but there have been over a dozen reports all from the same area” Alex replied “I’m not saying that they saw dryads per say, but surely it might be something worth looking into”?

“More likely that after one peasant claimed to see one, all the others started doing the same” Cerlina replied “I agree with our...emperor this is not something we should concern ourselves with” Cerlina stammered a bit when she spoke Alasdair’s new title, it would take a while before she got used to the new title. The meeting had gone on for some time now and for the most part had been very boring. Most of it had been spent discussing the exodus of heretics that had left not only Nyhem but the rest of Sypius as well. There had been much that Alasdair had hoped to discuss with Lanaya though she had not shown up to the council meeting, something that was very unlike her.

“In any case we need to discuss the reinstatement of the royal guard, using the steel fist as the backbone” Alasdair turned to face Claus “I trust you have been putting some thought into this matter”?

-”I have, and i have decided that it sounds like an excellent idea. The royal guard should be none other than the best and the Steel fist is just that...” Claus responded at first not looking at the king, accidentally proving to those who doubted his mental presence was split from his physical.
So far during the meeting he’d been mostly silent and looking around him, avoiding taking a too laid back a seat he’d settled down with his legs crossed on a footstool instead.
-”Just thought of something though, wouldn’t it be imperial guard? Since you lot decided to make this whole affair into an empire… just a thought.”

“I suppose that makes more sense” Alasdair said “However if the Imperial guard is to exceed or even match the Remonnet’s royal guard they will need their own division of mages to back up the infantry. Another thing I had hoped to discuss with Lanaya today” Alasdair said disappointedly “But no matter I am sure we can find a solution even without her. I have ordered Magister Sagard to assist you in assembling a battalion of mages fit for the steel fist”.
At that last proposition Claus leapt into interest.
-”My plans exactly, during the last campaign i was once more reminded of the usefulness of a mage detachment and wanted one for myself. I will be looking forward to my meeting with this Sagard fella.” Having finished there was a slight pause as Alasdair got some papers from a pile and the others mostly agreeing to the logic.
Claus kept going in a inquisitive tone..
-”Where is Lanaya? I was gonna ask her of the mages myself…. And where is that Aurellia lass? Wasn’t she on the council? I sorta expected her to be here.” He figuratively looked around to empower his question, followed by a shrug as he fiddled with his left glove.

Alasdair fell silent at the mention of Aurellia. While he kept it hidden, he felt a long suppressed pain reemerge upon Claus’s mention of her.
“You don’t seem to be very well informed” Isabel, sensing her brothers discomfort, was the first to speak “Lady Vyncetta has…perished at the hands of unknown assailants, near seven months ago. Magister Dionsia has replaced her for quite some time. As for where she is, I could only guess, but as his majesty says we do not need her here” Isabel said with a sly smile before adding “perhaps she is still recovering from the party, after all she did drink far more than a woman of her reputation should”.
With genuine surprise Claus looked up from his fiddling, sat up correctly and looked around.
-”She died? That sucks... ” The bluntness of his words while aggravating to a certain degree captured perfectly what some were feeling about the whole situation.
-”As for being uninformed, i have been off fighting a war on the other side of a massive sea, scratch that, WINNING a massive war on the other side of a sea, so no, i didn’t know.” Claus realized he perhaps said a bit too much to the emperor’s sister resumed his laid back pose and spoke.
-”Anyway, why isn’t the magister here? She didn’t seem to be drinking that much seeing her at the party.”

“Yes winning with my brothers help it seems” Isabel replied bluntly “It’s clear you didn’t see her near the end of the event, something seemed to have put her in a very good mood”.
Claus muttered silently that he could easily have won with the entire Concord army as well, but decided against mentioning it.
-”Speaking of good mood, seeing that the Steel fist is now a rather important part of this whole city, i would require a permanent location to work from. Having a tent camp in the farmers fields isn’t exactly a long term solution. So a barracks of sorts, training yard is a must and not to far from the palace itself.” Claus spoke to Alasdair in a no-nonsense kind of way, while shuffling a set of playing cards.

Alasdair was still upset, not only over the mention of Aurelia but also over how bluntly Claus had shrugged off her death. Though he could hardly blame him, after all he had barely known the woman.

“Finding a vacant building of that size will be difficult. I would normally suggest building it within the Field district but as you pointed out that would be too far from the palace” Alasdair remained silent as he considered his options “From what my sister tells me a merchant by the name of William Flin has started to renovate buildings within the slums. Perhaps we could follow in suite, after all there will be plenty of abandoned manors near the fringe of the slums that could be renovated into a barracks. After all no noble wants to neighbour a slum”.

After a short thought about it Claus considered the problems with the slums, but in the end he decided. He has access to highly trained heavily armed and armoured mercenaries. Slum dregs won’t be too much of a problem and being on the outskirts won’t be that bad anyway.

-”That sounds like a great idea boss… erm, my emperor... Just need a local who knows a good place and of course a fancy paper that say i can nab whatever house i want.” He stopped shuffling the deck and looked at the ceiling momentarily when he realised his severe lack of etiquette but resumed shortly.

Alasdair had become increasingly annoyed by Claus’s antics throughout this meeting. What had his brother seen in this man? He hoped Claus proved to be effective in creating the imperial guard otherwise his future as a council member would be called into question.

“If you are looking for someone who knows the area then you have my permission to borrow Alenius, so long as if you provide two of your own to guard me in the meantime. As for the ‘property right appropriation document’” Alasdair emphasized the name in a effort to correct Claus “Cerlina will be able to procure the document for you”.

-”Excellent, i’ll call in the guys that escorted me here and then talk to Cerlina.” He nodded to Alasdair and made a slight smirk. He then spotted a bottle of brandy, began to pour up two servings of it while listening to the meeting.

“In which case that concludes this meeting” Alasdair announced as he stood up from his seat, not wishing to watch Claus drink two glasses of brandy as he assumed he was about to “Our next meeting will take place a fortnight from now. Dismissed” Alasdair said as he and his council members made for the door.

Claus just finished pouring his glasses as the group began to exit through the door. He stood up, put one of the glasses opposite himself and raised the other for a toast. Ignoring the council and turned towards the empty seat with the drink in front of it.
He spoke calmly and rather solemnly for being him.
-”Too bad i didn’t get to meet you again miss Aurelia, would have loved to hear the full story of the Orog wine...” He paused for a moment and raised his glass.
-”To the fallen!” He drank the serving in a single swipe and exhaled, before putting down the glass and begin to leave the room.

As the other council members filed out the door Alasdair paused for a moment as he watched Claus raise a toast to Aurelia. It was something that Alasdair had not expected from Claus, yet he couldn’t help but be thankful for it. Outside of himself and Lanaya, no one had paid much mind to the death of Aurelia and for many had gone unnoticed until Lanaya replaced her. He was glad that there was someone else who cared about her, if only a little. In reponse Alasdair gave Claus quick nod, a gesture of approval.

Claus noticed the emperors nod and responded.
-”If you wonder what that was about, it’s a tradition within the fist. Final toast to the fallen, a way to remember. One drink is left for the one in question, at times someone close drinks it for them, sometimes it’s taken by someone later who just wants a drink or it’s simply cleaned up next morning… i have a few more drinks to share later with the boys.” He nodded to Alasdair and left the room.
-”I’ll shout the guards over to replace Alenius.” With that he shouted loudly to summon his fellow corps-men, who quickly took their sides at the side of the king, with some sort of good manners.

Alasdair stared at the glass that Claus had placed in front of the chair that once was Aurelia’s, reflecting on what Claus had said. Before the steel fist soldiers entered the room Alasdair grabbed the glass before downing the contents. Despite burning his throat he did his best to stifle a cough, before finally leaving the room with Claus’s men following closely behind.

Lycaon had arrived at the new High Priest’s chambers, ready to discuss the issues at hand. He was eager to establish strong relations with the new leader of the Church. He did not know how much of a puppet he could make of this new High Priest, but he needed him firmly on his side. He had thought he had eliminated Bernarda’s influence from within the Church, but he had learned that that was far from the case. He knew Bernarda opposed him at almost every move, and hated him fiercely, and she had instrumental in electing the new High Priest. He needed this Clovis to become one of his.

“I have heard great things about you, Grandmaster Lycaon, from many people,” Clovis said.

“Thank you, your holiness,” Lycaon said in his clear and pristine voice without a hint of emotion. “I do not wish to waste your time, so I shall be quick with my words. The Emperor Alasdair has seen it fit to name head of the Inquisition.”

“Only the Church itself has such authority over such things,” Clovis said. “But it is good,

“Yet his majesty, trusting in myself so much, has seen me fit to root out the heretics which lie among us,” Lycaon said without a hint of passion or emotion in his words. “And the Church, supporting his majesty’s loyalty to the gods, shall accept his appointment of myself. Yet the Inquisition is an arm of the Church, and its authority lies not only in the lands of de Reimer, but also to the lands of Blackwell, Sutharlan, and Raeldar, to all lands of the faithful.”

“Haha, why, of course, Lycaon, of course,” Clovis said. “That is only proper after all! But what has this to do with me? I support your appointment, of course.”

“This is a strange era for the Church, your Majesty, and for all of Formaroth,” Lycaon said in a soft voice, yet the emotion in his voice slightly greater than normal. “Heretics wander the land, kings rise and fall with the tide, and the Church has done but naught for the land. It is not right. The people, in their foolishness, shall think they have been abandoned, if we leave them to rot.”

“Aye, I have seen it,” Clovis said. “There are things to do, many things. But what did you have in mind?”

“In order to combat against the licentiousness of this world we must use the full power of the Inquisition,” Lycaon said. “We must root out the fallen among the nobles, even among the kings. And we must root out the villain heretics who lie among the people, just as we root out snakes. Heretics are a disease, and like any disease we must see them eliminated. And we must look to ourselves as well. There are those within us who have allowed the Church to grow corrupt and licentious. They must be brought to justice. This shall not make us weaker, but stronger. We shall emerge once again as the light of the Formaroth.”

“Indeed, indeed! I have always longed for a great renewal, and now it shall happen! It is what we deserve, what all Formaroth deserves. Did you know that I was once one of the Priests of Timtos? I was a priest as much as any other god’s priest, but we were different. Indeed, we were taught to be warriors, to worship the fight. It was not until I was made a bishop that I realized how fat and lazy these bishops were. And the philosophers are the worst of the lot, even worse than the droll theologians. Oh, how they talk, and talk, and talk! They are just like the mages, except useless. They go through books and can summarize the contents of holy books and elven tomes by memory, but what use is that? But this talk of an Inquisition, this I like. The Church has been wanting too long for a good crusade, and this shall be what we need.”

“I had not known you had been a priest of Timtos,” Lycaon said in a sweet tone with these hollow words, hinting at him to tell him more.

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t. Most, I know, had never heard of me. And why would they? I am not one of them, truly. I learned the ancient art when I was a boy, and I fought. But alas, my god in those days was scarcely worshipped, and Formaroth saw not even a single war or conflict of note when I was in my youth, and so I dedicated my life to training, ceremony, and rites. Then I was made a bishop at thirty-five, the customary age. I was only priest of Timtos to be made a bishop, the only one in three generations actually, but the bishops appreciated my piety and my speaking voice it seems. And the people loved me. I think I was only the bishop who fought in the war. I forget how many of Heylot’s dogs I flayed, but it was plenty I’m sure. This war, however, I have not fought in. It would not be right. But, Lycaon, that is all who I am. There is many things I could tell you about the war, but I will not boast of myself to you.”

“So now we are properly acquainted, your holiness,” Lycaon said, his emotionless voice as soft as milk. “And let all these be known. Your words hold power, they are the words of the gods. Let your condemnation be heard, in a holy encyclical. Today are there many things to be condemned. The heresies shall be condemned again, but it shall be with new power when the condemnation comes from the new High Priest. We shall condemn the corruptions that exist within our holy Church, whether they be material and spiritual corruption. We shall condemn the belief that magic is evil, from the Three1, or anything else of the sort. We shall reiterate the Church’s great responsibilities in Formaroth, as well as the place of the Inquisition and the militant holy orders.”

“It shall be done, Lycaon,” Clovis said. “And I can tell this will be a good encyclical, one that will be remembered for a long time. I can feel it, a new age is coming for the Church!”

Lycaon gave Clovis a smile, pronounced yet seemingly unnerving at the edges. “Yes, your holiness, it shall be a new age for the Church. A new golden age for mankind is coming.”

“Grandmaster Lycaon, your words have been truly wise and well-thought,” Clovis said with an air of seriousness. “With the power invested in me by the Divine Church and by the gods, I shall do all I can to ensure that this edifice of the gods continues with the rigor of the past.”

“Thank you, your holiness,” Lycaon said. “I now leave you. I have taken up enough of your time. I imagine that you shall be very busy. I shall send you some who will help with this encyclical. It shall be a most perfect document.”

“Yes, Lycaon,” Clovis said. “I appreciate the help.”

Lycaon had left High Priest Clovis’ chambers with a feeling that everything had gone well. It seemed that Clovis was as much as Lycaon could hope for. He was eager to renew the Church in Lycaon’s way, and he was happy to see the undesirables within the Church removed and marginalized. He would be a High Priest that Lycaon could use very well. As he left Clovis’ chambers his lieutenant Ser Glynda was outside, still waiting for him.

“Grandmaster,” Ser Glynda said. “How did it fair?”

“Well,” Lycaon said. “The High Priest shall be one of ours, as loyal as any. He shall help us lead the Church to its future. And you, Glynda, shall have much to discuss with him.”

“Grandmaster, of course,” Glynda said. “Still…if I may say so, there are things about his holiness that leave much to be desired.”

“What have you learned?” Lycaon said. His voice gave away that he was curious but not concerned.

“I have kept an eye on him, as you told me to,” Glynda said. “And there is much I learn almost immediately. He drinks much, and he has other vices as well. Worse ones, I would say. Most of the bishops came with a retinue of others from their churches, but Clovis’ retinue was very different from any bishops’ retinue I had ever heard of. He mostly brought women, and they were no nuns, however they were dressed. Most have remained with him. One of them got too close, and was on her way to his holiness’ chamber, but ran off when she saw me.”

“He has brought his girls with him,” Lycaon said.

“It would be rude, I suppose, to name them his whores,” Glynda said.

“We say only blessings for his name,” Lycaon said, his voice and face unreadable. “He is High Priest of the Divine Church.”

“Of that I do not doubt,” Glynda said. “Yet to do these things still, even as he holds that office…”

“The failings of a single man do matter in grand scheme of things,” Lycaon said.

“Still, it is does not bode well with me,” Glynda said.

“I imagine. But he is High Priest. It was not I that made him so. Yet it is so, we must work with him, and count ourselves lucky that he is of one mind with us. You will have to work with him often in the future, so even if you cannot like him, you must bear both him and his vices,” Lycaon said, unmoved as always.

“Well, he seems to prefer his women young and pretty, so at least I am safe in that regard,” Glynda said.

“Until he is deep in his cup,” Lycaon said. “Come, Ser Glynda. There are other things we must concern ourselves with.”

1. A phrase referring to the three evil deities, Giphine, Hizreus, and Hystix.

Lycaon walked through the halls of the Nyhem Headquarters of his Grand Order of Saint Elenor, and went into the open halls where he gazed onto the long greenery in which his grizzled sergeants drilled the soldiers. As he walked with Ser Glynda by his side already, Ser Sayer and Ser Oswyn met him there.

“Grandmaster,” Ser Sayer said. “How was the party?”

“It has brought revelations,” Lycaon said. “Alasdair has declared himself Emperor of Formaroth.”

“By the great god Timtos!” Ser Sayer said. “Then no King shall be long safe from his wrath.”

“That all the wise can see,” Lycaon said. “It is a symbolic gesture, but bold nonetheless. This means that the Snake means to turn on the Blackwells faster than expected. However, our plans shall remain the same. The heretics are still our main concern. No greater threat to the Church can exist than Johannia’s scions. We shall continue to recruit, and stamp out their unholy beliefs. Our brothers in the Order of Zacarias shall deal with the south, and Ser Daeleth is already in the Blackwell’s lands. The rest of you must oversee the remaining of Formaroth.

"Ser Oswyn, you shall head to our headquarters in Orog. I leave our Order and all its authority and influence east of Orog and north of Thralreth in your command. Take care to gain the favor of the Cult of Erena. Our spies tell us the heretics are weak in Orog, Legon, and Nash, and weakest in Iruladdun, but stronger in Windermere and Cawanor, and are stronger in Ralda than anywhere else in Formaroth. Johannia’s foul tracts always appear first in Ralda before being disseminated elsewhere, so our spies deduce she is somewhere there. Find her, even if you have to turn the province inside out. Avoid the Summer Isles, and stay out of the business of the Circle and their mages.”

“Ser Sayer, you shall have the east under your jurisdiction. Everything east of Sypius and north of Telmarion shall be your jurisdiction. Our spies tell us these regions are thick with heresy now. It is worse in Glarmion than it is in Rathikun and Coruneon, but it is the worst in Uzgob. An old preacher named Fenick has turned many to darkness, and many among the Uzgob tribes have already sworn themselves to his cause. He must be eliminated.”

“I shall be leaving Nyhem. I have been gone from the people for too long, and it is time that I join them once again. Firstly, I must return home. Yet there is much to be done here in Nyhem still. I leave the duties of the headquarters here in Nyhem to you, Ser Glynda. It is no small task. You shall deal with all matters of administration and recruitment in the capital, and you shall meet with the King and his court as my emissary when it is necessary. These are your orders. Follow them dutiful, carry out my will, and remember my purpose.”

“I will serve faithfully, Grandmaster,” Ser Oswyn said. “The east shall hear your voice.”

“You have filled all my desires, Grandmaster,” Ser Sayer said. “Our Order shall thunder down on to the west.”

“And I wish you all a hearty farewell,” Ser Glynda said. “It seems that the politics have been left to myself.”

Ever since the riot Herona had stayed in the headquarters of the Holy Order of Saint Elenor. She had been training, and Gwladis had been teaching her. Gwladis still managed to surprise her even after everything she had seen. There were all sorts of tricks she knew. They weren’t flashy or pretty things, not anything at all like the moves people loved to see in the tournies and melees, but Herona had seen enough of war to know that all of that was pretty useless. What Gwladis taught was simple but clever, subtle but decisive, and it kept you alive and killed the other person. Gwladis had taught her to care more about speed than strength, but Herona had already known that. It was nothing like at a tourney, it actually helped in a fight. There had been a fight recently in the arena, and a full crowd went to see it. That made Herona wonder whether the world had gone insane. Apparently a war and a riot hadn’t been enough war for them, they needed to watch two fools play at war. Gwladis’ tricks were better than their’s anyway.

Herona’s mind was wondering. She was wont to do that. Often she thought of strange things or of nothing at all. It felt better that way. She was practicing with Gwladis right now. It was with the axe. Gwladis had an axe too, though Gwladis always fought a sword. A sword, Herona knew, was the weapon of the knights like Gwladis and her father. She had taught her much. She taught her that if she was learning to fight with an axe there was no point in training while fighting with a sword. This applies to many situations. She taught Herona also how to avoid the bad thoughts, the things that made you suffer when you thought about it. For instance, she could only think about fighting in terms of how she would fight to live another day and not in any other sense. She must learn to detach herself completely, to be completely numb.

“To me,” Gwladis ordered.

Herona did. She came towards Gwladis with her axe just as Gwladis had taught her. Herona did not know if she was a quick learner or a slow learner. Gwladis never said so, and was of few words anyhow. Gwladis was always just a little faster and stronger than Herona, and so she always eventually defeated Herona in their training brawls. It did not matter much to Herona, however. These bouts were not about pride. If she had any pride then it did not matter here. Herona did not think herself very prideful. Knights say they would rather die than run and damage their pride and honor. Herona did not understand this. Fighting was about surviving. Herona struck her axe at Gwladis in the way she had been instructed, and her axe had never felt quicker and lighter than now. Gwladis, as always, overmatched her, and Herona tumbled to the ground. Then Gwladis offered Herona her hand, and Herona took the hand.

“Good,” Gwladis said. “Again. Quicker.”

They continued to practice. However, eventually there came an officer to them and the rest of their fellow soldiers. They all went to attention, and he ordered them to stand in formation. They did, though Gwladis stood at the side because she was not really one of them, since she was a knight. Then there entered a man in plate armor, taller and more muscular than any other man there. From his great black beard Herona recognized him as Ser Sayer. He was Gwladis’ father.

“This is them?” Ser Sayer said.

“Yes sir!” the officer said. “This battalion has been gifted to your command.”

“Attention, you lot!” Ser Sayer said. “You’re coming with me. The heretics may’ve assailed us now, but we’ll get them yet! You’re marching west with me. I know we were just there, but this time it shall be different. We shall march east again, and we will not return until all the heretics’ have fallen, and we are victorious!”

Daeleth had finally arrived at the northern edge of Alenius’ forest. This place was a prosperous mining town called Calois, and for now it was being used a waystation for recruits into the Order of Saint Elenor. People from all over Alenius were now coming here in order to join the fight against the heretics, following a call to arms from Lycaon and the Church. In the de Reimer Kingdom there was no danger in this, as there was direct agreement with Alasdair, but this was Blackwell territory. There was no law preventing people from joining a religious order, nor could such a law stand, whoever held the crown. Nonetheless, Daeleth knew that it could be expected that there would be some kind of trouble with the Blackwells eventually. Hopefully it would not result in anything too troublesome. He could not expect it would be easy to deal with Eli and his sisters. Except for the little one. Daeleth remembered her name was Naomi. He supposed she was still cowering in fear of every shadow after her assassination attempt. She was only a gentle flower, he had heard, of no threat to anyway, and of no concern to him.

Daeleth wasn’t that interested in political intrigue anyways. Here in Calois he would gain soldiers and, more importantly, reinforcements. He came into Calois on horseback, his horse covered in steel scales, followed by a company of the heavy cavalry of the Order of Saint Elenor. Their banner and emblems was recognized by the villagers as belonging to the Church, many of who welcomed them into town. This was a pious town, after all. Daeleth and his knights went towards the town’s large church. As they did, they were approached by a woman dressed in the white robe of one of the Healers of Leplo.

“Knights! Welcome to Calois,” she said. “You were sent to check on our progress, correct? We have done very well, better than expected even, considering the poor condition our Kingdom’s is this day. But come, see for yourself. Leave your horses, we’ll find room for them in the stables. Pay no heed for that, honorable sir. I’m sure the encampment will be to your liking.”

“I have no doubts about that,” Daeleth said. “Now, priest, so me to this encampment of yours.”

“Come with me,” she said. “The Captain will be glad to hear that you have made your appearance.”

Daeleth entered into the camp, and the priestess led him to the largest tent in the camp. There he saw a saw several men dressed in the steel armor of the Knights of the Order. They were all gathered before a table, in a discussion over a map of Alenius pinned to the table that had markings all over it. These men, Daeleth was sure, were the officers in command of this garrison. When they saw Daeleth enter, however, they turned towards him. Though all had their eyes on him, one man in particular approached the two of them.

“Priestess,” he said. “Who is this that you’ve brought to us this time?”

“This is none other than the Grand Commander himself,” the priestess said.

At once he and the others quickly went into a disciplined salute. “Sir, I had no idea that you had arrived!”

“As it should be,” Daeleth said. “Perhaps even the Blackwells are unaware of my presence.”

“If you couldn’t guess it already, this is the captain,” the priestess said. “Don’t be too hard on him, sir. He’s done his work well here.”

“We’ll see about that, priestess. So tell me, captain,” Daeleth said. “There are other places of ours other than this place. They’re not encampments as this place is, but they belong to the Order just the same. Have you managed to keep in contact with them?”

“Yes, sir!” he said. “We have all kept in clear contact with each other. Couriers are constantly be sent between all five sites, and there is a constant stream of information being sent between us. We would know something was amiss very quickly as a result.”

“And your supply line?” Daeleth said.

“The Church from within Alenius and in the neighboring provinces continually send us supplies. So far, his Majesty has not bothered us. We are just holy men being sent supplies by the Church, after all. I am sure his Majesty is busy with matters of the state, and will leave to us the task of dispatching the heretics.”

There was a brief silence between both of them, until at last Daeleth said. “You’ve done well, captain. Now that I know all of that, I think I can be a little at ease.”

The captain breathed a sigh of relief.

“But I can’t be too much at ease,” Daeleth said. “The Blackwell’s, I wager, won’t take it well when they see a number of idle encampments steadily growing. The heretic threat, however, is a threat they shall understand, even if they don’t care. So it’s time you start the hunt. Find the heretics, make them repent, and kill them when they don’t. You know the drill. You’re thinking you don’t know where to start, I know. Take the priestess here. I’m sure she’ll have plenty of advice. I’m not asking you to root out every single heretic. You probably won’t have much luck finding the average unbeliever, but finding the loudest ones in the largest towns should be easy. They should be easy enough to apprehend. And if you can’t catch them, at least drive them into the wilderness. Make sure you patrol regularly, and take plenty of men with you. Remember the priests. They are spies, are informants. They see much, and hear much more. Tell this to the other camps as well. These commands come straight from the Grandmaster himself. I’ll leave it to you, captain.”

“Yes sir!”

With that said, Daeleth lifted open the entrance to the officer’s tent and went back outside, with the priestess again following him.

“So, are all of our Grandmaster’s plans in motion now, sir?” the priestess said.

“Not quite,” Daeleth said. “I’ll need to see how things are going at Mercy.”

“Then you shall be leaving for the capital?” the priestess said.

“So it would seem,” Daeleth said. “And I shall make a most excellent captive for his Majesty. I suppose I’ll stay here for the night. I suppose my men will revolt if I don’t let them have a single night in the inn.”

“I’m sure you don’t have to worry about King Eli, sir” the priestess said. “There is no need for his Majesty to worry, as we are loyal subjects of his.”

“I have no doubt,” Daeleth said. “And I’m sure Eli will be equally understanding.”

Rhodanthe may have been able to successfully leave Nyhem, and perhaps she had outwitted the churchmen in that respect, but when she had left she had no idea of the hardships that they would have had to face. They had brought the essentials with them when they left. Anything more than food, money, and clothes would’ve just bogged them down. Even so, they were now running out of food quickly, and Rhodanthe didn’t know what she was supposed to do. God had a plan for her, but what exactly was it? She couldn’t tell, couldn’t divine it, she might say now. They had camped outside a small village for the time being. They had been refused entry into the village itself. They’d let some of them in if they wanted to buy things, and said a few of them could stay at an inn if they could afford it, but the village headmen made it clear that they didn’t want them burdening their village. Yet they had never even given them a chance. It was what enraged Rhodanthe the most, that village after village and town after town turned them away because they would be a “burden” and they were “outsiders.” That was often far more important than the fact they were “heretics.”

The biggest threat to them was always Lycaon’s soldiers from his “Holy” Order. Most of them weren’t knights. Some of them were clad in leather armor and had a buckler and axe or club as their weapon. Many others, however, wore chainmail and wielded a kite shield and a spear or mace. Rhodanthe shivered even just thinking of these men. They were just the same as the men who captured her during the riot, just as vicious, just as violent, just as crazed, and just as tenacious. The only difference was one was called a “heretic” and one was called a “holy warrior.” The real knights, however, were the worst of all. They were cold, like the steel helmets which hid their faces, and Rhodanthe could have sworn they were not men at all, but devils made by Hystix himself. It seemed most of those who had come with Rhodanthe had once trusted Lycaon as their savior, but she couldn’t understand why. She only saw a murderer and tyrant. They couldn’t fight back, not against steel. For now, what all they could do was run from them, for all the good it did them. Many of her own had died in their attacks, and their numbers were dwindling rapidly. Yet she swore that for every one of her own that Lycaon took, she would respond in kind. Not today or tomorrow, perhaps not even a year from now, but one day she would have her revenge.

“Somethin’ on ya mind?” Barristan said as he approached her. He had helped a great deal with Rhodanthe, since he knew a lot more about leadership than she could hope to. His name was Olivier, but he had been a barman back in Nyhem. He was her chief advisor, as well as her emissary, so it wasn’t right to call him Olivier. That would have gotten him confused with their enemy, Oliver de Reimer. At first her people had gone to calling him Barman, but that was too simple, so instead they started calling him Barristan. It sounded grander, and he didn’t mind it, but he knew it wasn’t the correct usage of the word.

“There’s always somethin’,” Rhodanthe said. “I reckon we should get goin’ soon, shouldn’t we?”

“Well, I wouldn’t wanna run into any more knights,” Olivier said. “Sooner’s always better to get goin’ than later.”

“How’s everyone?” Rhodanthe said with a tone of worry and anxiety in her voice.

“Better than expected, all things considerin’,” Olivier said. “I was surprised myself how good our hunts’ went, so we’ve got enough food to last us for now. Though not for much longer.”

It was just then that someone else came up to them. Rhodanthe recognized him. It was one of their scouts, who was quick, sneaky, and knew how to get away when things got bad. Rhodanthe knew that his name was Alan.

“Prophet,” Alan said. “Bad news. Large amount of troops spotted not far from here, going straight here. Don’t seem to be fans o’ us.”

“Lycaon’s thugs?” Rhodanthe said, standing up as he spoke.

“Not judgin’ by their banners,” Alan said. “Oliver’s men, the men reckon, and a lot of ‘em. They’ll be here soon. Sorry, that’s all we got.”

“Thanks, Alan,” Rhodanthe said. “You did well.”

“So where’s this leave us now?” Barristan said.

“How close’re they, Alan?” Rhodanthe said.

“Real close. They’re not here yet,” Alan said. “But they’ll be on us ‘fore we can pick up our camp and be on our way.”

“Well, we’ve got our work cut out for us then,” Rhodanthe said.

“I’ll try to figure something out with the priests,” Barristan said. “Meantime you go and meet ‘em.”

“M-me!” Rhodanthe said. “Alone?”

“You’re our leader and prophet, ain’t you?” Barristan said. “Besides, they’ll wanna talk before they attack. Oliver is like that.”

Many of the strongest and best armed of the refugees had gathered together at the head of their campsite. Even so, they were far from an impressive sight, clothed as they were in ragged garments and armed only with clubs and short yew bows. Rhodanthe stood at the front of them all. When they arrived they had all welcome her and praised her as the true prophet of the gods, even though they were very anxious, nervous, and fearful. It was still very strange for her, that she was now being herald by them as messiah and prophet. True, she had her divine episodes, which she never remembered, but she didn’t feel any different from any of them. They at one point had called her “Matriarch,” but Rhodanthe couldn’t handle the idea of old men call her that, and made them drop it. She would preferred for them to simply call her Leader, but it didn’t stick with them, and so they started calling her Prophet. It was awkward for her. For the first time in her life she felt meek, just when she couldn’t afford to be. She needed to be strong, somehow. She also needed to be smart, which she felt was even harder. She had always been impulsive. If she hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.

Then they saw the men approach. They were numerous, and armed with swords, lances, and halberds, and armored in plate and chainmail, some of them being mounted on armored horses. For the refugees they were certainly an intimidating sight, though luckily it was only the bravest and strongest-willed who had come up to meet them. For her part Rhodanthe wanted nothing to do with them. She might very well have her head skewered on one of those horsemen’s lances in a minute’s time. Yet she needed to meet with them. There was a chance, however slight, that she might be able to get them to leave them alone. One of them who approached looked particularly distinguished, and that man was none other than Oliver De Reimer.

“In the name of House de Reimer, I greet you, though it be under ill terms,” Oliver said. “Tell me, who among you here is in charge?”

“T-that, uh…that’d be me,” Rhodanthe said.

Oliver looked at her with an incredulous look on his face. At last his said, “You fit the description. So then, you are the infamous maiden prophet, the one of who led the rioters out of Nyhem.”

“The rioters were dead already. Ya cousin’s dog Lycaon made sure o’ it.” Rhodanthe said. “We walked away ‘cause we didn’t wanna die.”

“So you say. Well, however you put it, maiden prophet, the result unfortunately will always remain the same,” Oliver said. “His Majesty Alasdair has declared the heresy of Johannia illegal. You are therefore by law dissidents and lawbreakers, who are in violation of His Majesty’s edict. You and your people have two choices. You must leave Cawanor immediately, or surrender and recant.”

His words were harsh, but not worse than Rhodanthe expected. At least he didn’t say he planned to massacre them all. “The only thing we’ve done’s dare to think differently than bishops you’ve got no care for.”

“The emperor’s laws stand, whatever you say about bishops,” Oliver said. “It is my hope that I don’t see you again, maiden prophet. It would not be good for you and your people, though it pains me to say so.”

“Yeah, ya seem real pained alright,” Rhodanthe said, yet she had no choice but to heed him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhodanthe had hoped that Barristan had something for her. Otherwise, she had no idea what she was going to do. As she approached the center of the encampment and approached Barristan she was hopeful, but not overly-confident. If she had learned anything, it was that being over-confident now was a surefire way to end up disappointed. He smiled at her with a reassuring grin. She could not do the same, and in fact looked a little annoyed.

“How’d it go?” Barristan said.

“How’d ya think it went?” Rhodanthe said. “He means to kill us, and tells us to get outta Cawanor. Right now I’m o’ a mind to listen to ‘em. Did ya have anythin’ for me?”

Barristan shrugged. “The priests are hysterical, but don’t have any suggestions. They either wanna fight or surrender. Cowards, those ones.”

“They’re afraid,” Rhodanthe said.

“We’re all afraid,” Barristan said.

“Damned if we ain’t,” Rhodanthe said. “If I could I’d surrender, but I can’t. If they’d just let us be, we wouldn’t be havin’ any of these problems.”

“The only thing we got is the hope that Raeldar will let us in,” Barristan said. “And we better get goin’. Before we know it the de Reimers will be on us again.”

The people were tired. They had traveled from one place to another in Cawanor, getting farther and farther away from Nyhem. That place was their home, and a place of memories, but now they derided it, for now it was a symbol of the High King, and his great persecution of them. Rhodanthe walked at the front of the refugees, but walked among them as well. She didn’t know how to ride a horse, and didn’t care much for standing ahead of her followers either. She walked for what seemed to be a very long time, and she was constantly looking over her shoulder for the de Reimers.

“Raeldor shouldn’t be too far ahead,” Barristan said. “Maybe things’ll be better there.”

“I wouldn’t hope too much,” Rhodanthe said. “Not ‘til I’ve met these southerners meself.”

As they got closer to the border they came across what seemed to be a large border fort. As they approached the garrison on the wall seemed to bolster in number, with plenty of archers looking ready to cut them down. Eventually Rhodanthe yelled for everyone to stop. If they fired it wouldn’t be pretty. They had no armor, so their arrows would tear through them. They waited for a moment, until one of their captains, from atop the wall, finally addressed them.

“Get back!” he said. “You’re in Staghain territory now. We have no part of Alasdair’s alliance, and we’ve no travel treaties with him. So, get you back!”

“Sir, we’re no army, and definitely not with the de Reimers!” Rhodanthe said. “We’re smiths, builders, crafters, not soldiers.”

“Even so,” he said. “You are a fool if you think we’ll let all these lot march straight into Raeldor all at once.”

“But we’ve nowhere else to go!”

“Stay right there, if you must. I won’t stop you,” he said. “But try and climb over these walls and we’ll fill you with arrows. You’ve been warned, northerner.”

Rhodanthe did not give up, however, and was in fact fierier than ever. However, as she argued without effect and soon without replies, worry rose in all of the refugees. Yet the officer up on the wall knew they could not wholly ignore her.

“We’ve got no choice. Whoever these people are, we can’t just keep ‘em down at the bottom of our walls,” the officer said. “Summon Her Majesty. If anyone has the authority to deal with this, it is her.”

Rhodanthe by then had stopped shouting to be let in. Now she knew that something was going to happen, and resolved to be on her best behavior. At last a woman came forward. From the way she looked and presented herself Rhodanthe could tell she was high-born, and wasn’t just a random noble. As she approached the soldiers gave a bow and went out of her way.

“You had best bow. It is Sorcha Sutharlan, Queen of Raeldar, who approaches you,” said one of the guards.

They did indeed bow. Rhodanthe and those who were earshot were the first to do it, and the rest soon followed suit, even if they did not know who this was.

“Rise, visitors from of the north,” Sorcha said. “I think introductions are in order. You have my name, and so I would dearly like to have your’s as well.”

“I’m only a lowborn girl, y’grace,” Rhodanthe said. “But me name’s Rhodanthe.”

“And the pleasure is mine, Rhodanthe,” Sorcha said. “Tell me, what brings you to our lands?”

“They are northerners, my lady,” the officer said. “And refugees, it seems.”

“As I have been told, captain,” Sorcha said. “And I would like to hear their story. It must be quite the tale. So Rhodanthe, where do you all come from?”

Rhodanthe took a deep breath. She never had given a speech before, and so all she could say was the truth.

“M’ady, I’ll just take a moment of ya time, if you’ll listen to me story. Nyhem. I led these folks outta Nyhem. It was their home, but they’d no choice but to come. Meself, though, I’m not from Nyhem at all. Came from Uzgob, not far outside of Andromeda. When word ‘bout Johannia and her message ‘bout her faith first appeared I’s sent to Nyhem, so I could hear all ‘bout it. Well, I came to hear ‘bout it, but it turns out many more were violent about it than I ever could’ve thought. I’d just come to learn more about Johannia and her teachin’ on the gods, but as I’s entering Nyhem forces were already gatherin’. There’re those who were sidin’ with the bishops, and those who’re against ‘em. I and many others were believers in Johannia, but we don’t want nothin’ with violence. It don’t matter though, to these others.

“We’re attacked wherever we went, and while the city’s burning, men with steel were busy fillin’ the streets with our blood. I nearly died meself, but…that’s when the divine spirit went in me. Sounds hard to believe, I know, and I wouldn’t believe it meself ‘less I’d seen it, felt it. They call me a prophet, and that’s what I am, I s’pose. May not seem like one now, but its’ different when the divine spirit’s in me, or so I hear. I don’t care if ya think I’m a prophet or not, and I don’t blame ya if you think I’m not. I ain’t here to preach to ya. I just want these people somewhere safe. After the riots things’re bad alright, but the de Reimer king declares us heretics and anathema and all that. Apparently it’s all the doin’ of a Lycaon Issarot. He’s the one who did the massacre in Nyhem, and now he’s plannin’ on draggin’ us away in the night. He tried to take the gods away from us, but we couldn’t let ‘em.

“Our reports tell us the next part,” Sorcha said. “You led the survivors here all the way from Nyhem. The de Reimers have never allowed you more than a moment’s rest in Cawanor, so you’ve kept moving. And now you have arrived here on the border of Raeldar.”

“That’s right, y’grace.”

“An interesting story. You are right, you do not seem much like a prophet, and I normally would never believe such a fanciful tale. However, much of what you said has already been confirmed by reports we’ve received from the north. We have heard of the riot in Nyhem, of the killings, and the maiden prophet who brought thousands from Nyhem. We have heard of how Oliver de Reimer has made you his personal foe. And we have heard about Johannia. You are definitely not spies for de Reimer, or regular turncoats. Still…to take all of you into our lands would be no easy task.”

“Y’grace, I beg ya,” Rhodanthe said, and she was on her knees, for things were truly desperate. “The de Reimers ain’t forgivin’ or kind. They mean to kill all o’ us, and they’ll do it. Gods’ know they’ve killed ‘nough of us already. Oliver de Reimer, he’s after us, and he won’t be long now. He’s already on our trail, and he knows our path. If we can’t get outta Cawanor now, I’m not sure how many o’ us’ll live through the night. That’s why, m’lady, I beg o’ ya, take me people in. Not for me, but for ‘em. We won’t be any bother to ya. They’re good people, and hardworkin’.”

The refugees were waiting with baited breath. They were all worried, because they knew that their prophet’s words were true, and not because of her gift of prophecy. Lord Oliver was after them, and close behind. The look of worry and fear in their eyes was palpable, their clothes were worn and ragged, and their hair was grimy and shaggy. They were at that moment a truly pathetic sight. No sound except for the cold winds was heard, and an air of tension flew over everyone.

“As I said, it is no easy task,” Sorcha said. “But I will consider all you have said. Wait here for the time being, and I promise that no harm will come to you.”

And that was that. Sorcha turned away from them now, and did not dare call out to her. She did not wish to risk offending her. Rhodanthe looked wistfully up at the walls, as both the officer up on there and the Queen disappeared from the walls. Then she left her place below the walls and turned back to those men, women, and children who had followed her. They were just as ragged as before, but the look in their eyes made them even worse than before. They were not glad at the vague promise that Queen Sorcha had given them. Rhodanthe wasn’t either. However, for the time being they had to swallow what was given and hope for the best.

Rhodanthe ordered them to set up their tents. After all, it was getting dark. She was still constantly looking over her shoulder for the first sign of Oliver de Reimer. She did so even though she knew she had scouts who did this for her. All this running and hiding had made her paranoid. There was very little talking among the camp, and just as much eating. They were at the end of their supplies. If the Queen did not let them in then Rhodanthe would soon have no choice but to surrender. It would be the only choice left for them, as she refused to allow them to become bandits. Then again, if her people chose to become bandits themselves then she would likely just become their first victim. As night came, Rhodanthe tried to get some sleep. It was easier than she thought it would be, because of how exhausted she was.

Rhodanthe woke up in a cold sweat. She felt it had been a nightmare, but she could not remember it. All she could remember was a feeling of fear and terror. Later Rhodanthe would feel that it had been a divine force that awoken her. Unable to go back to sleep, she made herself rise. It was still mostly dark outside, but sun was coming up. A scout, with Bannister by his side, was already coming up to her. It seemed the nightmare had come at a most opportune time.

“Prophet,” the scout said. “Things seem to’ve be happenin’ in the dead o’ night. Seems in the middle o’ the night Oliver’d taken his army to where we are, and was plannin’ an ambush. Yet it seems he don’t wanna make mad the South. So he’s planted his forces not too far south o’ here. They’re in sight.”

“And it’s enough to make just about everyone nervous,” Barristan said.

“So her Grace really protected us just like she said,” Rhodanthe said. “But how’s the Queen reactin’ to all this?”

“We’ll have to see,” Barristan said. “Even as we’re talkin’ here Oliver and the Queen are having a talk.”

“Wait, Oliver is here?” Rhodanthe said.

“Yeah, and it took all I had not to club his damned head in,” Barristan said. “But he’s here alright, and talking with the Queen.”

“Well, I hope that she can get ‘em to leave,” Rhodanthe said.

“You should go to them,” Barristan said.

“Not yet,” Rhodanthe said. “Not ‘til he’s gone. Oliver said he didn’t want to see me. Well, he ain’t.”

“You should go to them, prophet,” Barristan said. “Oliver wants to have you outta Cawanor or in chains. He won’t leave easily.”

“Fine, Barristan, I’ll go,” Rhodanthe said. “Hope I don’t make it worse.”

Oliver was standing with his armed guards below the wall. The archers above had the good grace not to have their arrows aimed at him, but it was clear that they were alert and would shoot him down if given half an opportunity. Both Oliver and Sorcha had a congenial look on their faces, but Rhodanthe knew better than to think that meant they were happy. Rhodanthe’s people were all gathered, so there was a crowd. They didn’t get too close, but they were well within earshot of everything they were saying.

“Hello, m’lord,” Rhodanthe said to Oliver with a curtsy. “Seems we’re meetin’ again on happier terms than ya thought, so I s’pose I’ve proved ya wrong.”

“That may be so, maiden prophet,” Oliver said.

“Rhodanthe, I was wondering when you would arrive,” Sorcha said. “After all, this concerns you and your people. It seems Oliver de Reimer has been willing to come all the way to Raeldar to track you down.”

“My lady, where I stand is not Raeldar, but Cawanor,” Oliver said. “Semantics, maybe, but it is a fact nonetheless. On your side of the wall is Raeldar, and on my side is Cawanor.”

“Lord Oliver, do you truly intend to fill Raeldar’s border with blood before my very eyes?” Sorcha said.

“Perish the thought, Lady Sorcha!” Oliver said. “But nonetheless, it is true that unless these people leave my side of these borders I won’t be able to stand idly by.”

“These people are clearly harmless,” Sorcha said.

“They have broken the Emperor’s law,” Oliver said. “I promise you I will treat them as gently as I can, but cannot ignore the fact that they are lawbreakers and dissidents.”

“Y’Grace, he’ll kill us,” Rhodanthe said. “Slaughter us all. His cousin’s law makes ‘em do it. I promise we’re good folk, hardworkin’ and loyal’s any. We’ll serve loyally ‘til death and after, if ya let us through ya gate and let us find work and a life.”

Oliver surprised Rhodanthe by what he said next. “The maiden prophet has the right of it. Let her into your lands, and you solve both her and my problem. I will allow you to have them delivered from my hands into yours, Lady Sorcha.”

“We come and go outta our own will, not the de Reimers,” Rhodanthe said recklessly.

Waving that off, Oliver said, “Say whatever you wish, maiden prophet. I only care that you are out of Cawanor. Now, we only need Lady Sorcha to agree to it.”

“I had the night to think over it. I have heard my advisors’ counsel, and I have made my decision,” Lady Sorcha said. “I have decided you shall no longer belong to the de Reimers. I accept your request, maiden prophet. Your people will be allowed into our lands, for now at least.”

There was a loud cheering. Rhodanthe could not remember her people being so happy before. Considering she had first seen them in the aftermath of a riot that was perhaps not a surprise, but they were indeed happy. The cheers were incredibly loud and jubilant, and a clear contrast to their mood just a second earlier.

“Your grace?” the captain at the wall seemed puzzled. “We are to let this northern rabble into Raeldar?”

“Indeed, and I won’t hear another word about it,” Sorcha said. “It would be wrong to simply leave them to die. Wouldn’t you agree, captain?”

“Of course, my lady,” the captain grumbled. “You all heard the Lady, open the gates!”

The loud cheering did not die down quickly or easily, and was only one part of their jubilation. The refugees were expressing their thanks to the Lady and Raeldar in the most gregarious ways they could think of. Many of them began chanting “Down with the de Reimers, all hail the Alliance!” Many expressed their thanks to the Lady aloud, and announced their desire to join the army and fight for Raeldar and the Alliance, even the women and children. The gates opened, and for the first time it felt like something truly went right. Rhodanthe knew that their struggle was just beginning, but at least something had gone right with them. Oliver de Reimer had not left yet, and Rhodanthe could tell the atmosphere around him was bad. Her people wanted to tear him apart, no doubt, but Rhodanthe would not allow anything to disrupt her accomplishment. She would see to it that he went back to his army safely. In his own way it seemed as though he tried to help her in his own way. Besides, he had something to tell him. She approached him, to the ire of his guards, but he was certain that she was no threat.

“Allow me, m’lord, to see ya back to ya camp,” Rhodanthe said.

“Thank you, maiden prophet,” Oliver said. “Come, then, and walk with me.”

When they were away from the crowd, and it was only her, him, and his guards she made her purpose clear.

“Lord Oliver,” Rhodanthe said. “I never thought I’d ever get to talk to one of the de Reimers.”

“And yet here you are,” Oliver said.

“After the riot I wanted to speak to ya cousin and get everything straightened out. I was plannin’ on gettin’ an audience, and tellin’ him how it wasn’t everyone who followed Johannia that was bad. There was bad eggs, sure, those who started the riot. I remember they pinned me to the ground, and almost killed me. All that and more I was goin’ to tell King Alasdair, but Lycaon got to ‘em first. I just want peace. That’s why I left Nyhem, I didn’t wanna fight. Johannia wants peace too. It’s Lycaon that’s causin’ all the problems, I can tell. For someone from the Church he has way too many soldiers.”

“Lycaon Issarot is a loyal friend,” Oliver said, though in truth he had never met the man, and he did not trust him even a little.

“Sure he is,” Rhodanthe said. “Just…I just want the King up north to know all we want is peace, and if he gives that he won’t have to fight us. We don’t anythin’, just let us follow our own beliefs. Meself, I think it’d be better off if ya all stayed more away from the bishops.”

“It won’t be so easy for you to gain the trust of the Emperor,” Oliver said. “Even if you go safely into the South, you’ll be traitors to the Empire, and it will remain that way forever.”

“Just…I just want the Nyhem King to know how things are for this side,” Rhodanthe said. “All this time he’s probably been hearin’ all sortsa things from the Lycaon and the bishops. He should just know how the rest o’ us see it, y’know? And I think this’s as far as I’ll walk you. Thank ya, Lord Oliver de Reimer, for ya company. Mayhaps it’ll be under better fortunes if we meet again.”

“I don’t see it happening,” Oliver said. “But I hope the same, maiden prophet.”

Once there had been a time when Fenick would not have dared linger from his cave, and would have sent Rhodanthe to Andromeda if there was ever a need for anything there. Now that time was long past, and he now stood tall on a pedestal on the streets of Medea, and over a thousand were there to listen to him every day. Now he planted the seeds of revolt. It seemed that every day it was fresh faces who came to see him.

“I see you, friends, and I thank you dearly for your presence. I see some familiar faces among me. It is good to see you again, Layla and Eliezer. And you as well, Kayam, I’ve seen you plenty of times by now. And Yahya, of course. I fear you wife will worry where you are if you come and see me speak any more times.”

There were some light chuckles, as it should be.

“Think not, sir,” Yahya said. “Got me wife here with me.”

“And we are better for it. But I see many new faces among you. That is good. It is always well when I see that I even more wish to hear the Good News. By now we’ve all heard the news about Johannia, haven’t we? She brought to the message of the gods, the one that we all needed to hear.”

“Aye, we’ve heard it,” some said, and other similar things.

“And we have become believers?” They assented heartily. “Our lost souls have become saved?” ‘Saved,’ many of them shouted after he said it. “Now that, my friends, is an answer well-given! I can tell that you are all in earnest. We no longer follow the whim of bishops drunk on wine, gold, and lust! Once again we are free men, and serve only the mighty gods above! Let their gold temples of avarice fall – nay, it would be better for us to tear them down! Better to use that gold to feed our hungry than let it serve the vile needs of the clerics.”

That got the crowd riled up, and they cheered on Fenick’s words.

“And our High King has given us his own opinion on the matter, hasn’t he?”

There were many vicious boos, and many chanted loudly, “Not our King! Not our King! Not our King!”

“He names all of us outlaws, and calls us traitors to the realm! If I can give the de Reimer King one thing, it is that never has there been a more subtle viper in all the land. First Heylot, then John, then Andris, and no doubt Eli Blackwell shall be next. All fall to the cunning machinations of the Snake! It is certainly an audacious thing that such a man would think to calls us traitors. And what place has an atheist to meddle in the realm of the divine? For we all know that the Snake is an atheist, who honors only vice and deceit and his own self. He calls himself Emperor now, and is that any surprise? Ysabelle the Savior must be rolling in her grave. Every day we become more and more like the Imperium. If de Reimer has his way, soon half of the land shall be enchained, and necromancers shall walk freely through the streets. It is my hope that we all see Alasdair de Reimer for what he truly is.”

“Ah, but Uzgob does have one man on its side. Nizar, our new King, according to the de Reimers. He is ours, is he not? Nizar, ever faithful chancellor, loyal servant of Mandarass. For his long years of service good king Andris trusted him above all others. And how does the chancellor reward the king’s goodwill? He steals the crown for himself, betrays his own friend for a foreigner, and bends the knee to the Snake! Are these the acts of a true king?”

Riled up, the audience shouted “No!” with great anger.

“Nay, we in Uzgob have but one King, and his name is Andris. There is but one family that can ever rule in Andromeda, and that is Mandarass! The gods are angry with us, and their anger is well-placed. Traitors hold the thrones in Nyhem, Andromeda, and Mercy, and bishops grow fat on the wealth that rightfully belongs to the people. They hold us at sword-point, but we must never relent to them. The gods on our side. Johannia was the harbinger, whose message saved our souls and struck through the lies of the bishops. Now it is up to all pious men to bring to her vision to fruition, and to strike down the false and make the truth rise again.”

They were indeed glad to hear his words. These were seditious words he spoke, no doubt, but they were words that all in Uzgob believed. Manshrew were their rulers, and though he gave little thought to politics, even Fenick knew this. He was not Uzgobian by birth, but he had lived here for many years, and he would only ever bow before a Manshrew, not a Blackwell and certainly not a de Reimer. Besides, were there any words more true and just than a treasonous words spoken against a betrayer?”

Fenick stood on the edge of town, surrounded by a few of his desertmen bodyguards. Many among the tribes had heard of the message of Johannia and the preachers who spread it, and wondered whether there was something in it for them. No tribe had gone over to his side completely, but some among the desertmen had come to follow Fenick after he promised them power and autonomy, and a religion that suited them, free from the prodding of bishops. They were not riders, and were unused to steel, but were perhaps the fiercest fighters in all of Uzgob.

They were not alone. For weeks Fenick had egged on the people of Medea, and it seemed that things had finally reached the boiling point. They followed him, and he led them to the Good News that Johannia had first promulgated, and urged on the fight against the bishops, and urged the complete destruction of their ecclesial hierarchy. He had been careful to avoid mentioning her unsavory doctrines, however. In his sermons he always left out the infidel nonsense about a Demiurge, as well as the extremism about mages. The Circle was a wicked and godless place, to be sure, and it needed to be disbanded so that magic could be practiced freely. Fenick had learned as much when he attended. However, she had spread tall tales about how magic came from Hystix, and that was a wicked lie. The faith Fenick spread was pure of the heresy in Johannia, and his followers followed suit. Yet in addition to their faith, they were true followers of Andris, the true High King of Formaroth.

The riot at Nyhem had been the first spark of the followers of Johannia against the false king. However, it was not a true uprising. It had been ill-planned, and had been unsurprisingly crushed with wanton cruelty and slaughter. Yet it was only a riot, an act of resistance, but a short-sided one. What Fenick was leading was an uprising, something that would make Nazir shake in his boots. He would not repeat the mistakes that had been made at Nyhem. Scores of angry-looking armed men had already begun to roam the streets. They were with him. Though they were no army, and had no armor to speak of, they held thick clubs and were good with their bows, and they were bolstered by the tribesmen, the real vanguard of Fenick’s force. At the sight of them onlookers cleared the streets, closed their doors, and shut their windows. Whether they would be for them or not could not be said, but Fenick was confident that they would prefer them to the westerners. Fenick marched to center square alongside them, and they hailed him.

“I speak no speeches to you today, friends, for we have no time for them,” Fenick said. “The traitors hold the armies, and they shall come for us. Be ready for them, they will come soon. But we shall see to it that by the time they realize what we truly are, it shall be too late for them!”

They came very soon. They were numbered about two dozens, and wore suits of armor. About a dozen of them were mounted on armored horses. They were not hidden, but planned on making their presence known so they could strike fear into as many malcontents as they could, so Fenick’s forces easily scouted them. As soon as they were in view of the main square the rebels opened fire and peppered them with arrows, and six of the knights laid down on the ground. Then the tribesmen charged, with their leader Hargani foremost among them. The remaining horsemen tried to scatter them by charging, and their lances struck three tribesmen dead, but their formation remained strong, and the tribesmen’s spear held against the charges of the knights, and felled two horses. The men-at-arms saw that their cause was lost, and routed. The rebels and tribesmen then fell on to them, and slew those that they could get their hands on and killed those who were writhing on the ground from their injuries. Of the twenty-five who had departed, eleven lived to return to Medea Castle. Afterwards, there was much cheering, and some of the tribesmen looted off the steel from their enemies’ corpses, but Fenick knew it was too early for them to celebrate.

“The knights have fallen, but our task is far from done,” Fenick said. “As long as the fortress still stands we shall not be able to rest.”

Fenick rallied them, and they gathered along with the rest of their companions. They numbered two-thousand, and Fenick knew that they outnumbered the small garrison three-to-one. If they attacked it would be a costly siege, but Fenick hoped it would not come to that. The rebels marched gathered themselves into large groups, and into formations, even if they could not make themselves as neatly as a true army. The tribesmen were different, however, and knew well how to fight a war better than the militia. The rebels did not attack immediately, but readied and prepared themselves. A platoon of the fighters had gone off to look for supplies they would need in case of a siege, and to look for potential supporters.

In the meantime the gates of the castle had opened, and a large force had gone out to face what they thought were a hundred or so malcontents. They were a splendid host of two-hundred, with horsed knights armed with lances and armored in fine steel plate, and were followed by crossbowmen and spearmen, with the lord’s son at their helm. Their cavalry at first charged towards the host of rebels, who had the tribesmen as their vanguard, but when they saw the size of the host and the manner in which they were armed quickly retreated. Under Hargani’s order the host of rebels charged forward, and a shower of arrows were released. As they retreated some of them fell, including the lord’s son. His horse was shot down, and when he fell down to the ground a dozen tribesmen quickly ran to him, and he could offer little resistance, and yielded. Then Hargani brought him before Fenick on his knees.

“Let me guess, you’re that damned preacher that’s been causing trouble around here?” the captive said. “If only we’ve caught you earlier.”

“Quiet, worm!” Hargani said, beating the captive with the bottom end of his spear.

“Spare him, Hargani. I’ll need him to speak,” Fenick said. “So, ser, tell me, are you the lord’s valorous heir?”

“I’m just a faceless knight is all,” he said.

“Oh? I don’t believe you, of course. I can’t prove your identity, but it seems likely enough that you are Adam. After all, the Adam I have heard of would have rushed to run down rebels in the name of his father.”

“Very well, rebel, if you will not relent, then I suppose I have no reason to lie. I am Adam, heir to the county of Medea, son of Lord Simon. What of it? My father shall not surrender his birthright to villains for me. Kill me if you must, you will be doing my cousin a favor. Your rabble will never breach Castle Medea, and when King Nazir hears of this he will bring ten thousand knights to our gates, and he shall crush your paltry host, and show you what happens to those who rebel against their betters.”

He would be right, if the rebellion stopped here. If they won a victory here, Fenick knew they could win the support of the people and the tribes, and with a little money and time could build a great army that could rouse all of Mandarass’s lands.

“This is no insurrection,” Fenick said. “We seek only to restore what rightfully belongs to Andris and House Manshrew and all his loyal vassals.”

“The war is over. House Mandarass and all its allies are gone forever. The de Reimers have won. They drove a wedge between Mandarass and Blackwell, and gained Formaroth as a result. Blackwell and the Southerners are no longer strong enough to stand against him, even if they stood together, and they will not. It would have been better had you all stayed home.”

“When Uzgob comes under our control Andris shall return,” Fenick said. “If you will not side with us, then we have no choice but to take you down with the false kings.”

Fenick ordered one of his scouts to go to the castle as a messenger, and announce to them that they had the lord’s heir captive, and would do well to heed them. His terms were simple, either they were to come over to his side or they were to surrender. Their terms were refused in the harshest terms, regardless of the fact they had the lord’s son as a hostage. Fenick’s envoy was filled with arrows. However, the garrison did not stir from their walls. They could not starve them out. If he wanted his uprising not to be defeated before it began he would need a victory here, and so he must engage in a bloody siege. Those who Fenick had sent out to search had returned with some supplies, and the most important were the ladders. They were the only siege weapons they had. There were no siege towers, catapults, and battering rams lying around for them to pick up. They had picked these siege ladders up along with some weapons in one of the lord’s warehouses that lay outside of the safety of his castle’s gates.

With nothing more needing to be done, Fenick led his forces to the walls of Castle Medea. Across its walls were lined crowssbowmen and spearmen. Though Fenick’s army outnumbered them heavily, it would be a bloody siege for them nonetheless, and his victory was far from certain. The tribesmen were gathered in four separate columns in the front, with the militia not far behind them, and the archers close behind. The tribesmen began to run closer to the walls, carrying their siege ladders with them. The crossbowmen unleashed their bolts on to the tribesmen, which cut through their light armor of skins and killed many of them before they ever reached the walls. The militia archers responded in kind, and unleashed waves of arrow on to the walls of the castle, the steel piercing through the armor of crossbowmen and spearmen that stood on the walls.

By the time they had reached the walls around nearly a hundred of the rebels had died, and only about thirty of the garrison had been killed by the returning fire of the rebels’ arrows. Nonetheless, the rebels’ spirits remained high even among the death, as they felt victory would soon be theirs once they took the walls. The tribesmen stormed the sections of the wall that were the most heavily-manned by the spearmen, and felt the wrath of the tar-pots, while the militiamen took the gaps and were more guarded by the archers, who would not last long in a hand-to-hand fight.

One by one the tribesmen climbed up the wall and came up faster than the spearmen could kill them, until they were swarming the walls. They fought with greater skill and fury than the spearmen could muster and felled many of the garrison, but the armored spearmen struck down the lightly armored spearmen as well, and the walls were strewn with bodies of both sides, but it was more of the tribesmen than their enemies. Then Fenick’s militiamen engaged the crossbowmen with spears and clubs. The crossbowmen drew daggers and shortswords, but they were no match against the militiamen, and were ill-prepared to take to a melee, and when their bodies began to pile up they threw down their weapons and yielded. Then the militias ran past them, and went to flank the spearmen that the tribesmen engaged. Across the walls fighting reigned, until at last the men ran out, and there was no more crimson to be added to Castle Medea’s balconies. When the last garrison spearmen was slain there was a great shout of triumph, though it had cost them dearly. Over two-hundred tribesmen and three hundred militiamen had been slain. The militia would have routed in the midst of battle, but they were encouraged by the valor of the tribesmen, Fenick had instilled in them an intense zealotry, and it was not easy to rout when the way out was a hundred feet down.

They opened the gates, but Fenick stayed behind in the city. His army scarcely needed an old man at its back. Besides, he knew that Hargani would be able to take care of command better than he ever would. Instead, when the gates opened the militia entered. Under Hargani’s commands they then reorganized themselves, and made a host of fifteen-hundred men. They marched steadily. The tribesmen stood at the front, ready to fight any foe that remained, and any enemy that came to them would be flanked by the militiamen and peppered with arrows from their archers. They came to the courtyard expecting a valiant and bloody last stand by the knights. Instead they found the knights emerging from the hall, some of them bloody. A large and imposing knight held the white flag of surrender, a truly pathetic sight. At the head of the party, however, stood a fair-looking man with flowing black hair dressed in shining steel, and who held up a pike which had a head dressed upon it. The head upon the pike and the head of the fair man who led the knightly host looked quite similar.

“My friends, Medea is now yours,” the fair man said in a tone that hinted of arrogance.

Fenick sat at a place of honor in the place where the bishop once had made his home. He had begged for mercy, and Fenick had not been cruel. It had been enough for the bishop to recant and be thrown into prison. Fenick had taken his house for his seat, but had removed all of the bishops opulent belongings and had them distributed to the poor. He had been expecting to sit in Medea Castle right now, but things had taken an unexpected turn. Hargani, who at the moment stood next to Fenick, had told him how everything had happened. Edmund, second son of the count of Medea, had demanded his father surrender and declare his loyalty to the rebels, and when he refused he led the knights in revolt. Fenick knew it was a simple mutiny, meant to save their own skins for the time being. Now Medea was ruled by Count Edmund, who now claimed to be with them, but Fenick could not trust a man who would be willing to slay his own father and switch sides at the drop of a hat. He knew he could never trust him, but if he wanted to use him at all he would need to have this Edmund invest some into their cause, to ensure that their enemies saw him as a traitor to the realm rather than a hostage. Count Edmund was coming to him already, so there was no need to summon him. Soon enough he came to Fenick, or rather he barged in.

“Your excellency Fenick,” Edmund said with a bow. “It is an honor to meet such a man. Have your subordinates told you what happened?”

“Indeed. Hargani has told me all, down to the sordid details, and how you…dealt with your predecessor,” Fenick said.

“It pains me to think of it even now. I grieve him, for I loved him deeply, but it needed to be done.”

Fenick knew that he was lying; this was no man in mourning. “And so, my lord, what business brings you here?”

“I come here personally in order to proclaim my loyalty for all to hear,” Count Edmund said. “I shall bend to none but House Mandarass, but I pledge to you, great Fenick, my undying loyalty and shall follow you even unto death. I pledge all the land and swords of House Sundaris to your cause.”

“And have you heard the Good News?” Fenick said.

“Indeed I have. The cause of Johannia and Andris are one, one spiritual and one political, but united in the truth of their cause. I have foresworn the Church’s bishops and shall do all I can to throw down their towers of gold.”

He parroted the words too easily, so Fenick immediately knew just how dangerous he was. He no doubt had barely heard of Johannia a few hours ago, but now he knew all these pious words. If he had stumbled out his loyalties Fenick would have breathed a little easier, but instead he knew this one knew how to deceive well and quickly.

“Proclaim it loudly, my lord,” Fenick said. “Lower the flag of the de Reimers from your stronghold, and fly proudly the twin banners of Johannia and Mandarass.”

“Indeed, it shall be done. But before I leave you, I would have you take my counsel,” Edmund said. “We cannot restore Andris by ourselves. We must extend our cause far and wide, in order to gather a host mighty enough to challenge the so-called emperor.”

“I have sent my emissaries. They shall foment uprisings far and wide. Yet you clearly have something else in mind.”

“It is only a small thing, my lord, but it shall be a start,” Boutros said. “I have my sister, and there are uses I have of her.”

“Let us hope they are virtuous uses.”

“The odds are against us. Even with resentment brewing against Andris and Nazir, we cannot be sure who would be willing to join us at a time when our forces are so meagre. It would greatly help us if we were able to gain support from abroad.”

“All this has been foreseen. What of it?”

“Your excellency, I mean for us to have that aid. I shall marry Duke Robar to my sister. They are of a similar age, after all. It should make them ours. If you can truly raise the flag for Andris across Uzgob then that should make us a force to be reckoned with. Then my sister shall go to the Southern Alliance, and convince them to fund our forces.”

“That is a clever plan, my lord. It is merely hampered by the fact that it will never work. The Southern Alliance has remained neutral through everything. Why should they risk everything in order to help us?”

“We must try. And I am sure that very soon they shall see that they may no longer be able to remain idly by.”

“Do not expect me to believe these honeyed words, my lord. But I am not your liege, only Andris is. Do what you wish, if you think it shall help us restore the true High King.”

After Edmund left Hargani turned to Fenick.

“I do not trust him,” Hargani said.

“Then you are wise,” Fenick said. “In truth I do not want him on my side. He is a turncoat who changed sides simply to live another day. I truly wish that he had been as his father were, and fought to the end. Yet when he surrendered he forced my hand. I had to allow him to join my cause, for I cannot simply kill a nobleman who has gone over to my side.”

“So it is,” Hargani said. “The burgher’s sided with you. They are very thankful for the caskets of the Church’s gold you sent them.”

“I at least trust them more than the Duke.” If he could the richest of Uzgob’s merchants, those on the coasts and near the trade roads, on his side then it would be a great boon. “And they shall be a boon.”

“Yet will this be enough?” Hargani said.

“Not near enough,” Fenick said. “But honeyed words and claims of just cause and legitimacy are not our only words. If the lords would join my cause, their first act of piety may be to take all the wealth of the Church within their lands. After all, true priests have no need of silver and gold.”

“Then that will make you the first man to run a holy war wholly on bribes,” Hargani said.

“All wars run on bribes of a sort,” Fenick said. “There is no other way to get a noble on your side. For all our sakes pray that I can bribe enough of them.”

Lycaon sat upon his horse, surrounded by twenty of his mounted knights, ready to meet the rest of his escort outside of the city. Those outside numbered at a hundred knights and two-hundred footsoldiers. Lycaon departure had already become known, so many of the denizens of Nyhem there to see his farewell. There was cheering at his presence, and even a moans and cries at the fact that he was leaving them. Lycaon waved to them, but did not speak long to them, and walked towards the gate with his escort.

“Ser Lycaon I assume” announced a man from behind. He was riding a regal white horse and wore attire typical of Sypius nobles. He looked around fifty with a wrinkled face, short white hair and a wispy moustache. Though despite this he was surprisingly muscular for his age with dark black eyes that looked like they belonged to a man in his twenties. He rode towards Lycaon followed closely by two Cawanor soldiers and a dozen or so of his own guards.

Lycaon’s knights crowded around their Grandmaster and would not allow anyone to get too close to him. Nonetheless, Lycaon turned around towards the voice, though with a nonchalant look on his face. From the look of him he was a noble, and Lycaon wondered whether or not this man had any doubts as to whether he was actually Lycaon. There was no one else that the people were crying for.

“You speak to Lycaon Issarot, Grandmaster of the Order of Saint Elenor and defender of the Church,” Lycaon said plainly. “What business has brought you here? . The man stopped abruptly, he stopped far enough away so as not to make Lycaon’s knights nervous, but close enough so that he could look down on Lycaon as he spoke.

“I am Ser Rendon Du Paraquette, second son of House Du Paraquette, knight of Nidanke and the newly appointed viceroy to the inquisition” Rendon said with a cold smile “Under orders of the emperor I am to work with you for the next few years, to ensure that the inquisition serves the interests of the empire in removing these heretics from our lands”.

So he was a du Paraquette. More important than that, his words seemed to catch Lycaon off-guard, though he did well not to show it. He did not yet know what purpose Rendon had, or what the Snake was expecting of him. Still, Lycaon had other things on his mind, and he was not thinking too much of Rendon at the moment. He hardly sounded threatening to Lycaon, though he knew that viceroy could be an important role if the Snake had willed it to be so.

“Ser Rendon, it is a pleasure,” Lycaon began. “You, then, are His Imperial Majesty’s delegate? I shall be glad to receive your cooperation. What business has brought you to me, viceroy?”

“Why to travel with you of course. As Viceroy I am to be involved with all decisions that the inquisition might make. I shall serve under you and help you to…ensure you are acting in our emperors favour, after all as Viceroy I am a extension of the Emperor himself and as such my words carry his authority” Rendon replied enunciating himself as he did, smiling to himself in a sense of self worth.

Suddenly Lycaon was highly annoyed by his words, and all that they meant, and it was accentuated by the fact that he was clearly not one of the better du Paraquettes. He still did not know this man’s purpose. Was he a simple spy, or did he mean to order him around? Lycaon would never allow it. He was guardian of the Church, protector of the faith and scourge of heretics, and he would not allow himself to be foiled so easily. For now he would have to bring this Rendon along. It would not be so easy for him to watch the Holy Order of Saint Elenor, even if he watched him. Oswyn was in the west, Sayer was in the east, and Daeleth was out of his reach.

“Come then, Ser Rendon,” Lycaon said. “It would be best if you prepared yourself for departure quickly, as I am on my way out of Nyhem, and I do not know when I shall return. My men are waiting for me outside the gates. We head for Issaria. Perhaps you’ve been there before? Regardless, I’m sure you’ve met my father. He will give you a welcome befitting any true friend of the Issarots.”
Lycaon’s father was Duke Percival II, head of the Issarot dynasty, one of the strongest of the du Paraquettes vassals, who had ruled Issaria from Castle Issarot since the Remonnet conquest. Lycaon remembered that during his childhood there had been a few times when du Paraquettes had visited Castle Issarot itself, though usually when Lycaon and his father saw the du Paraquettes it was when they visited Scassia. Rendon must have met his father many times before.

“O course, who doesn’t know of Percival, one of my own father’s most loyal bannermen, and now bannerman to my nephew” Rendon said with slight annoyance in his voice upon mentioning his nephew “I met him a few times as a young man though since becoming a knight of Nidanke most of my time has been spent here in Nyhem. It shall be good to see him again, my servants have already packed my things for me and my men and I are ready to leave whenever you are”. As he was about to signal his men he stopped before adding “Oh I almost forgot, being the head of the Order, the knights of Nidanke will also be joining the inquisition. For now they shall travel with us, consider it my contribution to the inquisitions forces” Rendon said with a over exaggerated bow.

It seemed that the Snake had sent the most insufferable of the du Paraquettes to him. It seemed to Lycaon that he had just slighted the centuries-long loyalty of the Issorats to the du Paraquettes. Well, it was no matter. Lycaon hoped this viceroy and his knights would not cause any trouble. Rendon would be sorely mistaken if he thought either his birth or position would save him from the Church should he prove to be wayward. Nonetheless, even if he was not fond of him, Lycaon was far from eager to begin a fight with the du Paraquettes, the lords of his ancestors, and Lycaon’s lords as well.

“I am sure they shall serve faithfully,” Lycaon said. “The rest of my knights are waiting outside, and I think it is about time that I joined them.”

As Lycaon rode with his knights past the gates of Nyhem there were fifty mounted knights and a hundred foot soldiers outside waiting for him. There was a large horse-drawn wagon which was carrying Felise of Dagensbourg’s intricate golden coffin, and was guarded by two men on each of its four sides. Lycaon joined in with the rest of his host at the front, and began their ride to Issorat Castle, their castle. He was finally returning home, a place he had hoped he would never see again.

“Do not make me repeat myself, we will not waste manpower investigating fairy tales”

“But your majesty, you must understand I too would dismiss just a claim under normal circumstances but there have been over a dozen reports all from the same area” Alex replied “I’m not saying that they saw dryads per say, but surely it might be something worth looking into”?

“More likely that after one peasant claimed to see one, all the others started doing the same” Cerlina replied “I agree with our...emperor this is not something we should concern ourselves with” Cerlina stammered a bit when she spoke Alasdair’s new title, it would take a while before she got used to the new title. The meeting had gone on for some time now and for the most part had been very boring. Most of it had been spent discussing the exodus of heretics that had left not only Nyhem but the rest of Sypius as well. There had been much that Alasdair had hoped to discuss with Lanaya though she had not shown up to the council meeting, something that was very unlike her.

“In any case we need to discuss the reinstatement of the royal guard, using the steel fist as the backbone” Alasdair turned to face Claus “I trust you have been putting some thought into this matter”?

-”I have, and i have decided that it sounds like an excellent idea. The royal guard should be none other than the best and the Steel fist is just that...” Claus responded at first not looking at the king, accidentally proving to those who doubted his mental presence was split from his physical.
So far during the meeting he’d been mostly silent and looking around him, avoiding taking a too laid back a seat he’d settled down with his legs crossed on a footstool instead.
-”Just thought of something though, wouldn’t it be imperial guard? Since you lot decided to make this whole affair into an empire… just a thought.”

“I suppose that makes more sense” Alasdair said “However if the Imperial guard is to exceed or even match the Remonnet’s royal guard they will need their own division of mages to back up the infantry. Another thing I had hoped to discuss with Lanaya today” Alasdair said disappointedly “But no matter I am sure we can find a solution even without her. I have ordered Magister Sagard to assist you in assembling a battalion of mages fit for the steel fist”.
At that last proposition Claus leapt into interest.
-”My plans exactly, during the last campaign i was once more reminded of the usefulness of a mage detachment and wanted one for myself. I will be looking forward to my meeting with this Sagard fella.” Having finished there was a slight pause as Alasdair got some papers from a pile and the others mostly agreeing to the logic.
Claus kept going in a inquisitive tone..
-”Where is Lanaya? I was gonna ask her of the mages myself…. And where is that Aurellia lass? Wasn’t she on the council? I sorta expected her to be here.” He figuratively looked around to empower his question, followed by a shrug as he fiddled with his left glove.

Alasdair fell silent at the mention of Aurellia. While he kept it hidden, he felt a long suppressed pain reemerge upon Claus’s mention of her.
“You don’t seem to be very well informed” Isabel, sensing her brothers discomfort, was the first to speak “Lady Vyncetta has…perished at the hands of unknown assailants, near seven months ago. Magister Dionsia has replaced her for quite some time. As for where she is, I could only guess, but as his majesty says we do not need her here” Isabel said with a sly smile before adding “perhaps she is still recovering from the party, after all she did drink far more than a woman of her reputation should”.
With genuine surprise Claus looked up from his fiddling, sat up correctly and looked around.
-”She died? That sucks... ” The bluntness of his words while aggravating to a certain degree captured perfectly what some were feeling about the whole situation.
-”As for being uninformed, i have been off fighting a war on the other side of a massive sea, scratch that, WINNING a massive war on the other side of a sea, so no, i didn’t know.” Claus realized he perhaps said a bit too much to the emperor’s sister resumed his laid back pose and spoke.
-”Anyway, why isn’t the magister here? She didn’t seem to be drinking that much seeing her at the party.”

“Yes winning with my brothers help it seems” Isabel replied bluntly “It’s clear you didn’t see her near the end of the event, something seemed to have put her in a very good mood”.
Claus muttered silently that he could easily have won with the entire Concord army as well, but decided against mentioning it.
-”Speaking of good mood, seeing that the Steel fist is now a rather important part of this whole city, i would require a permanent location to work from. Having a tent camp in the farmers fields isn’t exactly a long term solution. So a barracks of sorts, training yard is a must and not to far from the palace itself.” Claus spoke to Alasdair in a no-nonsense kind of way, while shuffling a set of playing cards.

Alasdair was still upset, not only over the mention of Aurelia but also over how bluntly Claus had shrugged off her death. Though he could hardly blame him, after all he had barely known the woman.

“Finding a vacant building of that size will be difficult. I would normally suggest building it within the Field district but as you pointed out that would be too far from the palace” Alasdair remained silent as he considered his options “From what my sister tells me a merchant by the name of William Flin has started to renovate buildings within the slums. Perhaps we could follow in suite, after all there will be plenty of abandoned manors near the fringe of the slums that could be renovated into a barracks. After all no noble wants to neighbour a slum”.

After a short thought about it Claus considered the problems with the slums, but in the end he decided. He has access to highly trained heavily armed and armoured mercenaries. Slum dregs won’t be too much of a problem and being on the outskirts won’t be that bad anyway.

-”That sounds like a great idea boss… erm, my emperor... Just need a local who knows a good place and of course a fancy paper that say i can nab whatever house i want.” He stopped shuffling the deck and looked at the ceiling momentarily when he realised his severe lack of etiquette but resumed shortly.

Alasdair had become increasingly annoyed by Claus’s antics throughout this meeting. What had his brother seen in this man? He hoped Claus proved to be effective in creating the imperial guard otherwise his future as a council member would be called into question.

“If you are looking for someone who knows the area then you have my permission to borrow Alenius, so long as if you provide two of your own to guard me in the meantime. As for the ‘property right appropriation document’” Alasdair emphasized the name in a effort to correct Claus “Cerlina will be able to procure the document for you”.

-”Excellent, i’ll call in the guys that escorted me here and then talk to Cerlina.” He nodded to Alasdair and made a slight smirk. He then spotted a bottle of brandy, began to pour up two servings of it while listening to the meeting.

“In which case that concludes this meeting” Alasdair announced as he stood up from his seat, not wishing to watch Claus drink two glasses of brandy as he assumed he was about to “Our next meeting will take place a fortnight from now. Dismissed” Alasdair said as he and his council members made for the door.

Claus just finished pouring his glasses as the group began to exit through the door. He stood up, put one of the glasses opposite himself and raised the other for a toast. Ignoring the council and turned towards the empty seat with the drink in front of it.
He spoke calmly and rather solemnly for being him.
-”Too bad i didn’t get to meet you again miss Aurelia, would have loved to hear the full story of the Orog wine...” He paused for a moment and raised his glass.
-”To the fallen!” He drank the serving in a single swipe and exhaled, before putting down the glass and begin to leave the room.

As the other council members filed out the door Alasdair paused for a moment as he watched Claus raise a toast to Aurelia. It was something that Alasdair had not expected from Claus, yet he couldn’t help but be thankful for it. Outside of himself and Lanaya, no one had paid much mind to the death of Aurelia and for many had gone unnoticed until Lanaya replaced her. He was glad that there was someone else who cared about her, if only a little. In reponse Alasdair gave Claus quick nod, a gesture of approval.

Claus noticed the emperors nod and responded.
-”If you wonder what that was about, it’s a tradition within the fist. Final toast to the fallen, a way to remember. One drink is left for the one in question, at times someone close drinks it for them, sometimes it’s taken by someone later who just wants a drink or it’s simply cleaned up next morning… i have a few more drinks to share later with the boys.” His face saddened for a moment before he nodded to Alasdair and left the room.
-”I’ll shout the guards over to replace Alenius.” With that he shouted loudly to summon his fellow corps-men, who quickly took their sides at the side of the king, with some sort of good manners.

Alasdair stared at the glass that Claus had placed in front of the chair that once was Aurelia’s, reflecting on what Claus had said. Before the steel fist soldiers entered the room Alasdair grabbed the glass before downing the contents. Despite burning his throat he did his best to stifle a cough, before finally leaving the room with Claus’s men following closely behind.

“That’s the building” Alenius said as she pointed to a decrepit Manor, located on the outskirts of the slums. While not in a state of ruin it was clear no one had inhabited this house in years. The doors and windows had been boarded up and many tiles from the roof were missing. It would take considerable manpower and money to renovate it into a barracks worthy of the imperial guard. Fortunately for Claus he had both.

Even if he had both money and manpower though, he still wasn’t overly impressed with the whole state of the place, on top of that he wanted a good look of the inside before deciding on this old manor house.
He tried the door handle, locked, he yanked at it a few times and with a mouldy crack the entire mechanism came loose. With an initial surprise, he turned to Alenius.
-”I present to you my new house and office, should we inspect my bedroom first?” Claus suggested with a sly smirk and a wink.
Alenius simply rolled her eyes at his obvious advance and opened the door which creaked with deep rhythmic shudders as the hinges caught a few times on the rust making the entire door vibrate.

As Alenius walked into the manor it was clear that the outside hid the true extent of the damage caused by years of neglect. Much of the wood was rotten and the floors above had large gaping holes in them. While the manor’s foundations may still be sturdy, it was obvious the inside would have to be completely replaced.

“Looks like your men have your work cut out for you, though if you intend to reconstruct this place for your own purposes, it might be for the best”
As Claus listened to Alenius he simultaneously ripped a board off the wall to see the underlying structure. He saw stone with timber on top, a sturdy foundation indeed, he kept digging with his right hand trying to not inhale the dust and holding his left hand over his face to cover it. Old moss used for the insulation, now useless since it was damp and mouldy.
He made a rather big pile of brown dirt-like mass before he could really feel and see the stonework and how the mortar was looking, if it was getting damp as well, the whole building was useless for his purposes and needed to be leveled.
To his relief the mortar was in great condition, he didn’t know how the wood had gotten so darn damp but he was gonna rip it all out so he didn’t care much.
-”HA! The mortar is fine, seems like i can use this after all. That’s cause for celebration, don’t ya think?” Claus said happily and pouted his mouth towards Alenius in a joking manner.

“Your going to end up kissing my fist in a minute if you’re not careful” Though the threat was genuine Alenius said it in a joking tone. After years of working for stuffy nobles and pompous aristocrats it was nice to work alongside someone as down to earth as Claus, despite his crude advances. As she continued to investigate the manor something caught her eye; located on a rotting table was a tankard. As Alenius walked over to investigate she realised it was still half filled with watery ale. She held it up so Claus could see

“I don’t think we’re alone here.” She whispered as she handed the tankard to Claus whom picked it up and smelled its content.
-”Smells fresh, you are right, someone is here.” He put it back on the table and began to check around for the tankards owner, opening doors and peeking inside. He didn’t bother with drawing a weapon, his gauntlets would do just fine.
Alenius nimble steps were hardly audible, but it didn’t take long for Claus to step through a floorboard, he was adept at strategic stealth, but sneaking around in a building was not his forte.

“Well if they didn’t hear you tearing out the wall, then they are going to hear that” Alenius said with a laugh as she turned to face the stairs “Whoevers there come out now, we don’t plan on harming you” Alenius shouted, there was no point in being subtle now. There was a brief moment of silence followed by the quiet sound of footsteps. At the top of the stairs emerged three skinny looking children dressed in rags, the eldest looking barely older than ten. With him was a girl of around eight and a young boy of seven. Alenius’s hunch had been correct

“Slum orphans” Alenius said as she turned to Claus.
-”Orphans ey?” Claus studied them closely while stroking his chin. They were rather meagre, posed no threat and weren’t exactly prime workers either.
-”So, you live here?” Claus asked, the eldest of them shielded the others as he nodded.
-”Well, sad to say not anymore, however, i am not unreasonable and i’m gonna give you a proposition.” Claus spoke in a no nonsense kind of way and mostly to the eldest of them.
They looked even more miserable after the last sentence, but the eldest of them was at least going to listen to this rich guy who was going to steal their home.

-”I am Claus Rotstein, imperial advisor of war and leader of the Steel Fist, we’re going to renovate this building and make it our base of operations, you three however know this place in and out so i’ll hire you as helpers, pointing out the things to look out for. For this i’ll give you each a half-buckle a day and food. What say you?” Claus offer was genuine.

The two youngest looked to the eldest, who simply stared at Claus in silence for a while. The deal that had been offered was reasonable, too reasonable.

“Since when did you high borns give a damn about what happened to us slummies. Howe do I’d know that your not just going to throw us away the moment you’ve got our manor”.

“If it’s any consolation, neither of us are high born” Alenius said “I myself was raised in this very slum, only I didn’t have a nice fancy manor to stay in. What I did have however was an opportunity, an opportunity to leave this cesspool and make a living for myself. The same kind of opportunity that is being offered to you right now”. The eldest once again fell silent. Normally he wouldn’t believe that people who wore such fancy armour could ever of come from the slums. But the way she talked, the way she walked and looked, she didn’t seem like any of the noblewoman he pickpocketed on a daily bases. Indeed take away the armour and she could easily pass for a slum dweller.

-”As for me i’m hardly a highborn, burgher by birth and i’ve earned my title. As for not throwing you out as soon as i got your manor. I already own it you see, i even got a fancy paper from the emperor. Not gonna show it since you can’t read anyway. So i could have just thrown you out and let the rats have you for dinner. But i am offering you a job, do well and you might even get to work here in this very house with your own room. With possibly even better pay…. So what say you?” Claus even held out his hand for a handshake.
The young boy knew that a proper highborn would never shake hand with one like him, even if a burgher was way higher status than he’d hope to become, this strange man was offering a paying job with food. Left with little choice the boy slowly made his way down the creaking stairs with the other two in tow. Once he reached the bottom he looked at Claus’s hand for a short while, before finally shaking it.

“So what now” He said hesitantly

-”Welcome to the Steel Fist, best mercenary company in the world and now imperial guard. I will show you to Katrina and Roogel who’ll give you tasks to perform.” Claus gave a hearty single shake of the hand with one of his telltale smirks.
The boy clearly sceptical followed him out with the other children in tow, outside Roogel arrived after a while after being summoned to begin the work on the manor house, Roogel got instructions on what the children were for and how they would help.
As he began to lead a group of corpsmen to tear apart the manor house Claus was standing with hands upon his hips next to Alenius.
-”So, you some sort of slum kid ey?” Claus jokingly asked Alenius, who with a sly smile answered.
-”Buy me a drink and i’ll tell you.” Slightly surprised, Claus turned his head to Alenius and let loose a massive grin.
-”Ever tried Orog wine?” He asked with a suggestive tone.

The little reed inn was packed with customers as it normally was at the end of the working week. The tavern itself was located on one of Nyhem’s many bridges and was a popular location and prided itself for having such a wide range of beverages for sale. It was a cosy inn with basic sturdy wooden furniture and a roaring fireplace off to the side. Alenius had already gotten through two pints of bitter and had started her third. She had declined Claus’s offer of buying her ‘Orog wine’, Alasdair had offered a goblet to her once and the taste hadn’t been to her liking.

“So what was it you wanted to ask me again” Alenius said as she took another swig from her tankard.
Claus was enjoying a nice scotch after having drunk a nice strawberry mead, he felt like enjoying some really nice drinks after the war and such a successful day.
-”I asked if you were a slum kid, you told the orphans that. Or was it just to calm them down?” Claus sipped his glass of scotch and exhaled deeply. He was drinking it un-watered to really rinse out the days hardships with the strong burning sensation it brought.

“Aye, what I said was the truth. Though of course it’s not normally something I let people know about, I can’t imagine the nobility thinking to highly of me or his majesty if they knew I was some filthy slum dweller. Come to think of it I think you're the only person, other than Alasdair who knows” She said with a smile, before quickly realising she had used Alasdair's name instead of his title, “I mean the emperor” she stammered as she corrected herself.
-”I think he’ll be fine as long as we don’t call him snake.” Claus said with a sly smirk, clearly not bothered with her lowborn past.
-”Besides, you are hardly any slum dwelling nobody anyway. You are the emperor’s personal bodyguard, that’s something to write home about! Cheers to that!” Claus raised his glass and took a hearty gulp of the strong drink inside and shook his face from the strength.

“If I had a home to write back to” She said with a laugh as she raised her tankard with Claus and finished the rest of her pint. As she drank a question dawned on her, something that she had been meaning to ask Claus for months.

“Say tell me, do you remember that mace you got the king as his coronation present”?
-”Yeah, i think it was a pretty sweet gift. Got the best weaponsmith i could find to do it. Honestly i’d like it for myself but i guess it was a bit fancy for me.” Claus stated, he clearly remembered the gift he’d given to the king, a sleek mirror polished decorated steel mace. Fit for a king.
-”What? Don’t tell me he lost it, or broke it.” Claus jokingly pretended to be worried about.

“For a matter of fact it’s on display in his room right now. It was pretty much the only gift that wasn’t sold off to the highest bidder. His majesty seems so interested in fact that he has send numerous people to investigate the blacksmith who created it, including myself. It’s strange, i’ve never seen him so obsessed over something like this”. Alenius statement confused Claus, he stroke his chin once as he spoke.

-”Really, it is simply a well known blacksmith. I assumed many among the nobility got their weapons from him. Why would someone pay such attention to him?” Claus was genuinely confounded by it all. Had he not gotten a vastly superior blade from the old man Blackwell, he would have gone to the same weaponsmith himself to get a new sword.
-”He does know who it was right? I did instruct him to hand over the mace himself since i wouldn’t be attending the coronation. Otherwise i can easily get hold of him again.” Claus informed Alenius trying to help with the whole mystery.

“Yes but it wasn’t the mace he was interested in, it was the braiding attached to the maces hilt that caught his attention. The first thing he did was send someone to the smith, but he simply said the braid wasn’t of his design and must have added on latter by a member of the steel fist. I was hoping you may shed some light on the matter”.
Literally scratching his head a little, Claus had never heard of the braid. He’d honestly never seen the mace either but didn’t recall any special braided safety loops.
-”Well, i didn’t add it. Perhaps Katrina knows, she was the one who organised most of that exchange, as well as know the right smith to go to.” Shrugging, he felt he had helped all he could in this matter. He realised he finished his scotch, waved the barmaid over to order another mug of strawberry mead, the brewer had really gotten the batch right.

“I’ll have another of the same” Alenius said as the barmaid came over, lifting her mug as she spoke “It seems you have a new scar to add to your collection” Alenius said as she pointed to Claus’s cheek where Alice had struck him.
-”Yeah, she got a good hit in...” He gently rubbed his cheek feeling the numbness of the wound. It had been a real close one.
-”She was good, damn good... So good it feels like she should have got me in fact. Me being so beat up after the war… i dunno, she seemed… troubled by something.” Claus had a rough time choosing his words, he had noticed something with her. Katrinas stories and her skill in the actual fight didn’t make sense.
She had tired way too fast. Claus was obviously contemplating the fight again, on top of that he was beginning to get drunk.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much if I were you” Alenius said as she took her tankard from the barmaid “Maybe she was fighting at her best, maybe she wasn’t, all that matter is that it was a good fight and you won, not to mention you got yourself a handsome scar to remind you of it” Alenius said with a smirk as she took another drink from her tankard, keeping her eyes on Claus.
Getting on a far more interesting train of thought, he gave her a massive smirk and a wink in response. One could claim he wasn’t a womanizer, but that would be lying.
-”Oh i got scars in way more interesting places than the face.” He said as he raised his leg and rested in on a stool beside him.

“You’re not the only one” Alenius said as she put down her drink, this time turning to face Claus, locking her eyes with his.
-”So, what say you? Is it time to get out of here and find a more interesting place?” Claus sly approach was obvious.

“Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but that doesn’t sound like a half-bad idea” Alenius smirked before downing her tankard in one go and standing up from her stool swaying slightly as she did.
With a smile, Claus joined in and downed the rest of his as well, tossing the mug behind him as he was done, as it bounced along the floor he gave Alenius a hand to help her stand up.
As they began to leave, Claus stopped and pointed at the barkeeper.
-”Pour me a serving of your finest… rum. It was rum.” Claus didn’t really make full sense, but he also tossed a gold coin to the barkeeper to pay for both their night out.
The barmaid got him his drink and he looked around before telling Alenius.
-”Go on ahead, i have a thing to do before we leave.” She gave him her best attempt at puppy eyes which Claus just raised his eyebrow at.
-”Don’t worry, you’ll still be trying to getting your boots on when i’m done.” She seemed to be fine with this and prepared to leave, with some difficulty.

Claus went to a window and looked outside, he spoke softly but unbeknownst to him Alenius could still hear him.
-”I got you a glass of rum. You always loved rum, even if you tried to never show anyone your weaknesses… i’d not be here without you, so i raise this toast to you Ashala.” He raised his glass high.
-”To the fallen.” His voice was solemn, even if he tried to be stern. He drank a mouthful of the drink before putting it down at the windowsill.
As he went for his cloak Alenius curiously asked.
-”Who’s Ashala?”
-”A friend, one i owe a lot...” Claus said with a moments blank stare. He quickly recovered and gave Alenius a good stare before grasping her neck and kissing her.
-”Let’s get out of here, this place is far too boring for us!” The two left the inn with the door slightly ajar.

The two had gone to another place which was known for its good rooms and also their large beds. The two shared a night of passion they would not soon forget.
Both were exhausted after the evening and mostly collapsed and dozed off……

The hours passed, Claus was awoken by a loud creak and noticed he was sweating profusely. The blanket felt like it was soaked in soggy warm piss so he took it off and stood up. Alenius was not there, she probably left before him and returned. Befit a personal bodyguard.
The room however was barren, it was hot and stank of smoke and blood. Smells all to familiar to Claus, he tried to find his clothes, gone, he thought the innmaids might have taken them to wash them so he walked to the door and put his left hand on the handle.
The forged iron handle was boiling hot to the touch, Claus recoiled heavily and yelped in pain, at the same time the door swung open and the hallway was alight with fire, the roof covered in dancing yellow flames.
He fell backwards, scrambled away from the door with the flames now pouring in like liquid over the door frame and into his room.
The window, Claus decided the window would be his escape. The gaps in the closed wooden shutters shone with a red haze, sending beams of red illuminated air down to the floor where he lay.
He managed to stand up, his legs barely supporting him as he with both arms ripped the shutters open, they were heavy and something gave way as he opened them, the rotten frames falling off the window frame, revealing the outside world.

The burning sky rained fire unto the city which was completely set alight, the smoke and the fire obscured much but one could make out crevices in the ground where buildings had collapsed into, its burning insides revealing screaming people on fire trying desperately to escape, some casting themselves into the depths of the abyss to end the pain.
The streets were filled with rubble, gloomhawks, a winged lizard vulture native to some parts of the Beilokias circled the devastation on their black leathery wings, waiting to swoop down to claim their next meal.
Claus was stunned for a moment, he stared at the scene with terror and awe, eyes wide open and gasping for air, of which there was none.
It was here he began to see them, hidden away, always behind someone dying, skulking behind a unit of steel fist corpsmen who frantically tried to open a passage through some rubble, behind a woman who was sitting on a ruined house floor sobbing, always in the dark, always barely noticeable.
Strange shadow apparitions, vaguely human in their form but made of smoking shadows. They stared at the corpsmen, the sobbing woman and the fleeing and the dying. Stared with red glowing orb like eyes with an unmatched intensity.

As they stared, those who were observed waned into nothingness, falling apart like the skin of a burning fungi tree, blackening and breaking up into roughly diamond shaped flakes which fell off and blew into the passing hot winds.
He wanted to move, but his legs refused to respond, he saw his corpsmen and wanted to warn them, to call out to them. Flee, they are upon you, they have snuck up on you again, please get away.
But he could do nothing, like everyone else they became dust in the wind.
It was here the shades began to turn their heads, slowly, the plaza below revealed eyes turning towards him, seemingly a hundred invisible forms turned and the red glowing eyes became visible as they turned, the shadowy figures materializing in front of his eyes, hundreds, thousands, all turning ever so slowly and locking eyes with him.
The sense of dread was more than he’d ever felt, he knew these forms, one could not fight them, their gaze was doom.
With a churning terror, he noticed there was two in his room as well, one in each of the opposite corners.
Claus ran, his legs moving with a slow sluggishness unlike any training day as he reached the doorway and ran down the burning hallway.
Voices were calling out to him, distant echoes of orders, sobbing and laughter, but most prominent were the screams…
As he reached the stairs the constant echoes had mostly transformed into a cacophony of screams. The shrieks of the dying, the hissing wheezes of those impaled, the horrifying anguished yells of those melting to death in boiling feces.
He stumbled down the stairs but didn’t fall, all around him he could see the piercing eyes staring deep inside him, deep inside his soul and judging his every move, choice and moment.
-”Claus!” He stopped, a woman had called out. With a serene calm she stood by the burning door, the room filled with rotting corpses covered in flies and rats, the stech and the smoke was unbearable. She was wearing the uniform of the steel fist, the blemished surface of the cuirass bearing remnants of copper linings, making it one of the lieutenants.
-”Why did you abandon me?” She asked in a smooth calm voice, which somehow carried over the roaring fires. Claus noticed the corseque she was wielding and the pavise on her back with the auburn hair which instantly made him recognize her as.
-”Ashala! I wanted to get to you, i wanted to stop you! Why did you do it? WHY!?!!” Claus was screaming and ran towards her filthy coal-covered form.
She simply turned and walked through the doorway, which collapsed behind her.
Claus covered his face from the flying splinters which pinged off his plate covered arms, as usual the weight of his armour was familiar as he ran towards a window.
He looked down and saw his almost naked form run over the corpse ridden floor towards a window. Most of them wore some sort of armour, some were not human at all, the remains of elves, mao and vogani were strewn in their midst, but the overwhelming majority were from the Steel fist.

He had to crawl over the corpse pile to reach the window, the mass of familiar faces blankly staring forward made his stomach turn.
As he crawled he suddenly stopped, as he noticed faint whispers. The mouths were moving on the otherwise pale sometimes rotting corpses.
‘Why did you lead us here?’ ‘You are only here because of us.’ ‘You should give me that drink you owe me.’ ‘You abandoned us, you don’t care if we die.’
Frantic panic overtook him as all to familiar voices judged him, he crawled with unmatched speed as his sloggin weight of the arms and legs left him feeling barely mobile. He reached the window and ripped upon its boarded shutter, he saw a loose chair leg he’d used before and grabbed it and began to swing at the shutter.
The red eyes came closer and closer, not that they moved through the air. But they seemed to slowly blink and open far nearer than one could move in that time.
With a crash the frantic swing opened the shutter which flung open with enough force to break off at the hinges.
He scrawled out and fell down, the ground below was covered in blackened mycelium, a pile of refuse next to him had severed heads of all manner of foes in it.

He ran towards the front of the house, he needed to find Ashala.
As he ran out of the alley, he reached the city wall, outside the wall was a besieging army of dead men walking seemingly forming a inky smokey mass, with the blackened and burnt banners of the Manshrew alliance.
In his peripheral vision, all Claus could see were shining bright eyes.
But a few paces away, she was there, Ashala looking out over the crenelations she had fallen from.
-”Why did you do it?!” Claus helplessly called out to her.
-”I don’t understand, why would you do it, we are mercenaries, i am hardly worth dying for.” He kept asking with tears streaming down from his eyes, but his throat was strangely enough not sore.
Her answer was to turn towards him and stare at him in silence, the noise of the marching army, the Manshrew war horns, the screech of elephants and the roaring fires barraging him.
-”You abandoned me.” She said as she pointed her corseque at him and dramatically dropped it so it hit the ground with a single clang.
A torrent of blood shot from her neck into the air and she began to fall backwards, Claus screamed to her and began to run towards her to try and save her. But she toppled two men over the battlements fell over and they turned to dust.
Claus hung over the crenelations and stared down, crying and repeating the mantra ‘Why, why did you do it, why?’
Creeping up on him was the ever escalating clamour of screams and whispers, as the enemy shadow troopers marched ever forward the red eyed shades came ever closer and closer until Claus stood up, turned around and his face was a single inch from the supposed face of the nightmarish creature.
As it stared unblinking into his eyes Claus shuddered and wept but couldn’t turn away nor blink to escape the horror for a single moment.

Then Claus violently sat up and screamed a horrified wail, he frantically looked around and found himself on the inn-room floor sort of ensnared in a blanket with Alenius sitting next to him with both her feet to the side with a confused and uncomfortable expression.
He panted heavily, almost wheezing as he hyperventilated with heavy breaths, his chest was visibly heaving with the effort and he was shaking.
Claus was confused and erratic, it took several moments before he realised that this was reality and reality was not what had happened before.
He cried streams of tears but didn’t sulk, his throat was unexpectedly mellow. He let his eyes meet with Alenius as he began to calm down a notch.

“What…” Alenius stammered, she had been violently awoken by Claus screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs. Despite her best attempts to wake him he had continued through his nightmare filled sleep, leaving Alenius at a complete loss at what to do. Even after he had awoken she still didn’t know what to say, this wasn’t something she had expected from Claus. Finally she mustered a response “What was that”?

Staring wildly and rapidly changing which of her eyes he focused on, he tried to form a response, his mouth yapping like a fish out of water.
-”I… i think i dreamt… a nightmare...” His response was genuinely confused, not sure of it himself. He became more and more calm as he began to scan his surroundings, seeing the shutters weren’t letting in red light and the bedroom actually being slightly chilly.
He realised his situation, lying on the floor crying his eyes out, he suspected he’d soiled himself and he was glistening with sweat which made his variety of scars stand out even more.
He hid his face and turned away from Alenius, now crying of confused shame.

In response Alenius simply put her hand on his shoulder, unsure whether it would provide much comfort in this circumstance, but right now it was all she could do.

Rhodanthe was not yet used to the fort, though she supposed she'd never get the time to anyhow. Queen Sorcha had been very kind, letting them all in. They had all been well-fed, perhaps better fed than they ever had been. The captain wasn't happy, but the captain wasn't the one was in control here. Most weren't content with staying as guests, and most already had plans to leave the fort and make their luck elsewhere once they were given leave. Some wanted to head off and try their luck as farmers or look for jobs in the city. Others were still planning on fighting for the Southern Alliance, and planned on enlisting to fight. Some of the most important and zealous followers had stayed with her. Barristan had surprisingly decided to stay, and she also had her trusty scout Alan, as well as all the priests and a few others. Yet she was no longer leader of a great host of refugees, and now just a simple retinue of about fifty still followed her.

She was still nervous, though. The Queen had insisted that she stay around for the time being. She had not forgotten how her guest claimed to be a great prophet. For the time being Rhodanthe sat in a spacious yet simple room. She had a good-sized dining table, a roaring fireplace, a closet filled with fresh warm clothes and furs, and a warm bed that was too big for her and covered with huge fur blankets. It was more comfort than she had ever known in her life. Still, she missed the sun of Uzgob, and hated how cold it was here.

There came a knock at her door so suddenly that she gave a start. She quickly got herself up and opened it, and saw that it was one of the officers from the garrison.

"Queen Sorcha sends her regards. Her Majesty invites you to meet her in the gardens."

"Could I bring along Barristan? Queen wants my counsel, I'll be needin' his."

"No need. This is all off the record. No businesses of the state. Her Grace wishes to know you a bit better is all."

"Know me better?"

"You hardly met in the most favorable terms last time. Or did you forget?"

"No sir, I'll be up at the gardens in a minute."

"Remember to observe every courtesy."

"Right. Courtesy. I'll make meself a mountain o' it."

It was true that she had not met the queen in the best of circumstances. She had come to her begging, with thousands of men, women, and children behind her. She wasn't sure if this meeting would go better. Rhodanthe didn't know how she was supposed to observe every courtesy. She was raised in a desert, not in some noble court. She grabbed a nice-looking coat before she went on her way to the gardens. They were filled with beautiful plants and blue and white flowers nothing like the wild things of the north. The whole time though, Rhodanthe had her eyes on the queen, who wore a beautiful dress of whitish-blue tinged with fur trimmings. Rhodanthe had never seen anyone ever look more royal.

"Y'grace," Rhodanthe said with a clumsy bow.

"Rhodanthe, I'm glad you accepted my invitation," Sorcha said.

She didn't know she could have refused. She almost said so out loud, but good sense finally prevailed.

"Course, y'grace. It's an honor that ya wanna meet someone like meself," Rhodanthe said.

"Believe it or not, you have made quite the name for yourself," Sorcha said.

"Beg ya pardons fer it, y'Grace," Rhodanthe said, though felt stupid after she said so. She realized that was not what the queen meant after she said it.

"It's a good thing, Rhodanthe. You have done well. You led your people out from their peril, and never shirked from your duty, no matter how grim things looked. Your duty was heavy for one so young, but you carried it as well as any could," Sorcha said.

"Thanks, y'Grace," Rhodanthe said.

"Well, enough of that," Sorcha said. "Walk with me. And tell me again the story of yourself, in more detail this time."

Rhodanthe did as she was asked. They walked around the garden, and talked. She told the queen everything that she wanted to know. Not just about the riot. She also asked Rhodanthe about where and how she grew up. Rhodanthe told her about Fenick, and the Uzgob desert she was raised in. She especially told her about her divine possessions. By the time they were done they were sitting, and nearly two hours had passed.

"You are an unusual prophet, in more than one way, Rhodanthe," the Queen said. "There were prophets in the time before the Remonnets and before Klebrithy, when Formaroth was split between many rival kingdoms. Yet they were always lucid, and they never had these spells of possession and memory loss."

"Must be I'm a different kinda prophet, y'Grace," Rhodanthe said.

"That much is certain," Sorcha said. "Do you truly believe yourself to be a prophet, and not a mad girl?"

Even after all she had been through Rhodanthe still could not say without doubt that she was, in fact, a real prophet. But Rhodanthe could not say so.

"A prophet's gotta believe in herself," Rhodanthe said.

"So she must," the Queen said with a mischievous smile that revealed she knew exactly what Rhodanthe meant. "I think I'll have you stay a bit longer, if you'd like. I would very much like to see one of these possessions of yours, if that's possible. Are you alright, Rhodanthe? Rhodanthe?"

It was happening so suddenly. She could feel it coming on, as her eyesight blurred and her senses dull before darkness overtook her. Sorcha would have her wish. She would get to see one of her divine possessions.

Herona felt extremely queasy, but she had resolved to keep the food lying in her stomach right where it was, and her resolve was not easily broken. She had been taught that food should not be wasted. This was her second journey to across the sea from Sypius, but the second was not turning out better than the first. She was not much of a sailor, and would feel much better once she was on land once again.

She was standing out on the deck, with her peer Darron by her side, half looking at the ocean and the rest of the small fleet and half looking around the small ship she was standing on. None of the ships belonged to the Church or the Order. All their captains had been paid with bishops' gold to take them across. Blessed Lycaon had apparently taken care of it before they'd set off. Her commanding officer right now was the strawberry-haired nobleman she had saved during the battle in Telmarion. She had remembered him being very proud and arrogant before, but now he seemed solemn and quiet whenever he was with her. He could still be arrogant with others, but there was a sullenness to it.

They weren't too far from the coast now. They could see it in the distance, but it was still quite far away. It would be some time before they reached it. Darron was engaging with her in some small talk about the blueness of the ocean. Herona was more curious how he could still care about that now. Herona had already become silent when she heard someone approaching from behind. She looked, and it was the strawberry-haired nobleman, looking as solemn as could be.

"Sir," Herona said respectfully with a salute. Darron did the same thing with less form.

"At ease," the strawberry-haired nobleman said tiredly.

"I's just tellin' Herona here how beautiful this sea is. Blue's can be," Darron said. "When I's a boy they used to tell us mermaids swam below, where it's this blue."

"I know a story about a mermaid," the strawberry-haired man said. "She fell in love with a landsman, but he refused her. Her heart was broken, and she died of grief."

"Excuse me, sir," Darron said with a cough. "I heard their havin' more drinks down below, and I wanna check to make sure."

And he really did leave them, just like that.

"Well, I'll be," Herona exclaimed. "Can't take much to scare 'em if a story 'bout a dead mermaid'll do the trick."

"I heard he's craven," the strawberry-haired noble said.

"He ain't a bird, sir, far as I know," Herona said. "Though everyone says he ran when the fightin' got tough."

"Some men would hang him for that," the strawberry-haired nobleman said. "But the commander wants every man he can, even the cowards."

Did he want hang Darron? He should have just said so, if that was the case. It didn't matter to her.

"Did anyone ever bother to give you my name?" the strawberry-haired nobleman said.

"No," Herona said.

"It's Raymond du Dros. Remember it, Herona," he said.

"Aye, sir," Herona said.

"Well, looks like it'll be some time until we get to the damned coastline," Raymond said. "We're going to drink until then. That's an order."

"Aye, sir," Herona said.

When they were down below deck Herona drank as much as she was commanded to, and then drank some more. Darron talked to her some, but was afraid of Raymond. The troops were pleased their highborn commander was willing to drink with them, and distressed that he had actually done so.

"That damned battle," Raymond said. "I can't get it out of my mind."

"No one can, sir," Herona said.

"I should never've come here," Raymond said. "Damn my father. Damn him! He told I'd get my taste of glory here. Well, I've had my taste of it, and it tastes like shit. How'd you ever get here, Herona?"

"Here or the choppin' block, sir," Herona said. "M'Lord wanted my sister, she didn't want him. Both dead now. I saw it all meself, too bad for me. Lucked out when Ser Daeleth picked me up, though. I'd be dead otherwise."

"What a surprise, more shit!" Raymond said. "I've had too much to drink. The commander wants me sober when we land. Do what you will until we land, Herona."

"Aye, sir," Herona said.

It would have been foolish for Ser Glynda to assume she had been left to rot simply because she had been left in the capital. She had no assumptions of this sort herself. Glynda knew that there were forces moving here in Nyhem, and she would need to move swiftly and gracefully if she didn't want to fall behind. Lycaon had left clear instructions, and she would follow them.

She stood in the Grand Masters office but was not so foolish as to sit in Lycaon's chair. She schemed in the capital in his place, but she was not his regent. She had summoned a few of her most trusted message-bearers and diplomats into the room, so that they might hear her command. When three came in, a little later than she was hoping, she began at once.

Turning towards the one on the left, she said, "For you I have a letter of the greatest importance, to be delivered to the Emperor himself. See to it that it finds its way to his Imperial hands without any hindrance."

"At once, Lieutenant-Master!" the messenger said.

She turned to the one on the right, and said, "Send this letter to our good High Priest, and give him my regards."

"With haste, Lieutenant-Master!" the messenger said.

Then she finally turned to the one in the middle, and said, "I would have you deliver this letter to Lady Dionisa. The Grandmaster considers her a valuable ally, and I would quite like her as a friend. If possible, I would like you to deliver my desires of friendship in person as well as through the letter. You know the courtesies of this sort of thing well, I know."

"I shall see this done, Lieutenant-Master," the messenger said.

To the magnanimous and unsurpassable sovereign Alasdair I, Emperor of Formaroth, ruler of the continent and overlord to its many kingdoms,

It pleases myself in such a degree that words alone cannot express that I may write to such an esteemed individual such as you, my most holy and just Imperial Sovereign, though it may be unbecoming that one as lowly as myself should address one as rightfully exalted as Your Imperial Majesty. Yet brevity is the most excellent of things in letter-writing, and so I shan't waste ink on compliments of your unparalleled self, however worthy you are to receive them.

Firstly, I congratulate you on your timely announcement of the creation of the Empire of Formaroth, and offer a thousand praises for your tireless defense of the faith and its guardian on earth, the Church. I wish to inform My Imperial Sire that Lycaon has departed from your heavenly city, and has left my own self as his emissary. On his behalf I implore Your Imperial Majesty to appoint a court chaplain who may advise you in all matters of faith and religion. I advise you appoint Tydeus of Acrana, who has served faithfully and loyally. Though I may ask of my munificent Imperial Majesty too many favors, I humbly request entry to your imperial court to join as one of its members. I do not desire to over step His Imperial Grace's favor, and I ask of Your Imperial Majesty no quarters or rooms to house my lowly self.

Your eternal servant,
Ser Glynda of Glarmion

“So sister, how does it feel to be a married woman”? Alasdair said as he lifted a goblet. He was currently seated in his sisters chambers; a small room but filled with many riches. Alasdair was seated across from his sister, a short wooden table lay between them. It had been two days since Isabel had been married to Goodwin and this had been the first time Alasdair had had a chance to talk to her since the event. While Alasdair had attended the marriage, the couple had left to be with each other for the night before he had an opportunity to talk to either of them. Isabel indicated to the servant who had been standing in the corner to fill her goblet with wine before giving a second indication to leave the room. As the servant left Alasdair noticed that he had not seen her work in the castle before. Was she new? A private servant of Isabel’s perhaps? Alasdair quickly put the question out of his mind, it was irrelevant after all. Once the servant left Isabel responded

“It feels like my bed has suddenly gotten a lot more crowded” She said as she slowly sipped from her goblet.

“So what do you think of your new husband” Alasdair said with a small smile

“I believe he will prove to be very useful to furthering the De Reimer’s goals” Isabel replied bluntly

“Yes but I mean, how do you feel about him? Are you...happy with your new husband”? Alasdair said hesitantly, he doubted his sister would ever truly be happy with her spouse, regardless of who it was. Isabel paused for a moment as she thought carefully. Finally she answered

“So long as if he remains loyal to our name, which is now also his name, I shall be...satisfied with this partnership. You needn’t worry about me brother, worry about him and what I will do to him should he ever betray me”. Alasdair let out a quiet sigh, he supposed that was the best his sister would ever be with such a arrangement. “Besides” Isabel continued “you should be more concerned with Patricks wedding. Soon we will all have to travel to Alenius and from what I gather the Blackwell’s will not be very welcoming to us”. Alasdair nodded in agreement as he reflected on his own brief encounter with Eli and how unpleasant he had found it. Worst of all, this time the meeting would take place in Alenius, the Blackwell’s home, somewhere that the De Reimer’s would be at a disadvantage.

“It has been a pleasure as always dear sister, but I am afraid I must be elsewhere” Alasdair said as he stood up from his chair

“O? Pray tell” Isabel said with a smirk.

“Either I am about to witness a weapon that could secure the empires victory. Or I am about to watch a madman waste my time and gold”

***

The smell of animals and manure filled Alasdair’s nose as he left his carriage instantly causing him to cover his nose and mouth with the perfumed handkerchief he held in his hand. Though he despised the smell and filth of Nyhem’s field district there had been a reason he had asked Ignocious to conduct his experiment here. For a start he had no idea how destructive the gunpowder was going to be and he would prefer the keep didn’t get damaged in its demonstration. Secondly, after finding the threatening note on his desk and the escape of Pearl Mazeltof, Alasdair could no longer rely on the keep for security. While the spy likely left the keep after they rescued pearl Alasdair couldn’t know for sure. He didn’t wish any of his enemies to learn of this weapon. The field was small, surrounded by trees and hedges, preventing anyone from outside seeing what what going on. Ignocious had already set up his demonstration and three dummies in dented plate armour stood at the far end of the field along with a hand-sized, tower shaped object located in the middle of the field with Ignocious making some final adjustments completely ignoring the arrival of his emperor. As such it was Lynus who greeted Alasdair instead

“My emperor” He said with a low bow “I am glad you have arrived. I beg for your forgiveness but it would seem we may have to wait a few minutes longer. Ignocious quickly wanted to make a final check over his experiments before demonstrating”.

“I suppose if my livelihood held in the balance I too would want to make sure there were no complications” Alasdair said with a cold smile, reminding Lynus that he could destroy Ignocious’s reputation in an instant if he wasn’t impressed and that to try his patience wasn’t a good idea. To this Lynus bowed once more before running off to Ignocious to try and hurry him up.

It was at that moment that Arianna arrived, escorted and guided by two members of the Steel Fist. She was dressed in her finest clothes, elegant and exotic fabrics from across Formaroth woven into a deceptively rugged and practical garb. It was finery worthy of an Admiral, as befitting her lineage, with none of the restrictive elements of classic Nyhem high fashion. At her side, a short sword, as much a tool as a weapon, and fairly unnecessary for self defense. High boots ensured the filth of the field district had little chance of ruining her clothing.

She had requested an audience with the new Emperor, on behalf of the Tide Masters and the King of the Summer Isles. She had expected to meet him in his palace, making a meeting in the fields rather a surprise. Yet, from what she could see now, there was going to be some kind of demonstration. She could only assume that the Emperor wanted her to witness it as well.

“Your Majesty.” She said as she approached Alasdair, stopping at respectful distance and bowing low.

“Ah lady Zerrikan” He said as he pulled his handkerchief away from his mouth “I am glad to see you have arrived in time for the demonstration. It would be good to have both an expert on magic and ship combat to judge the effectiveness of Ignocious’s weapon” he gestured to Arianna to stand as the two steel fist mercenaries walked back over to resume their position as Alasdair’s bodyguards. Originally Alenius was supposed to have escorted Arianna here but she had not returned to the keep this morning, leaving Alasdair to the mercy of the two morons Claus had left him. Trying to work with those two conversing outside his door had proven to be most difficult. Never before did he think two individuals could have a three hour conversation about the taste of cheese.

Arianna looked around quickly, slightly confused at the mention of a weapon being demonstrated. She could see several targets, but no sign of any weapon large enough to be relevant in ship to ship engagements.

Turning to the King, she spoke. “I would be happy to observe such a display, but your majesty, respectfully, I see no weapon here large enough to have a meaningful effect on a ship. Has Ignocious devised some new form of magic?”

“Likewise” Alasdair said blunty, even he was starting to doubt whether investing in Ignocious had been a good idea. “Though it looks like he is finally ready for us” Alasdair finished as he saw Ignocious smugly walking up towards them.

“Addressing his majesty and...all the others” Ignocious said while waving his arm in a dismissive way, causing Lynus to cover his face with his hands “What you are about to witness, is history, a weapon that will alter warfare forever” He said waiting for applause, though he received none as everyone simply looked at him with blank faces. Though this seemingly did nothing to hinder Ignocious’s enthusiasm “But for course actions speak louder than words so allow me to demonstrate” He said giving a over exaggerated bow before walking over to the cylinder shaped object in the center of the field. He gestured to the side of him as an assistant handed him a smoldering torch. As he took it he lit what looked like a long piece of string hanging off the tower shaped object causing it immediately to spark. After a few seconds it shot up high into the air causing Alasdair and his entourage jerk their heads quickly towards the sky. There it exploded into a bright red light for around ten seconds before gently burning out.

“As you can see, with this new technology we no longer require mages to send up flares into the sky allowing any ordinary scout to signal the army from miles away.” Ignocious said proudly. Alasdair’s face remained unchanged. While indeed a useful tool, it alone was not worth the amount of money he had spent to fund this research. Ignocious had to impress him in his next demonstration.

Arianna was somewhat surprised when the barrel lurched into the air, but the resultant flash of color was hardly noteworthy in her eyes. She’d seen second year illusion students under Lanaya achieve a similar effect. She glanced over at the Emperor, and though she did not know him, even she could see that he was not impressed.

This time Ignocious seemed a bit disheartened by the lack of interest shown by the emperor, however this had been nothing compared to what he had planned, and he knew his next demonstration would not disappoint “but of course this wasn’t what you were hoping to see this-” Ignocious said as he pointed to two of his assistants who were carrying what looked like a giant ceramic vase filled with a dark sand like substance. From a distance another man with a bow (a sellsword based off his appearance) readied a flaming arrow. “-is what you were hoping to see. This weapons will render castle walls useless, make plate armour trivial and counter even the finest of battle mages. Originally based on the weapons used by the Riogail Sovereignty, this will put the empire at an advantage over any enemies it may face. While it may be a bit big now with further funding I will easily be able to reduce it to a carriable size.” Ignocious said with a smile, conveniently forgetting to mention that reducing the size will also greatly reduce the explosives power.

As soon as the assistants placed the vase in front of the plate armored dummies they immediately sprinted away. Once they were out of range Ignocious gave the signal to the Sellsword who after lining up his arrow, fired his bow. The arrow landed squarely in the vase causing a instant explosion of massive proportions. The dummies were engulfed by fire and smoke, the ground around it was flung into the air and the vibration caused Alasdair to shrink back in fear. Lynus himself fell backwards upon it’s detonation. Ignocious by comparison simply stared into the explosion unfazed, simply admiring his work. Once the smoke cleared the dummies were gone and the steel plate lay scattered in hundreds of pieces on the ground amongst the huge crater it had created. After a minute or so of admiring Ignocious turned back around to face his emperor. Alasdair simply responded with a smile, it was clear he had succeeded in pleasing his emperor.

Before the blast, Arianna had braced for something large. Seeing men sprinting away as they did had made her wary, and thanks to that she barely staggered at all. The blast was significant, indeed rivaling the spells of destruction channeling covens or master destructionists, just as Ignocious had promised.

Yet she could already see problems.

Once Alasdair had recovered, she turned to him and calmly began to speak. “Your Majesty. I would caution you not to be overawed by this strange powder.” She turned a little to the side and spoke louder then, to make sure Ignocious could hear. Her tone was a mix of professional excitement and disdain. “How will I get this onboard an enemies ship? And once there how will I light it? A rune bolt, conventional catapult shot or pitch shot all cause consistent, reliable damage to hostile ships. But a multi stage weapon? Impressive only against fields and scarecrows. Furthermore, this man has displayed two seperate devices to accomplish only a fraction of what a single mage can do.”

“My my, only one demonstration and already the circle is getting nervous” Ignocious said with cocky smile, clearly happy with the results of his experiment. “I can assure you that with further funding I will make this weapon far easier to use. I hope to mirror something that the Sovereignty have already developed, a throwable explosive that has proven to be quite effective against the elven mages who, as we know, are far more skilled than anything the circle can offer”

“If you can do what you claim then such a weapon would be a great asset to the empires arsenal and as you have shown today you have already lived up to your word once” Alasdair pondered as he turned to Arianna “Don’t misunderstand me, I understand the usefulness of mages, on the battlefield and elsewhere. However magic is a gift that only a handful of us are able to use”.

Arianna shot a cold glance at Ignocious for his comment, but refused to satisfy him with a direct response. Instead she turned back to Alasdair and spoke again, this time forgetting who she was speaking to. “Do you really want power akin to that wielded by mages in the hands of whoever pays that greedy little man?”

Ignocious through a cold glance back at Arianna “I am not simply a ‘greedy man’, I have no interest in money unless it can be used to further my research. I am a alchemist and the only lust I have is a lust for knowledge”. At this Alasdair raised his hand

“Enough, I have already made my decision” Alasdair said with clear annoyance in his voice, it seemed that both of these individuals had forgotten who that were bickering in front of “I gave you my word that I would continue to fund all your projects if you delivered on your promise, which you have done. Very well Ignocious you are now on the crowns payroll, I hope you continue to be a asset to the empire in these perilous times” To this Ignocious and Lynus gave their emperor a bow before walking off to collect their equipment, before he left however Ignocious gave Arianna a smug smile, just to annoying her one last time.

“Now Lady Zerrikan” Alasdair said as he turned to face Arianna “What was it you wished to discuss with me”

If this had been a tavern on the docks, Arianna might’ve continued the argument with a sharp retort. If she had had a few to drink, she might’ve turned it into a brawl. But this was an open field in front of the Emperor of all Formaroth… It was not the place for pettiness. Instead, she dismissed Ignocious with a haughty flick of her head, ignoring him and focusing on Alasdair.

“Yes your Majesty.” She replied, then waited until Ignocious was thoroughly out of earshot. “I am here in Nyhem at my fathers behest, to represent the King of the Summer Isles, and the Admiralty of the fleet.”

“I see, then it seems we have much to discuss. Walk with me” Alasdair said as he made his way towards the carriage. As he approached one of the steel fist members opened the door for him and he stepped inside. Once seated he turned his head to face Arianna again “So, what is it the ‘king’ of the summer Isles has to say” Alasdair added emphasis when mentioned the king. In truth the man was hardly even a ruler, with next to all of the power in the summer Isles residing in with the circle.

Arianna followed him into the carriage, taking a seat and feeling right at home couped up in a tiny box. She wondered if Alasdair was aware that in the Summer Isles, referring to King’s authority was typically a euphemism for the complicated interlocking power structures that governed the island.

“The King would like to know what his place, and the place of the Isles, will be in the new Empire.”

“I see, well if king Leohart and the circle are worried about losing their power they needn’t so. As long as if Leohart, and in turn the circle, swear the same oaths of loyalty to me when I was king I doubt the Isles will see much change”. This was in fact only partially true, Alasdair did eventually intend to take a more direct control of the circle. However for now it was too risky; if he started to exert more control over the Isles then there was every chance they would defect over to the Blackwells, a possibility Alasdair did not want to entertain. “However it is not the empire the summer Isles should fear, it is their own detachment from the rest of the empire that will be their downfall. Even you cannot deny the circles impartibility when it comes to dealing with matters outside its borders. It is why alchemists like Ignocious and Lanaya’s mage collective are gaining so much influence as of late, and the more important they become the less influential the circle will be”.

“The King is not concerned with Lanaya.” Arianna began. Technically, what she said was true. The King, the nobility, the traders and the admiralty were not worried about Lana. But Arianna had no way of knowing whether the Circle leadership was becoming concerned. She was not privy to that level of knowledge. Not that she would’ve told Alasdair, as she was herself nominally loyal to Lana.

“But he will be pleased to hear that you do not intend to change our arrangement. The Isles are not fond of change. Especially not when the rest of Formaroth is so… unstable.” Arianna realised only after she said this that it could be taken as an insult, but she chose to push on either way. “The King would like to be kept apprised of Imperial efforts to counteract the Johannian Heresy however. This is a matter of great importance to the Isles, and they would prefer to see the Heretics remain disorganized and weak.”

Alasdair raised his eyebrow as Arianna mentioned the chaos that Formaroth was currently in, but decided to ignore it. “If he, and I suppose as an extension the circle, are so concerned with the heretics perhaps they could contribute to heretics downfall. I recently got word that the heretics in Uzgob, under the leadership of a man called Fenick, have seized the castle town of Medea. From there they continue to spread chaos across the already fragile north. My brother has taken an army northwards to put down this rebellion, though it will take him a while to mobilize his forces. Perhaps the summer isles could send a battalion of battle mages to prevent the spread of the heretics until my brother arrives. The closeness of the summer isles combined with the relative small numbers means that the circles mages can arrive in Uzgob long before the Cawanor army can”.

While a battalion of mages would definitely be useful in stopping Fenick and his supporters, this was also a good way of getting closer with the circle. By having them fight a common enemy together, the circles opinion on him would likely improve and give him a foothold with the mages, from which he could start to manipulate the inner workings of the circle so that they favoured the empire.

Arianna thought for a moment. She could only recommend the deployment of battlemages to the Circle, but thanks to her name her recommendations did hold a great deal of weight.

“Yes.” She eventually said, somewhat unsurely, before gaining a little more confidence again. “Yes, that is a good idea. Given the nature of the enemy, I will also recommend they be guarded by several units from the army. Beyond that though, the Zephyr Fleet is uniquely positioned to make the journey around the cape to secure Fort Scarab before it can be taken by Heretics. If you wish your majesty, I could even take my own flotilla there within the next few days.”

Naturally, she was already thinking of this as a way to perhaps make a name for herself and become famous on her own terms.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, however as far as I am aware fort Scarab is already well protected by the Uzgobian army. Your involvement shan't be needed”. Alasdair paused as he considered something “Tell me, you know Lady Dionisa, do you know of her current whereabouts”?

Arianna looked slightly dejected at Alasdair’s rejection of her idea, but quickly moved on. “Does anyone ever?” She jokingly said in response to the question, before realising it was a serious question. “I do not. I was expecting to meet her again after the party, but her seneschal informed me she didn’t return that night. I assumed she had taken to the wing and ventured out of the city for some time away.”

“I see, she was absent from my last council meeting a couple of days ago. I had hoped she would have returned on her own by now but it seems I will have to send someone after her. Though if she isn't at her home I am unsure where to look”. Alasdair pondered for a while, this seemed remarkably similar to what had happened the night Aurelia went missing, would Lanaya too soon turn up dead in a ditch? It seemed Nyhem was becoming increasingly dangerous with the passing of time.

“It is always possible she has decided to take a long break in the wilds nearby, but I find it unlikely she would be so out of touch for so long. I always heard that she despised having to sleep outdoors. I will task my familiar with searching for places accessible only by air.” Arianna was beginning to get concerned, and suddenly found herself wishing she knew more about Lanaya’s private life of late. Knowing as little as she did, she was forced to go on the elder mages reputation from the College instead of providing more useful, accurate information. “As a master illusionist, if she does not want to be found, then we will not find her… But I find it unlikely she would abandon her duties so. More likely something has happened within the city limits. Perhaps she somehow fell victim to the rising anti-mage sentiment?”

It was then that Arianna noticed they were already well and truly back into the city. They would be passing the docks soon, and she glanced out, then back at the Emperor, wondering if he had any more questions for her.

Alasdair paused as he considered what Arianna had said. Given the current heresy situation it would make sense that they would be a likely suspect. However had they caught Lanaya they would likely be making it known to the population of Nyhem rather than keeping it quiet. “I suppose what you say does make sense. It is certainly something to look into, still I do wonder…” Alasdair said as he trailed off into thought.

Arianna respectfully waited for the Emperor to continue his thought. When the moment passed and there was no continuation, she simply said. “Your Majesty?”

Alasdair looked towards Arianna in response “It is nothing. It would seem I will have to send out patrols to look for her, it wouldn’t reflect well on me if both of my magisterial advisors ended up dead under my rule” Alasdair said sullenly.

“I sincerely hope Lanaya is alright.” Arianna replied quickly and genuinely. “I will have my crew aid in the search of the area around the city. I am not the only one who can take to the sky for a better view.”

“Very good” While his tone remained neutral, he greatly appreciated the additional help, the sooner they found Lanaya the better. “It would appear we are passing the docks, if you wish I could command the driver stop the carriage so you may get out?”

“Yes, thank you your majesty.” Arianna waited until the command had been given, and once the carriage pulled to a stop she opened the door and leaped to the ground, not waiting for the driver to lower any steps into position. She was no soft noble, and wanted to get back to her ship - she had work to do.

The hours were quickly passing by and with the help of a fellow Uzgobian soldier he was equipping his armour. It had been adapted to better suit his new predicament but the design remained similar. There was once a time where he could have done it by himself but it felt like a lifetime ago. A sailor equipped wearing the Neptunian naval battle armour entered the cabin.
“Lord Mandarass, the war council is ready for your orders.”
“Tell them I’ll be there in a moment. I’m not as fast as I used to be.” Andris said.
The Neptunian soldier nodded his head and closed the door behind him. It was not long after that the last piece of armour was equipped.
“Thank you soldier.” Andris said “Now get to your battle station.”
“Yes Sir.”
Again Andris was alone. He had sent Fajera, the girls and the rest of the civilians on a couple of ships at the rear of the fleet, to get them away from the battle. He knew it wasn’t the smartest move but he wasn’t going to risk the casualties, he wasn’t going to lose his family again.

***

The council was waiting for orders, and they were all crowded around a map of the island of deliverance, the surrounding sea as well the estimated locations of the enemy fleet. Andris had just entered the room and joined them at the table.
“I know you would all like to hear that I have a plan that’ll help us win the battle.” Said Andris “But I’m not an expert of seas and the person I trusted the most on that subject gave his life to save mine. So I will hand over command to Lady Neptuna and Captain Nicol as they suggest their strategy.”
“Thank you Lord Mandarass.” Freya said “Some you might be aware of Morian Antherion’s reputation as a naval commander. His viciousness and his knowledge of naval warfare makes him a very formidable enemy.”
“From what we do know Morian has placed his ships here.” Nicol said as he pointed to the natural port of Deliverance. “Here, his navy will be limited in terms of movement but our own ships will be under fire from their artillery.”
“But it’s something that we’ll have to risk.” Freya added “But we can’t risk an open and prolonged battle, Morian knows these parts of the seas better than anyone.”
“That’s why we’ll use our remaining battle mages to bombard the enemy ships. Nicol said “The chaos within their ranks will create the opportunity that we need to overcome them.”
“And what then?” Asked Andris “What can we expect from the enemy then.”
“We can’t expect them to fight till the last man surrenders, it is not an option for them.”
“Out of Loyalty?” Andris questioned
“Fear.” Freya replied
The whole council took a minute to let that information sink in. They realised that this would be one of the Alliance’s hardest fights. But at this point the Alliance was on its last leg. They needed Deliverance if they wanted to survive.
“I think it’s safe to say to say that it’s the best plan we have.” Concluded Andris “I’m sure that Lady Neptuna and Captain Nicol will assign each and every one of us an important role for the battle. This will be a hard fight but if we all pull our strength together I am certain we can win, and if this is to be our end then it has been an honour to have fought alongside all of you.”

A couple of hours had passed but the island nation of Deliverance was finally coming into view. The air felt wet and cold probably the coldest Andris had ever felt in his life. Deliverance was the complete opposite to Uzgob. It was wet, freezing and teeming with greenery. Then as they got closer to the island Andris could see the castle of the Antherions. It seemed to loom over the land like an ominous omen for any sailors approaching the island but Andris would not let a simple building intimidate him.

Each leader of the Alliance commanded their own group of ships, each with their own tasks to complete in the battle ahead. Andris commanded one of the War Holks which contained a crew of both Mandarassan and Neptunian soldiers. Andris stood by the helm to give any orders to the crew at a moment’s notice.
Then the enemy ships came into sight but something was wrong. They were nowhere near the port but it instead seemed that the entirety of the enemy fleet had sailed out of the port to engage with the Alliance. The enemy fleet consisted of Longships which were more manoeuvrable than the War Holk and all were filled with battle hardened pirates. Leading the fleet was the Sea Wolf, the flagship of the fleet and commanded by Morian Antherion himself. It was much more distinctive than the other ships, it was twice the size of any of the longships. The flag was pure red with the image of an orange phoenix with its wings spread as if it was about to take flight. But it was the front of the ship that caught Andris’s attention; Hundreds of skulls were tied to the front, to the point that the bow was completely hidden under the mass of skulls. Andris could easily make a guess as to who they once belong to and where he would end up if they were to lose the battle.

Both fleets were gaining speed towards each other, when suddenly the longships started to maneuver themselves away from the Holks at first Andris didn’t understand what they were doing but when he started to see Lady Neptuna’s ship change to the defensive position he understood.
“Defensive manoeuvres!” he shouted.
Within an instant, the order was barked at least a dozen times and the men were frantically raising the sails, the helmsman turning the helm as quick as he could. Andris could now see that the Longships made the maneuver to avoid the mages spells and siege equipment. Once again the longships repositioned themselves. They were now heading towards the Holks.

Suddenly fireballs and debris were in the air. They were able to hit a few of the longships before they got too close to make a collision but the overall speed of the longships was too much for the mages and the siege equipment to make any significant damage to the fleet. In the distance Andris saw one of the longships pound straight into the side hull of a distant Holk, soon the longships crew were jumping on board and overwhelming the Uzgobian crew on board. Andris looked around and saw nothing but chaos and then within the distance he could see the Sea Wolf quickly approaching his ship, the many skulls of Morian’s enemies gazing into Andris’s eyes. It was clear that they he was soon in for a fight. He unsheathed his sword.
“Brace for im…!”
But it was too late.

Andris had bumped his head from the impact, he went to pick himself up but struggled to stand, what with his lack of an arm. Once he stood Andris could see that the front part of the ship was gone and that the Holk was already beginning to sink. Most of the men aboard were not sailors and hadn’t even seen the sea before let alone know how to swim. If his men fell into the water, then they would be as good as dead.. But luck was at hand. The Sea Wolf had yet to dislodge itself from the Holk. If they were quick, Andris and his crew could jump on-board and escape a watery tomb. If they were really lucky and defeated Morian, then it could severely drop the morale for the pirates.
There was little time to lose.
“Quickly men, we board the Sea Wolf!”
Despite their initial confusion, upon seeing their commander bravely leading the boarding party the whole crew cheered, unsheathing their swords and followed Andris onto the sea wolf. Surprising some of the enemy crew a battle on the Sea Wolf had begun. Andris, accompanied by two Mandarassan bodyguards were the first to board the ship. Andris looked around the ship he could see that most of his own soldiers were struggling against morian’s pirates. These were an enemy that they had never faced before, they were killers through and through who knew no other existence other than war. It was fortunate that Lady Neptuna had given him some of her sailors, without them Andris’s forces would have been crushed. They fought like it was a second nature to them. They glided across the deck and cutting their way through the enemy. While the soldiers of house Neptuna’s may have been lacking on the land, on the sea they were without rival.
“Mandarass!” cried out a voice.
Andris turned to see Morian himself approaching him with his rapier unsheathed. Andris knew he didn’t stand a chance against him, not now after the loss of his arm.
“Protect Lord Mandarss!” one of the bodyguards cried.
The both of them charged at Morian hoping that together they could overcome him.
“No wait!” Shouted Andris.
But it was too late, as the first bodyguard reached him, Morian dodged before quickly slashing the bodyguard’s chest three times, causing him to collapse on the deck in a pool of blood. When the second bodyguard reached him, Morian simply parried before thrusting his sword into the guards the throat. When he pulled the sword out, the guard collapsed and started slowly choking to death.

Nothing now stood in the way between Morian and Andris. He had no choice but to fight him even though he knew it would be a losing battle. Andris would have to be smart about this.
“I was expecting a good fight when I heard that the ‘great’ Andris Mandarass. The man who defied two kings, the man who bested Heylot and Beatrice Blackwell in single combat. The man who lead the forces of the northern kingdoms and the fool who dared to take Deliverance away from me. But this” Said Morian with a smirk on his face as, with his sword, he pointed to Andris’s missing arm “This is pathetic”.
“Well when we heard that we were fighting common pirates we knew that this would be an easy fight. If it’s a challenge you were looking for then you’ve found the right man.” Said Andris and he composed himself and his sword out and ready for a fight.
Morian burst out in laughter. “Very well Mandarass if it’s a quick death you’re looking for then don’t expect it from the likes of me.” Morians face quickly hardened “I will make you regret ever calling the pirates of deliverance ‘common’, before this day is done you will know our strength and will regret the day you ever sailed near our shores”.
“Very well then.” Said Andris “I’ve never fought a cyclops before but there’s a first time for anything.”
Andris could see the rage build up in Morian’s face. Then suddenly Morian let out an almighty roar of rage while unleashing a flurry of thrusts forwards, reveling in the violence as he used his anger to fuel himself. Andris was only able to deflect the thrust away but the strength in his left arm was already waning. It reminded him of his ‘fight’ against Giles Blackwell, Andris was not fighting a man he was fighting against pure rage. Morian then swung his sword towards Andris’s head. Andris barely deflected it but the strength behind the swing was too much. Andris’ sword flew out of his hand and straight into the sea. Defenceless, Andris ran to the helm away from Morian. Morian was shocked at first but then started to laugh a cruel cackle. He no longer saw this as a fight but more like a game.

Andris had reached the helm but Morian was quickly on him, cutting down several members of Andris’s crew as if they were nothing. Andris had to think of something. As he eyed the ships steering wheel an idea started to form.
“For a cyclops you’re pretty fast. I had always heard that they were big, lumbering creatures. But so far I’m not impressed. I once fought a man who could kill a fly in mid-flight like that.” Andris said as he snapped his fingers. “Come on then ‘cyclops’, show me that you’re faster. Come on!”
Again the raged built up in Morian’s face and with another yell of rage, he thrusted his sword towards Andris. Andris managed to just avoid it, gaining a nasty cut across his arm in the process. Morian’s rapier stabbed violently into the helm of the ship, getting stuck in the process. Andris took the opportunity and quickly turned the steering wheel disarming both Morian and swerving the ship making everyone topple to the floor, with some unfortunate people falling into the ocean. Morian managed to gain his footing and laughed.
“Impressive, but not good enough.” Morian said, then he pulled a hidden dagger from his boot. “Always be prepared. That’s my motto.”
Andris saw that he was in a sticky predicament he had nothing to defend himself with and Morian didn’t seem like a man who would be tricked like that for a second time. Could this really be the end for him? Then he suddenly heard something, as if something was flying through the air. He looked up to see a giant flame ball heading straight to where he was standing.
“Incoming!” Andris yelled to his soldiers. Morian, so caught up in his rage and bloodlust was too focused on Andris to know what was coming as he lept towards Andris with a murderous intent in his eyes. But in that time Andris had already lept out of the way with the force of the explosion knocking him off the ship. Everything went black.

Andris had woken up to find himself on the deck of Lady Neptuna’s ship. He was bruised up, had a few cuts from the explosion but overall he was fine. Morian was not as lucky as Andris would later find out. Captain Nicol later told him that he had found Morian’s body floating in the sea with a large piece of shrapnel lodged in his chest. Andris enquired about the aftermath of the battle. Neptuna explained that the explosion from the Sea Wolf was the turning point of the battle. After that many of the deliverance militia who had been forced to fight lost their morale and surrendered to the overwhelmingly larger alliance fleet some surrendered but many fought to their deaths. However Morian’s pirates had fought to the last man refusing to surrender even after defeat was clear, intent on killing as many as they could before disappearing into the abyss. Andris recommended that every man was to be given a proper sea burial even Morian, out of respect to the traditions of Deliverance, and to a truly powerful, fearsome and terrifying opponent. But the Alliance had done it again, in their darkest hour they had been victorious, and most importantly hope had returned to its soldiers. They could now head towards Deliverance which was to become their home base until the time came for Alliance to return to Formaroth and win the war.

8 Days.

That was Lana’s best reckoning for how long she had been stuck in this cell - at least from the time when she first woke up here. It was hard to keep count, but the effort was one of the few things helping to keep her sane. She had kept watch for the rise and fall of light from the tiny window at the top of the room, making a mental note of it whenever she could - which was not always, as she had passed out from pain at least twice.

Thanatos had been meticulous in his torture. At first, he had made shallow cuts on her bare arms with the devilishly sharp dragon bone blade - hurting her as much by using the weapon Eli had gifted her as he did with the actual injuries. Then he bound the cuts and treated them - treating her roughly as he did, but being professional about the treatment all the same.

Then, he began to beat her, though only lightly by most standards, she was unaccustomed to pain and every strike he landed stung and bruised with plenty of effectiveness. Always he avoided her face, and by necessity, her hands, which remained very effectively bound. She was far from stoic enough to resist the urge to cry out in pain, sob and cry. Even gagged as she was, it was not long until her voice was hoarse from screaming.

At the beginning and end of each day, he ungagged her and asked once again if she would sign away her lands and privileges to him, along with providing a small amount of bread and water. Every time she refused, spitting brutal epithets at him before he inevitably gagged her once more.

On the third day, Thanatos had begun by violently tearing her dress off, and she had feared the worst. But to her surprise, he seemed not to care at all for her body, simply seeking more flesh to cut. On the third day, rather than bind the cuts he made, he began to cauterise them instead. Heating the blade of the knife and pressing it to her sliced and bleeding skin. It was too much for her to handle, and had been the first time she lost consciousness from pain. After that, he kept burning her, eventually ceasing to cut at all in favor of it. He seemed to take perverse pleasure from it, especially when she adapted enough to the pain to remain conscious.

How she had survived eight days of this she did not know. Perhaps it was the small mercy that it could be worse - every time one of the other thugs accompanied Thanatos for any reason, they would stare lecherously, hungrily at her nearly naked form, and she was terrified that one of the brutes might be allowed to rape her. She didn’t think she could deal with that. Not at all.

Or perhaps it was the sheer spite and hatred that burned in her heart. She may be caged now, but even now she was certain she would have the chance to wreak terrible vengeance upon this thuggish mundane.

It could also have been the fact that Thanatos clearly wanted her alive. If he went too far, he would never get his family holdings back. She may not have had an heir, but she had enough influential nobles chasing her holdings that if she died Thanatos would only get to see the estate torn up and divided between greedy, ruthless would-be-lords. That, she imagined, was why he was making such an effort to keep her injuries well cared for.

It was then that Thanatos returned. Lana could not help but wonder what new torment he had in store for her today. As had become the norm in the morning, he brought food and water, opened her cell and ungagged her so that she might eat. She hungrily gulped it down, staying silent until she had finished, only barely noticing out the corner of her eye that two of the thugs had also brought in a very large bucket filled with water.

“Once again. This can all end right now if you simply sign this document Lanaya.” Thanatos said expectantly.

She looked at the piece of parchment, seeing an escape… for a moment, doubt crept into her mind. She remembered the pain of the last week and winced. Then the hatred flooded back in. That parchment was defeat. It was humiliation. Signing it would end her political career. She would never rule Formaroth if she did. She looked up at Thanatos and glared. “I will endure your pathetic mundane torture. And I will enjoy sentencing you to a lifetime in Nyhems dungeon.” He started walking towards her, and she braced for the incoming strike even as she continued. “You have nothing. You are nothing. No one will remember -” Rather than hitting her, Thanatos had reached around the back of her head and roughly grabbed a handful of her hair.

He began to drag her out of her cell towards the water. She staggered forward, realising only moments before Thanatos forced her to her knees what the water was for. She had only barely enough time to shriek “No wai-” Before he pushed her head down into the water.

She tried to cry out in shock at the coldness of the water but could only hear a muffled gurgling as the water rushed into her throat. She tried to recoil back, but Thanatos held her head firmly underwater. Panic set in quickly, but no matter how she writhed she could not get free. The thought occurred to her - in some far off quiet corner of her mind, that it would be ironic for her to die gulping water in a bucket after she had swum so freely as a dolphin and forged myths of mermaids in Nyhem.

And then it was over - Thanatos pulling her out of the water as swiftly and firmly as he had put her in it. She gasped for air, coughing and sputtering at the water she had breathed. Thanatos looked on silently, and just as she was starting to recover, he forced her back down again.

It only now, as death felt so near, that the tiny corner of her mind not enveloped in panic began to contemplate the idea of sacrificing the life of another mage to save herself. She wanted revenge - and more than that - escape, so much now, that picturing Miriam tortured or killed was beginning to seem a necessity…

It was at about that moment that a letter was being delivered to the Knights of St. Elenor in Nyhem, addressed to Ser Glynda. Curiously, it seemed to have pieces written in two different hands. The first, clean and ordered, every bit the hand of an official used to writing formal letter. The second was much rougher, clear, but hasty evidently not the work of a noble.

To the most Holy Ser Glynda of the Knights of Saint Elenor,

I, Seneschal Victor Elan of House Dionisa, write you now due to the absence of my mistress, Duchess Lanaya Dionisa, Magister of the Circle. I hope you forgive the tardiness of this reply, for my mistress is not oft so indisposed as to provide no input on such official business. Nonetheless, I am aware of previous collaborations between her grace and the Grand Master of your order, and in light of his departure from the city, I am quite sure that she would be eager to meet with you to continue to build an equitable relationship. I shall notify her of your interest in such a meeting the moment she is no longer indisposed.

Your humble Servant, Seneschal Victor Elan.

Ser Glynda,

I know it is not my place to address you so directly, but I served alongside Ser Hansen and I have nothing but the utmost respect for your order. I don’t think Victor properly relayed the direness of the situation - Mistress Lanaya has disappeared before, sure, but never like this, and never for so long without telling us. I fear some ill fate has befallen her.

If you still respect the deal that Lanaya and your Grand Master made, please help me search for her. The House Guard is stretched thin already and I know your order is well respected in the city.

Guard Captain Moros of House Tha Dionisa

“Pregnant, Already”! Alasdair exclaimed as he listened to his sister’s announcement. His sister had requested for his presence in her room, though she hadn’t told him why. As such this revelation had shocked him greatly. Though his shock soon turned to happiness “it seemed you wasted no time” he said with a laugh “but still, it is so soon, you have only been with him for just over a month”?

“I may have visited his room a few times before the marriage” She said with a smile “To help cement his loyalty to our family, and just for a bit of fun-” she continued with a mischievous smile.

“Yes, fine I understand” Alasdair quickly interrupted, not wishing to hear about his sister’s sexual exploits. “Who else knows”? he said trying to change the subject. Isabel laughed at her brother’s squeamishness before replying.

“Well Goodwin of course knows. I have also sent a message to Patrick and our cousins down in Cawanor, letting them know that there will soon be a new De Reimer in the family” she said as she affectionally stroked her midriff. “One who will not have to endure the same lost that we did” though she was still smiling there was a certain degree of sadness in her voice “Do you think mother and father would have been proud, of all we have achieved for our family”.

“There is no doubt in my mind they would be” Alasdair replied, “and I am sure they would have been overwhelmed with joy to learn that their daughter would be giving them their first grandchild”. Alasdair was glad to see that his words had successfully comforted his sister. Though she had never said so, it was clear that she had been the most badly affected by their parent’s loss. While he and Patrick had channelled their grief and sorrow into their anger against house Hieze and their determination to overthrow them, Isabel was still only a child of ten and couldn’t fully understand or come to terms with what had happened. He suspected that Isabel’s severe trust issues with anyone outside of the family stemmed from the early lost she experienced, not that he dared to ask her.

“Thank you, brother that’s kind of you to say”.
“It is the truth. I don’t suppose you have thought of a name yet”?

“Not yet, but when I do, you’ll be the first to know” Isabel replied.

“When you decide? Doesn’t Goodwin have a say in the child’s name”? Alasdair said with a raised eyebrow.

“He can try, but if he dares suggests some stupid Wulfrick name he’ll regret it” She replied half joking half serious “How about yourself brother, any news from you”.

“Other than the heretical movement up north, nothing of interest. Although Lady Dionisa has been missing for a while now. It’s not as if she hasn’t disappeared before, but this is strangely familiar to what happened to Aurelia, I can’t help but worry that I may soon need to get another magisterial advisor”. Isabel seemed unconcerned by the news.

“So, what does it matter if she’s gone, just replace her with Alice, she’s served house De Reimer for years” Isabel said nonchalantly. To which Alasdair let out a bemused laugh.

“Alice would be a poor replacement for Lanaya, while she is a very knowledgeable woman, her connections and diplomatic manner both leave much to be desired. Most importantly I don’t trust her, particularly after what Rosita has been reporting to us”.

“And you trust Lanaya” Isabel replied raising both her eyebrows as she did.

“I don’t trust her, but I trust her self-interest; serving the concord helps her and her mage collective. Although in her absence it seems Alice has now taken the collective into her hands to serve her own purposes. All the same, we need to search for Lanaya, she’s too valuable an asset to lose”.

“If you wish I could have her seneschal sent to the keep, see if he knows anything on the matter” Isabel replied, “often people’s accounts prove to be far more illuminating on matters then most people would think, at least for those who know where to look”.

“If you could that would be most useful, though try your best to be civil with the man if you would”.

“Of course, brother, you needn’t worry”.

“I command you to give me a full update of Lady Dionisa’s recent accounts and anything you know that may explain her current disappearance and be quick about it. I can assure you I have far more important matters to attend to”. Isabel exclaimed to a very nervous Victor Elan, seneschal to Lanaya. He had been part escorted part dragged from the Dionisa residence to Isabel’s room by Ulf and had been wondering why he had been brought before the emperor’s sister like this. Now that he had learnt it was only regarding Lanaya’s disappearance he felt somewhat relieved, though between the glaring eyes of Isabel sitting in front of him and the humongous shadow of Ulf looming over him from behind, it was hard for him to still feel anything other than anxiety.

“Your grace I am sworn to secrecy on such matters I cannot divulge information relating to my employer-” he stammered out but the ever-growing hateful stare from Isabel quickly changed his mind “But-but for someone of your importance I am sure Lady Lanaya will understand” in response Isabel gave him a sly smile.

“Good, now tell me everything of relevance pertaining to Lanaya’s finances over the past couple of months”. For the next hour or so Victor rambled on about the income and expenditures of house Dionisa. While Isabel had only asked him to inform her about matters of importance Victor, not wanting to risk angering Isabel by missing anything, went into meticulous detail. Any normal person would be bored out of their minds listening to such trivial information, with Ulf becoming visibly more irritated as his boredom grew. Isabel however listened intensely; numbers, logistics, statistics, to her they were a language that many knew but few understood, and of the chosen few she was the master. As the seneschal gave his report nothing out of the ordinary stood out, not until it came to the funding of the victory celebration.

“Hold there” Isabel said with an outstretched hand “Based on what you have told me of house Dionisa’s income it doesn’t seem to make sense that Lady Dionisa would have the coin to front as much food and drink as she did for the celebration. Where did she get the sudden influx of funds”?

“After the tragic presumed death of lord Thanatos Thale, Lady Dionisa was entitled to the inheritance that the late Lord Dominus Thale left his son. She used that inheritance to fund the expenditure for the emperors party”.

“Presumed death”? Isabel questioned, trying to hide a smile; it humoured her to know that Lanaya had to go as far as using someone else’s inheritance to cover the cost of the party.

“Lord Thanatos went missing during the riot and was presumed killed. However, no body was found so-” Victor trailed off, this was the part that his Lady probably didn’t want to be said.

“In such matters is it not customary to confirm the death of the prior inheritor”? Before Victor could answer Isabel continued “If no body was found then it is highly likely that he is still alive. If we were able to account for all the lowly peasants Lycaon slaughter that day, then I doubt the body of someone as important as Thanatos Thale would go un-noticed. If Lanaya took his inheritance away from him while he was still alive, then I doubt he would take the matter lightly”. At this Isabel looked to Ulf “inform my brother we may have a potential lead and take this spineless cur with you” she said as she looked at Victor “he may know something more of use”.

Lycaon, surrounded by his knights on one side and by Rendon’s knights on the other, rode alongside Ser Rendon. At long last Lycaon had returned home, and the circumstances that had brought him back home could not have been worse. Once he had left here with Felise at his side, and now he came home to bury her. She had given him so much, and he could offer so little to her in return. Things were made worse by the fact that Alasdair had seen it fit to send Rendon du Paraquette as a “viceroy.” Lycaon knew he could not trust Rendon or his Knights of Nidanke. As they rode up the peasants that saw them gawked at them, and soon they all bowed before him. They saw men in knightly armor with red shirts that bore the white dove on them, the symbol of the Holy Order of Saint Elenor, and they knew that Lycaon, their favorite son, had returned.

Issarot was not an overly-impressive town. As far as the eye could see there were peasant farms made up of wood, straw, and mud, and peasants tilling their fields of vegetables. Up ahead was Issarot Keep, a compact yet sturdy keep made of strong gray stone. When it was fully manned its sentries could withstand an assault from a force three times their number, but today it had only a skeleton force guarding it, the rest all having joined up with the rest of the army of the du Paraquettes when the civil war had begun. The gates were open up for them. As they entered the courtyard there was a troupe of stable boys there, and a number of people there ready to meet them. One of them, dressed in elegant and opulent regal attire, approached Lycaon as he entered the courtyard. Despite his full beard he held a strong resemblance to Lycaon, with his fair skin and long fair blonde hair.
“Lycaon!” he exclaimed. “So you have finally returned to us. I only regret that it is under circumstances such as these that you return. But I see you bring guests with you.”

“You are right. This is Ser Rendon du Paraquette,” Lycaon said. “Ser Rendon, this man is my cousin, Basil Issarot, and was the brother of my wife.”

Bowing, Basil said, “You honor me and all the hall with your royal presence, Ser Rendon. This hall is but a humble one, but we shall give you a welcome worthy of one as esteemed as yourself.”

In response to this Rendon himself gave a overdramatic bow “I thank you for your hospitality, my condolences for the loss of your sister. I swear to you we will bring justice to the heretics that dared to harm her”.

“My lord is gracious,” Basil said. “I thank you for your kind words. Lord Issarot is inside, and he shall give you a welcome worthy of your royal self.”

With a bow Basil turned and the escorts who had come to welcome them opened up the doors into the main hall. Aside from the dignitaries who had to greet them and were entering behind them, there was a host of people inside to meet them. The long table in the hall was filled with food and dishes, and ready for feasting. At the head of the table was an old man with a long beard and a tired look in his light blue eyes, who wore garments more regal than any others at the table, and had the same platinum blond hair as Lycaon, his gray hairs intermixing with the blond. Beside him stood a beautiful woman, slim but buxom, with light skin and the same striking beautiful platinum hair that graced Lycaon, and piercing light blue eyes. She looked at Rendon as he came in, and gazed at him a little too long and with a little too much attention that he couldn’t have failed to notice.

“That man at the head of the table is my lord father, Percival Issarot, Lord of Issaria and head of House Issarot,” Lycaon said, his voice calm yet filled with a coldness that was unusual even for Lycaon. “And beside him is my sister, Irene Issarot.”

“My lord,” Basil said. “We have arranged a welcome worthy of your royal self. Enjoy yourself to your heart’s content, my lord. We have food and drink aplenty, and many other pleasures that you are free to indulge yourself with. We have many here who shall be eager and willing to make a strong acquaintance with you, if you gather my meaning.”

Rendon once again gave another one of his overdramatic bows “I am honoured to make your acquaintance my lord” he said as he straightened himself meeting Irene’s gaze as he did “I am Ser Rendon Du Paraquette, a pleasure to make your acquaintance” Almost immediately Rendon had tried to take center stage of the situation, determined to make himself seem like the most important man in the room.

“The honor is mine, your grace,” Irene said.

“Thank you, your grace,” Lord Percival Issarot said. “Please, join us at the table. We have plenty of food and drink.”

Without hesitation Rendon walked over and took a seat. He sat close to Percival but left a chair between him and his host. While this would be interpreted as a sign of politeness, secretly he hoped that Irene would take the seat next to him.

Irene understood the signal that Rendon was sending. She gracefully took the seat next to Rendon. Lycaon took a seat at the opposing side, as did Basil. One of Lycaon’s knights whispered to him, and Lycaon whispered something back to him. Then the knight quietly left the hall through the back door.

“We have heard terrible news from Nyhem, your grace,” Irene said. “You must have been through quite a lot, your grace, ever since the riot.”

Rendon signalled to one of the servant to fill his glass as he spoke “It was a nasty ordeal, but tragically inevitable, those in charge did little to stop this heretical movement when it first started and it came back to haunt them. At least we were able to remove such heretics from our emperor’s city, though sadly it seems too little too late. Now it is up to the inquisition to counter the threat”.

A servant quickly went and immaculately filled his glass with a red wine.

“I heard that many of these heretics went south,” Irene said, looking Rendon with intense interest. “I hope they are taken care of soon.”

“We must hope our southern brethren see reason, though if they are foolish enough to take these heretic then they shall surely suffer the consequences. Though fear not” Rendon said as he made eye contact with Irene “For I am sure her lady will be safe under the inquisition’s protection”.

“For that I must thank you, your grace,” Irene said, continuing to look at Rendon as he drank.

Lycaon had little to say. He exchanged pleasantries with those who spoke to him, but said little else, and little else was needed. When he had departed from his home he was a young, brash aristocrat, but the boy that he had once been had died long ago. His aged father looked at him with a sad expression, but Lycaon had nothing to give him. His face remained immaculately unreadable as always, but his eyes looked even colder than usual.

“It is good to have you back with us, my son,” Lord Issarot said.

“It is a sacred duty for my wife to be buried in honor among her ancestors,” Lycaon said. “I am thankful for Issarot’s hospitality and their aid in seeing this sacred duty rightfully filled, father.”

There was no coldness in his voice, but there was no especial warmth in it. Lycaon spoke just about the same as whenever he spoke about anything.

“Shall you be staying long?” Lord Issarot said.

“The Church’s needs are urgent, and my presence is needed elsewhere,” Lycaon said. “My dear wife Felise shall be given a funeral befitting one as noble as herself, and then I shall depart. The treasury of Issarot shall not be disturbed. The Church shall cover all expenses.”

“Nonsense,” Lord Issarot said. “You are my son. You needn’t worry. Issarot shall have no trouble, to provide the arrangements for the funeral.”

“The arrangements have already been made, and the Church shall be happy to cover them,” Lycaon said. “There is another matter of importance that must be told. I plan to renounce my claim to Issaria. Irene and whoever she chooses to marry will inherit Issaria instead of me.”

“You would abandon your birthright?” Lord Issarot was shocked.
“The Church has need of me,” Lycaon said. “I bore no children, nor shall I again take another wife. I leave it to my sister and her future husband to deal with these responsibilities.”

There was a collection of whispers among those congregated there in hushed voices, and surprise in the faces of many there. Lycaon looked as calm as always.

Rendon himself was shocked for a moment, before his expression changed to a smile “It would seems you are a man who takes his vows to the gods seriously, to give so much for the church I must applaud you. It would seem the inquisition is in good hands”. Though he spoke cordially, he said it with a cold twisted smile, the smile of a man who saw an opportunity and was willing to seize it for his own ambitions.

“I thank you, your grace,” Lycaon said. “To serve the Church is my goal. All else must come second.”

Lycaon took a sip from his wineglass. He said no more on the topic.

“This puts a new burden on my shoulder, though I am not ungrateful that my brother would see me worthy of such a responsibility. Now I need only find a man proper to share this responsibility,” Irene said, half joking. “I suppose it would be best if I found my future husband soon.”

“I am sure a beautiful woman such as yourself will have no problem finding a man worthy of yourself” Rendon said with a smile as he took a large gulp from his goblet.

“Oh, you do honor me, Rendon,” Irene said.

Lycaon felt disgusted to see Irene and Rendon carrying on this sort of banter, but he had no choice but to allow it to take its natural course. He took another sip of his winecup and said nothing.

***

The dinner had gone on far longer than Rendon had originally expected as he somewhat drunkenly stumbled down the hallway of Issarot Keep. While Lord Issarot had offered him a servant to guide him to his room, he had declined his offer and claimed he would be able to find his own way through the keep. This was of course a ruse, for it was simply a excuse for him to find his way to Irene’s room. She had left the meal earlier than Rendon had, but before she had left she had not so subtly told him where it was her room was located before giving him a slightly more subtle wink. Rendon approached a thick wooden door that he assumed was lady Issarot’s bedchamber, though even if it wasn’t he could simply use the excuse that he had gotten lost while trying to find his own room. He knocked on the door and waited for a response.

Irene was there, and opened the door for Rendon, smiling at him with a coquettish shyness. She was already wearing her nightgown, which was more revealing than the gown she had worn to dinner had been.

“You finally came, Ser Rendon,” Irene said. “Please, come in.”

----
When Rendon awoke he was still in Irene’s room, lying in her bed. Irene, herself, however, was gone from the room. Instead, Rendon had Lycaon watching over him, seated on a chair looking over him.

“Did you sleep well, your grace?” Lycaon said. “We seem to have run into a problem. It appears you have lain with my own sister, and shamed us all. Myself, my father, my sister, and yourself shall not escape from this matter unscathed. There is only one way in which the situation can be rectified. Marry my sister Irene.”

Rendon slowly stirred from his bed as he casually stretched, seemingly unconcerned with the man sitting across from him, as if the situation was a normal one.
“Where is Irene” he asked as he reached for a goblet of water by the side of the bed, hoping it would help his mild hangover.

“She is with our father,,” Lycaon said. Rendon was being nonchalant, and it was enough to enrage Lycaon. Nonetheless, he would stay calm. “Is the in wine still in you, your grace? Do you not understand the situation you are in? While you may have as many drunken trysts as you wish with village girls and tavern wenches, Irene is neither. You shamed her in her own bed, under her own father’s roof. My father’s roof. You cannot escape from it.”

Rendon took a gulp of water remaining as calm as he had been when he woke up. He left out a purposely loud sigh of relief as he finished drinking “You seem to be confused, I did not force myself on her, she invited me into her chamber and into her bed” he said with a smirk “if marriage is what is required to save her honour then a marriage shall take place. Irene is a fine woman, and shall make a fine bride, surely you agree”? He continued as he stood up from the bed “and I can assure you the Issarot’s lands will be in good hands” he finished with a twisted smile.

“So we are agreed then,” Lycaon said. “The marriage should occur as soon as possible. It would be disastrous should she happen to be heavy with your child and still be unmarried. This shall make us family.”

Lycaon had not been happy about it, but this was what had to be done.

“Very well then, I suppose I will soon be calling you brother” He continued with a laugh, it was clear he was devoid of any sort of remorse or guilt over what he had done. “Now if you don’t mind my Lord, I would like to prepare myself for the rest of the day and I would find it most awkward if you were to stay there staring at me”.

“Of course, your grace,” Lycaon said. “I will take my leave of you. I think we shall have an eventful day.”

Then Lycaon left Irene’s room, and left Rendon with whatever business that he had to deal with. Rendon had slept with his sister, and now would have to marry Irene to cover the shame. Not that he realized the gravity of the situation. Now, with Lycaon having renounced his claim on Issaria and Rendon effectively becoming the co-heir with Irene, some would have thought that Rendon had outwitted him. In fact things had gone just as he had hoped. He had sacrificed Issaria, but it was no longer much use to him, and now he had blood ties with the du Paraquettes, and counted the man that Alasdair had sent to watch him as a brother. Lycaon had no illusions. The situation was still very volatile, but Lycaon would consider this a victory.

Kiseo had just finished serving her mistress’ afternoon meal.

She juggled the tray as she trailed down into the main room. Subtly, she noted the aftermath of lunch hour. Several occupants remained seated and their eyes casually drifted into the feline humanoid’s direction. She quickly noticed then ducked into the kitchens. The hinged door thwomped behind her. It caught Kiseo squarely on the romp causing the mao to grit in silent suffering. She glared briefly at the offending thing as she set it the dishes into the basin with the rest.

A human female turned about. At spotting Kiseo, a grin cracked across her lips. Her hands wiped off the four staining them, flipping the towel across her shoulder. She placed her hands on her hips when she spoke out loud.

“Kiseo, what cha doing ‘ere?” She asked in an accent stemming from the slums.

She paused long enough to push her frizzly red hair out of her face, her shape ideal for childbearing and thicker than most. It was obvious she kept from starving by skirting herself on the filthy streets for petty coin. Thankfully, it seems the fates had smiled on her when she landed employment in the Little Reed Inn.

“Cleaning up Híril Elian’s meal dishes,” Kiseo explained.

She then made a swift, customary bow before ducking back out. At her back, the Mao caught the cook scolding her with a loud shout.

“Donnae bow to me, Missy! Tis isn’t the Imperium!”

Still smiling, Kiseo quickly ducked out to head back upstairs. Her eyes widen and her gait grounded to a halt when she spotted someone conversing with the innkeeper.

It hadn’t taken Jain long to located the home of Kiseo’s mistress. Unbeknown to her he had followed her back to the Little Reed Inn the same day he had first met her. He had started talking to the innkeep in the hopes of asking after Dyril, though it seemed unnecessary now, his presences had already been noted.

“Greetings” He said as he turned to face Kiseo, waving the innkeep away as he did “I am guessing you didn’t expect to see me again so soon”

Kiseo’s tail curled about her lower leg, anxiety swept through her figure quickly. She bit her tongue while she sized him up. There was little reason he would be here unless… The thought clicked into place causing her to voice her question.

“What do you want?”

Jain just smiled in response, “I have business with your beloved mistress, be a good kitty and fetch her at once. If she asks tell her it has to do with her goods, and if she hopes to hold on to them she would be wise not to keep me waiting”.

Kiseo’s ears pulled back slightly. Her eyes narrowed while her black lip curled, briefly revealed her right canine before dropping back down. She wasn’t about to increase her mistress’ issues through her actions. With her tail tucked about her leg, the Mao twisted on her foot then began to ascend the stairs to her mistress’ room.

She gently pushed the door open to reveal Dyril sitting on her bed. Her head was bowed down and examined a parchment letter, her hand turned it over to the back. It informed her about the land acquired in Ralda. They had begun to till it, preparing it for the seeds, meaning shortly she would have to leave in order to supervise.

Feeling eyes on her, Dyril turned to her servant with a small smile. Her expression melted into surprise as she placed the letter down into her lap, noticing the irritation in Kiseo.

“Is something wrong, Kiseo?”

Kiseo shrugged off the question with a head shake. She moved deeper into the room as she spoke to Dyril, carefully wording her statement.

“A man has come to address you about your goods.”

Dyril frowned, then rose off the bed. She snatched up a shawl on her way out, carefully leading the way down the stairs and back to the main room. Her almond eyes scanned across the room in search for the man that summoned her.

While he waited for Kiseo to fetch her mistress Jain had pulled up a chair beside one of the tables, gesturing to one of the serving girls to bring him a drink. He waited until a elven woman, who he heavily assumed was Dyril, appeared in the room seemingly looking for him.

“Over here” He yelled trying to draw Dyril’s attention to him.

Upon hearing him, Dyril’s eyes narrowed and she closed the distance. Her figure halting near the table with Kiseo in her wake. She inhaled, then addressed the man ordering a drink.

“Kiseo has been kind enough to inform me that you wanted to see me? I apologize for not knowing your name, but you seem to have known mine,” She admitted, with a slight hint of false regret.

“My name is Jain Surya” Jain said with a smile as Dyril approached the table though his smile disappeared. A strange anger started to swell within him the closer Dyril got to him, an anger he couldn’t explain “I have the unfortunate job of informing you that your goods are being held for payment given they have been kept in the warehouses of William Finn for just over a month now” though he tried to hide his unexplained anger, it was clear in his face and voice.

Dyril was silent for a moment. Her eyes caught the uncalled for wrath within Jain’s face, brief confusion crossed her mind. She shrugged it off as she pushed forward with the conversation. It wasn’t the first time she was hated for reason at all save for her appearance.

“I’m confused. I recall having Kiseo deliver the payment shortly before I withdrew my goods. There was no issue then. What has changed?” Dyril asked, suspecting a trick or ploy to milk more money from her.

“I am afraid not” Jain replied as he reached under his coat a produced a scroll “based off our record, no payment has been received by you or anyone under your employment,” he said as he handed Dyril the scroll, trying his best to contain this growing rage inside himself. Was this Marid’s doing, if so then why?

Dyril and Kiseo, briefly, exchanged looks. For the first time, Kiseo spotted Dyril’s distrust in her ability to perform. The Mao’s heart spiked in her chest and her fingers dug into her fur. Fear seemed to wrap about her whenever she recalled other Mao receiving similar looks before the worst happened. Something warm and wet drew her attention down to her hands. They were clasped together, but she caught her own blood faintly seeped through self-inflicted wounds. Casually she pulled her hands behind her back to hide the evidence.

Noticing the scroll, Dyril cautiously took it from Jain’s outstretched hand. She hadn’t noticed she had briefly made contact with the skin. She quickly unrolled the scroll and scanned the contents. The half-elf finally rolled it back then passed it back over to the man.

“I do not see a total amount due. I assume you have tacked on additional fees that have been building up since then?” Dyril asked calmly.

“Indeed we have, I trust you have enough coin to pay for these fees, otherwise I fear we may have to take your supplies to cover the cost” Jain said flinching slightly as his skin came into contact with hers.

“I can’t tell you until I see the official total. Even if I did, I find it odd you would’ve waited nearly over two months before getting in contact with me over the back payment. I’m surprisingly not difficult to locate as I’ve been here after the incident at the last Inn,” Dyril’s tone took on an unamused tone, keeping it clear of outright accusing the man.

“I assume you have an explanation for this?”

“If you have an issue with how we conduct our business I am afraid you will have to take it up with my superior, William Flin as I myself have only assumed control of his operations here in Nyhem recently. However you may have difficulty doing that, given he left Nyhem shortly after that fancy celebration the emperor hosted”.

“Kiseo, did you receive a note of payment from the individual you delivered the payment to?”

Kiseo jerked into attention then nodded her head, “Yes Mistress. Do you want me to fetch it?”

“Yes and quickly, please.”

Without another word, Kiseo rushed up the stairs and disappeared into their assigned room. When her servant was gone, Dyril turned back to Mr. Surya with an indifferent tone.

“I have to see the complete total or I haven’t any idea what to pay you. On a side note, is there a possibility to work this out into smaller payments over time?”

From under his coat Jain produced another piece of paper, significantly smaller than the last one he had given to her. On it was the total amount due, with Jain’s own interest added onto it. He placed it on the table this time, in an attempt to avoid making contact with Dyril’s skin again.

Dyril picked up the paper just as Kiseo’s figure came bounding down the steps. Her chest inhaled heavily, evidence she had been in a rush to retrieve the item. At Dyril’s head gesture, the Mao stepped forward then casually offered the receipt in her hand to Jain. Her eyes held distaste at his presence though her face and body language showed nothing beyond obedience.

She stepped back when he took it, resuming her place next to Dyril.

“I see” Jain said, his voice revealing no hint of anger or surprise “it is strange to me that I was not informed of your payment by Mr Flin, or that I could find no trace of your receipt our records”. This was of course a lie, though the moment Jain had found proof Dyril’s payments he had used them to feed his fireplace “If you wish I can investigate this matter for you, though I must warn you if nothing shows up the time spent looking into this will continue to increase your interest”.

“My faith in your business practices are a bit rattled from this experience,” Dyril admitted openly.

She turned to him, still holding the parchment in her grip while she continued.

“I feel it might be more suitable to have a third party to investigate it. Someone that lacks connection to your company or myself, ensuring pure neutrality in the matter,”

There was a pause before she then said her thoughts out loud.

“Perhaps the Emperor might have a suggestion since part of his purchase is in the wares you’re withholding from me.”

Jain seemed unfazed by this threat as he stood up from the table, “I am sorry to hear that your faith in me is shaken, though I understand. Rest assured I will get to the bottom of this. I thank you for your time”. Before Jain left he gave Kiseo a smirk, he had already accomplished what he had come here for, continuing to smile even after he left the room.

Rhaetia finally sat alone in her room, the largest that the inn had to offer. Mercenaries were hardly popular in Formaroth, and for good reason. However, her Bambu Company was not like most mercenary companies. They were polite, they paid well, they did not defile women, and they smelled very nice. Ieyasu had just left her to rejoin with the men. She had recovered from her wounds she had received in Telmarion, which she had received from that man named Lycaon Issarot. Soon she would return to Seiketsu. She wanted to take Lycaon's head for the wounds he had given her - he had marred her beautiful face, something that could never be undone - but the war was over, and she was not willing to wait for the next one to begin. She had heard the rumblings of an uprising down in southern Uzgob, led by a discontented preacher, some armed peasants and nomads, and the few noble loyalists audacious enough to rebel.
As she was just about to open up her book Ieyasu entered the room. Beauty and grace still flowed from him to a certain extent, but an ugly and bulging scar ran down from above his forehead to the bottom of his cheek, and had lost his right eye. He was not alone. Standing beside him was a black-skinned man dressed in furs. One of the desert savages of Uzgob, Rhaetia thought. He had a hard expression and a fearsome look, something Rhaetia did not appreciate. Nonetheless, she knew she would have to deal with him herself. The sand nomads were not known for their courtesy, and her Bambu Company would be at his neck before long. It would be hard. Her presence made men infatuated with her. She had made it so.
"My Lady Grim, this honorable gentleman is Jaggo, of the sand people of Uzgob," Ieyasu said with a subtle bow which indicated familial respect but no hint of distance. "And he wishes to speak to you concerning the possibility of employment."
Rhaetia felt anger and annoyance rising in her. Would this sandman be so presumptuous as to think she could be brought with furs and water? His request was no doubt taken as an insult by Ieyasu, and it was surprising he had not lost his head already. Nonetheless, she would listen to him, if only because certain niceties must be observed.
"Then I am honored by his generosity," Rhaetia said. "Yet the Bambu Samurai do not come cheaply, and cannot be bought with furs and water, however valuable they may be.”
Jaggo gave a loud laugh, and Rhaetia was so angry that she nearly drew her sword. Yet her look was not as fierce as Ieyasu, who had managed to restrain himself and had only put his hand on his katana's hilt, rather than drawing it outright, though if there was one more slight then heads would roll.
"Lady Grim, it is not my people who hire you, it is Master Fenick, and he shall give you gold equal what Andris once had promised you. All he asks you is that you fight for Uzgob once again."
"Nizaar rules in Uzgob, not someone named Fenick, I have heard," Lady Grim said.
"Not if Fenick has his way."
“Let me take a guess,” Lady Grim said. “This Fenick of yours is the tumultuous rebel priest.”
“That sounds like him.”
"Well, whoever you are," Lady Grim said. "A mercenary company never follows without the proper payment. You say you can equal the old King's payment. Where is this gold?"
"I can answer that myself, Lady Grim," Ieyasu said. “His escort came with carriages full of gold. They are enough to deliver on his promises.”
"I see. Thank you, Ieyasu," Lady Grim corrected. "Tell me, say I accept your offer and join your rebellion, what would your Master Fenick have me do? We have lost many good men, so I will not have the Bambu Company join up with your cause, however much gold you have, if it is against our self-interest."
"He wishes to send you west. The Holy Order of Saint Elenor is arriving on the shores there, and Fenick wishes for you to link up with the local militias and destroy the Order at once.”
Rhaetia could not help but laugh. It was too perfect. So she would get the chance to face against the Holy Order once again. It seemed that heaven had favored her.
“Very well,” Rhaetia said.
“My Lady Grim?” Ieyasu said. “As your unwavering servant I must ask whether you are rushing into things here. Perhaps we ought to take a little time to consider this in greater detail.”
“There is nothing to consider,” Lady Grim said. “There is still money to be had here in Formaroth. Besides, you want revenge, don’t you?”
“True enough,” Ieyasu said. “Still, it surprise how quickly you acquiesced.”
“I know a proper job when I see one,” Lady Grim said. “Now, Jaggo, why don’t you tell the two of us everything you know about Fenick, and what exactly his plans for us are. Then we’ll take your gold.”
“I am glad of your decision,” Jaggo said.

Herona walked with Darron by her side as they landed on the port town that had welcomed them into Glarmion. All the soldiers of the Holy Order came rushing into town, eager to get off the ships. The town had a pleasant look, with its idyllic farms and wooden houses. Some of the knights had settled into the couple of taverns that the town had, but Herona never saw any of it. Grunts like her set up camp outside the town. A knightly messenger came up and talked to her commanding officer Raymond in hushed tones.
"News fer us, sir?" Darron said.
"Darron, I will tell you what you need to know, and not a thing more," Raymond said with a scolding tone. Nonetheless, he did have things to tell them. "Apparently Ser Sayer's knights are an unruly lot. Since the morning we've arrived there's already been a few fights, and a death. But Sayer is a firm master, it seems. He has punished the perpetrators and banned a large number of his knights from the town’s taverns. That is a better deal than the peasants should expect. Ser Sayer has need of me, so the lot of you can do as you like. Go into town if you like but remember it’s only the knights that have permission to go into the real taverns.”
Herona might just have done that. On the other hand, things might be getting out of hand if to many of the Order were going wandering into taverns and inns. For now she’d just stay at camp.

Ser Sayer stood among his captains, seated among a chair that had been placed in his tent. Plenty of places had been offered in town to make his headquarters, but none of them felt proper, so he had to be content to stay in his tent. In truth, he preferred the campsite to the idle pleasures that he could have found at a tavern. His captains, however, did not agree with him. He had three captains amongst his ranks. Captain Simone-Simon was affable, Captain Keithan was gloomy, and Captain Brandon was ruthless. These were the best captains of the Holy Order, he had been told. If that were true Sayer would have preferred second best. These were Daeleth’s men and had been bandits and lowborn mercenaries at one point. Though all Sers, they were no true knights. Not that he was much himself.
“I say we question as many we can, find out which one’re heretics and which ain’t,” Captain Brandon said.
“This town is to be a haven for us,” Sayer said. “I’ll be having no inquisitions here. This town is to be our friend, and I’ll have no heretic hunting here just so you lot can torture some peasants and fishmongers.”
“We were ordered to find heretics,” Captain Keithan said.
“And you’ll be finding plenty of them,” Sayer said. “We were ordered to drive the heretics underground, and that’s we’ll be doing. The priests will have much more information for us than any torture session possibly could. We have better things to do than search a fishtown up and down for a few of the falsely accused.”
“Well, that at least will allow us to leave in good time,” Captain Simone-Simon said.
“Yes. There are rumors of some kind of wayward malcontent sowing heresy in Glarmion’s interior,” Sayer said. “And it is not some mere priest, thank the gods. It seems he’s some kind of bandit and rebel, gathering mobs and zealots and arming them. I shall enjoy crushing them. I hope his skull shall make a good sound.”
“That do sound nice,” Captain Brandon said.

Fenick stood within the local church in Medea. Fenick had seen far more opulent churches, once, but the one at Medea did have some gold and silver. He had stripped the Church of it and given it to the merchants in return for their loyalty. He had planning to give it away anyway, so it was not the same as stealing from the gods, even if it felt like it. It was for a worthy cause, anyways. He wondered if the gods would be impressed by his excuse. He did not stand alone in the Church. He had sent Hargani away, to win the loyalty of the Grim Company, who were mercenaries yet brave and honorable elite soldiers nonetheless. Standing beside him were two young men, one woman, and one old man. These were the four chieftains of mighty Uzgob tribes who had come to fight for him. They would convert to the faith of the Johannia, but they were not pious. They simply wanted land and freedom to worship as they liked. The gods among the tribes looked very different than when they were worshipped by others.
There was Sakoura ibn Faduzu al-Zuwi, called Sakoura Spearbreaker, as a hundred spears had turned against him in his life and he had broken every one. He was the chieftain of the Zuwu, the largest and most powerful of the Uzgob tribes to come to Fenick’s aid, aggressive and warlike by nature. Beside him was his rival Yama ibn Bisi al-Buruni, called Yama Wyrmslayer, named for his slaying of one of the great wyrms of the desert, a feat which had made him legendary among all the tribes, and earned him the envy of Sakoura Spearbreaker. His tribe was the Burunu, a frontier that lives on the edges of north. Past Burunu territory was only the fearsome desert where no man dares venture. The Burunu had always been small and meak, but under Yama they had grown bolder and stronger than ever before. Then there was Kadi bint Fodi al-Cissi, who everyone simply called the Sand Queen. She was the chieftain of the Cisse, who were always on the move, and traversed the treacherous sands of Uzgob so well and so quickly that they seemed to be able to appear and disappear at will. Under the Sand Queen they seemed to be able to do this better than ever before. Then there was Umar ibn Majan al-Sonni, who others called Umar the Wise. He was a wizened old man, and though his fighting days were long behind him all among the tribes trusted his word. His tribe was the powerful Sonnah, who kept to their own affairs, but who always defended their own affairs with ferocity. It was these that were for now Fenick’s greatest allies. They were more trustworthy than his aristocratic “allies,” but they would have abandoned him if he suffered a decisive defeat or if his enemy offered them more than he could.
“Lord Fenick, we come since we are willing,” Umar the Wise said. “We nations come to you, if you are amiable. Forgive the others, they don’t much in your tongue.”
“Whether they speak well or not, I am glad to have all of your assistance,” Fenick said. “I shall have great need of it in future days.”
“No go easily,” the Sand Queen said. Of the four she knew the least of the common tongue. “Promises give you.”
“Sand Queen says true,” Sakoura said. “Land, wealth, power.”
“Land, wealth, and power shall be all be given to you,” Fenick said. “In the name of the gods and in the name of High King Andris of House Mandarass, the tribes of Uzgob shall be free to conduct their own affairs in their lands and worship the gods according to their own ways, without intervention from anyone until the end of time. The tribes of Zuwu, Burunu, Cisse, and Sonnah shall be given land and cattle in great amounts.”
The Sand Queen stared blankly at him, and turned to Umar, and speaking in the language of the tribes, which Fenick could not understand, said, “What did he say? I could not get most of that. If he aims to spout a litany of poems my way, I would have sent someone else in my stead.”
“He makes promises for us,” Yama Wyrmslayer said. “Land, wealth, power. And he shall give us much if half of what he says is true.”
“And we shall take it all of it from the Greenlanders by the power of our spears,” Sakoura Spearbreaker.
“He swears in the name of the gods and his Great Greenlander High Chief that the milkmen of white robes shall never again blaspheme our rituals, and no greenlander never again shall trespass upon any nation of the great desert. Our tribes, Zuwu, Burunu, Cisse, and Sonnah shall receive from him many great lands and cattle.”
“Good,” The Sand Queen said. “Then he shall have every man of Cisse. I would not have come if I did not intend that, provided his promises were good. But if he betrays me, I shall see to it that he is swallowed by the desert.”
“What are you discussing?” Fenick said. “Is something wrong?”
“Fehanikkiya too many words,” Sakoura Spearbreaker said.
“Sakoura is right,” Umar said. “Best use few words, or the others will not understand you. But you have the loyalty of these four nations. That is clear.”
Fenick nodded, unaware that he had been especially eloquent. “Very good,” Fenick said.
“What about white preacher?” Yama Wyrmslayer said. “Him I want gone.”
“What do you mean?” Fenick said. “What white preacher?”
“There is one of the tribesmen, a masked man in white, who is preaching the Johannia message as he sees it,” Umar said. “He is fiery, and Yama not like him.”
“Preacher stays,” Sakoura Spearbreaker said. “He Zuwu, and Zuwu not do what Burunu say.”
“Nothing will happen to the preacher,” Fenick said. “But I will keep him far away from the Burunu.”
Sakoura and Yama both nodded, satisfied for the time.
“Fehanikkiya, go see white man,” the Sand Queen said. “Not disappoint.”
Fenick nodded. “I will. Yet is he not one of ours? How dangerous could be?”
“Perhaps, Fenick,” said Umar the Wise. “But you would be wise to see this preacher in white. If he is not reined in, there shall soon be violence in the street.”
Fenick nodded. “If you are insistent, I shall see him. What is his name?”
“He has no name,” Umar the Wise said. “But it will not be hard to find him.”

Johannia’s message had spread quickly. Discontent with the Church, with their overlords, and with their poverty, men and women were ready to arm themselves in service of the gods and the demiurge if they had a chance at victory. That chance might be coming soon. A movement had been stirring, and Dietrich Plaisat had been at the heart of it since the beginning. In what seemed like an eternity ago he had rescued Johannia in the service of Bishop Karyn, who had long awaited a savior who could save the Church. He left her not soon after, but he had not disappeared. He had eventually made his way to Telmarion, and now he was gathering holy warriors in the coming fight. He had made contact with Fenick, who was the leader of the faithful up in Uzgob. With his help they might be able to create a rebellion that could succeed, if the remnants of the Manshrew alliance came back in time. Fenick told him that that was what their success hinged on.
In a sleepy town in Glarmion Dietrich had decided to make the home of his rebels. So far, they had been able to make themselves unseen. They traveled in small groups yet kept in constant contact with each other. They had come together rapidly, and ever since the defeat of Andris Mandarass more and more had been coming to them. Dietrich entered into the inn, and entered into a back room where there was a man covered in a green cloak, hiding his armor.
“Raimbaud,” Dietrich said in a somewhat hushed voice. “You’ve returned. How many have you found this time.”
“Fifty. Not bad for so short of a time,” Raimbaud said. “It’s only a matter of time now. Soon, the lands of the alliance shall rise in rebellion against the de Reimers, Andris Mandarass shall return to take what is rightfully his, and I shall take my birthright in Issaria.”
“Even if Mandarass and the Alliance do manage to return, they will not be able to dislodge the de Reimers from Nyhem anymore,” Dietrich said. “We should only plan for how to hold the east and keep the Blackwells out of it.”
“Forces that Alasdair cannot hope to contain have been released,” Dietrich said. “And when that happens Issaria shall be mine, and both Lycaon and my father shall not live to see it.”
“Enough of that, Raimbaud,” Dietrich said. “I thank you for your service, and I will see you again soon. If anything happens that you feel compelled to tell me, you know where to find me.”
In truth, Dietrich despised Raimbaud. According to Raimbaud, his birthright had been stolen from him by his brother Lycaon, and he even dared to tell Dietrich this. However, Dietrich knew the truth of the matter. He had been there, after all, when it had all occurred. Raimbaud was the younger brother, and he was also envious, ambitious, and thoroughly shameless. He hired a man to assassinate Lycaon, but Lycaon called the guards in time. Raimbaud ran when the truth was discovered and had been a bandit and cutthroat in the east ever since. Dietrich guessed that Raimbaud only became a follower of Johannia because he thought he could get something out of it. However, he could never regain Issaria, even if his father and Lycaon died. Though Lord Issarot had refused to disown him out of familial loyalty, the du Paraquettes would never allow him to return. Dietrich hated him, and if he could would have killed him, but he was too effective at collecting new followers for Dietrich to be rid of him. If his true identity was ever discovered, however, it would probably scandalize the entire Johannite movement. The fact that Raimbaud was constantly yelling about his birthright didn’t help in that matter.
Sighing, Dietrich left all of those thoughts behind.

Lost in thought, Glynda lightly tapped upon her desk. Her meeting with the High Priest had been mostly pointless but at least short. It was just then that someone came knocking at her door.
“Enter,” Ser Glynda said.
It was one of the knights of the letter, with something in her hand.
“A little, ser,” the knight said, bowing his head.
“Put it over here,” Ser Glynda said. “Thank you.”
It had come sooner than she had been expecting. Once the knight had left and closed the door behind him Glynda opened up the envelope. There were actually two letters. One was official, and of no importance. The second one, however, was a different story. Glynda carefully read over it, and then set both letters down on top of the desk. She donned her sword and shield and stepped out from her office.
“Come with me,” Glynda said to her two bodyguards. “I have to tell the drillmaster of a small problem.”
Many of the Holy Order were away. Ser Sayer had brought his recruits from the east back east in order to combat the heretics. Lycaon had taken the elite of the Order with him. However, many of the Holy Order had remained in Nyhem, and Glynda had a sizeable garrison at her command. They would be more than adequate to deal with this mission. Glynda went to the courtyard, where the drillmasters were overseeing the soldiers’ training and practice. Glynda approached her chief drillmaster and told her that she would be needing one-hundred and twenty men, divided into ten dozen-men squadrons. Glynda gathered with the twelve sergeants who would lead her twelve squadrons and told them where they would be searching. Then she had her soldiers gather. When they were gathered Glynda stood at the head of them.
“Attention men!” Glynda said. “I have a job for you. A friend of ours has gone missing. Lady Lanaya Dionisia has gone missing. You are going to find her. It is an unfortunate fact that we have no idea where she is, or where she was last seen. Each of you shall collect any information you can about her whereabouts. Your commanding officers will show you what districts you will search.”
The recruits were raw, and eager for an exciting assignment. Of course, As for Glynda herself, she would have to remain here to hear their reports when they returned. Most of the time, anyways. She wondered if the Emperor had heard that she was missing. He must have noticed that one of his top advisors had been gone for days. She thought perhaps that she should write another letter to him, just in case. And perhaps she should return to Lady Dionisia’s place of residence, to see if the servants there knew anything. It would be useful to know if she had any notable enemies.

~| The Evening of the Eighth Day of Lana’s imprisonment |~

Thanatos Thale stalked the streets of Nyhem, proudly bearing the green regalia of house Thale for the first time in what had felt like months. It was only partially hidden by a cloak, secured by a brooch formed in the Thale insignia. He had boasted to his men that he was not far from breaking the witch and attaining his rightful place as Lord Thale, and was in good spirits because of it.

It was thanks to this that he had given himself the luxury of visiting a high quality Inn - one of the ones that had recovered from the riots at least. He’d been eating like a peasant for too long.

Unbeknownst to Thanatos however, this inn, like every inn in the city, was home to one of Alasdair’s spies. A young serving girl of around twelve years old named Emily. She had been under the De Reimer’s employment since she was eight and had it not been for extra coin she received from them, both her and her sickly mother would be long dead. She had recently received new information in regards to the disappearance of Magister Dionisa and it seemed not a moment too soon. After a courier had told her to be on the watch for Thantos Thale she had taken it upon herself to learn what she could about him; his family, his home, his position and of course his family’s sigil. It was almost unbelievable, but less than a day after she had received the news, a man bearing the brooch of house Thale had entered her place of work. As much as she wanted to report this back to the emperor before any of his other spies had a chance, she wanted to be sure it was him. She quickly finished serving her current customers and immediately walked over to the cloaked man.

“Fancy a drink sire” She said in a thick country accent.

Thanatos arrogantly turned his head, looking through the girl as though she was not even there - classic behaviour for the majority of the nobility when interacting with those they saw as lesser. “Yes. A goblet of the finest House Dionisa wine you have.” He said, before murmuring under his breath “It’ll be good to know what I’ll be working with…”

Emily went off to fetch what Thanatos has requested. As if what he had just said wasn’t damming enough, Emily clearly saw house Thale’s insignia. She had found the man she had been informed about, however her job wasn’t yet complete. If she informed the De Reimer’s that she had found Thanatos only for him to once again disappear her information would be near to meaningless, meaning she would be paid next to nothing. For now she would keep her eye on him, and once he left she would trail him back to whatever hideaway he had come from. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of what the De Reimer’s would pay her, perhaps even enough to hire a mage to heal her mother.

Thanatos took his time, enjoying the meal and making faces at the wine. When the time came to pay, he produced several silver coins from a suspiciously light looking coinpurse.

As he approached the door to leave, he noticed Emily’s eyes upon him. He turned, furious for a moment, then mellowed. “Alright, I’m feeling generous tonight.” He said, reaching into the coinpurse as if it was full of gold pieces. He retrieved a small silver piece and flicked it towards her. “Don’t spend it all at once.”

Emily froze as Thanatos noticed her staring at him, only to be pleasantly surprised as he tossed her a coin. Typical of a ignorant noble she supposed, probably didn’t think for a second that someone as lowly as herself could be of any threat to him. She smiled as she pocketed the coin, put down her serving tray and headed out the inn’s back door to avoid being seen by Thanatos.

Though his house was not far away, Thanatos went on a circuitous route around Nyhem, ducking in and out of several alleyways as he did, taking shortcuts not often known by nobles. He avoided the area around his old manor, and a made a not to avoid Dionisa guards whenever he saw them. By the time he finally went into a house, it was twenty minutes longer than if he had simply gone directly to it from the Inn.

Emily struggled to keep up with Thanatos as we weaved in and out of numerous alleys. Had it not been for her years of experience trailing people (that and her determination not to risk losing her reward money) she likely would have lost Thanatos. Though she used all of her effort to keep up she was careful to make sure she wasn’t seen or heard by Thanatos; it wouldn’t matter if she managed to keep up with him only to be discovered. Eventually Thanatos halted before heading into a house. Emily hid around the corner as she waited for him to enter. Once she had made note of the house’s location and she was sure Thanatos wasn’t watching her, she immediately headed on her way to the keep to report her findings to the De Reimer’s, whether Lady Dionisa was in there or not was not her concern, only that she reported the information and that she got paid.

---

Lana awoke with a start, coughing and spluttering. The stone beneath her was brutally cold, and she could see through the small window at the top of her cell that it was dark outside.

Memories flooded back to her - drowning - gasping for air - blackness. Thanatos had been trying to break her, and like most days, he had kept going until she could bear it no longer. In this instance she had almost been drowned completely. It took a moment to recover.

It was then, once she had finished coughing up water, she realised that she was not gagged. Immediately, her mind began running with possibilities. Evidently, Thanatos had decided not to gag her after nearly drowning her, and because of that, she could now cast spells more easily. For one as meticulous as Thanatos, it seemed an amateurish mistake, but perhaps after so long keeping her confined, he had grown complacent.

She thought for a moment. Her hands were still bound, her fingers immobilised. If she could solve that, she could cast far more quietly. Maybe even get out before they realised - and save Miriam in the process. For the first time in a week, she dared to hope.

Slowly, carefully, she began to whisper a spell, a complicated telekinesis affair that would unravel the rope around her wrists.

Eventually, the rope began to loosen and she started to struggle to her knees. Her fingers were still tightly wrapped and bound, but she could move her arms and she could speak. That was more than enough for her to escape.

Suddenly, there were footsteps behind her. She scrambled to her feet, trying to turn and see who it was, words of magic half formed on her lips already. But no sooner had she gained her balance than she was seized in a bear hug from behind, a rough hand clamping over her mouth and stifling the words that would’ve ended its owners life in a heartbeat.

She could tell from the feel of rough leather and cloth on her skin, and the size of the hand, that it was not Thanatos. One of his men then.

“What d’ya think your doing girly?” He said, his country accent and rough voice confirming her suspicions. “Don’t you remember what the boss told you?” She tried to nod, though he held her head firmly.

“He’s gonna be real unhappy when I tell him you was casting spells.” The thug said ominously. Lana was silent. Then he loosened his grip slightly and began to run his free hand down her body. She tensed up immediately. The touch made her skin crawl. “Then again, the boss doesn’t need to know…” He said suggestively.

Panic and fury jostled for primacy in her mind as the thugs hand reached her waist. Fury won out, and in an instant, she formed a plan.

“So what's it gonna be then?” The brute intoned. “You gonna be quiet for me? Or are we going upstairs to tell the boss?”

With a supreme effort of will, she made herself relax, nodding even as she began to focus her energies. This man's ardour would be his downfall. There were no crossbows to outpace her spellcasting this time. Though the hand that he had run down her body disappeared then, and she could loosely hear him fumbling with a buckle. A moment passed, and whichlight began to coalesce about her head, but the thug was too preoccupied to notice.

When he finally did look up, all he managed was a surprised “Wha-?” Before he was blasted backwards by a wave of force.

He flew backwards through the open gate of the cell and hit the wall with a sickening crunch, then fell to the floor, knocking over the nearby chair in the process.

Lana winced at the noise. Not because of the injuries the idiot thug had likely sustained, but because there was no way that the rest of her captors upstairs could not have heard the commotion. They would bring crossbows, and they would no doubt threaten Miriam until she submitted to her bindings again. She began to wonder if this display of force had really accomplished anything.

Sure enough, rushed footsteps and shouting was immediately heard from above. Thinking quickly, Lana spoke the names of runes and scribed them as best she could into the stone floor of the cell. They were not complex runes, but they would keep her safe from crossbow bolts and give a nasty surprise to anyone trying to enter the cell.

She only just completed the runes as the first boots descended the steps into her prison. Another of the thugs, with a crossbow he pointed straight at her. Following him, with a more measured step, was Miriam, followed closely by Thanatos, who held the dragonbone dagger to her throat. Then another thug, this one with ropes in his hands. Lana glared at all of them, but remained silent for now, confident behind the glowing runes on the floor.

Thanatos looked at the crumpled form of one of his men and back to Lana. “What did you do to him?” He snapped.

“I gave him what he deserved.” She responded, bitterly, before continuing, her words filled with venom. “He tried to rape me. Have you sunk to the level of common bandits now Thanatos?”

He was silent for a moment, then a sneer formed on his face. “And I’m supposed to believe you? I think it's far more likely you enchanted him.”

Lana simply gave him a withering look.

He ignored her and turned to the rope carrying thug. “Tie her up.”

The thug looked questioningly at Thanatos, then at the glowing runes. “Are you sure boss?” He said. Lana smiled, for the first time in over a week. “He’s a sensible one I see.” She said smugly, though with a slight hint of disappointment.”

Thanatos growled in anger. “Dispel that rune immediately. Don’t make me hurt the girl.” He pressed the dagger slightly more firmly against Miriam’s neck, and she whimpered.

Lana glared in response. “So you can go tie me up and torture me some more? No. Hurt Miriam and you’ll be dead in a heartbeat.” She said with an icy tone.

“So much as start casting another spell and she dies.” Thanatos quickly replied with the same tone.

A minute passed in silence as each side glared at the other, unwilling to relent. Eventually, Lana crossed her arms and simply said. “It seems we are at an impasse.”

Suddenly there was a eruption of noise from upstairs, followed by the sound of clashing steel, war cries and shouts of pain. Unbeknownst to those who were downstairs, Alasdair had received word from Emily that Lanaya was being held hostage here. In response he had dispatched thirty of his personal Cawanorian guard, well trained and armed to the teeth. Thanatos’s men didn’t stand a chance. Furthermore they had been joined by Glynda’s recruits who now had the building completely surrounded making escape completely impossible.

In the basement, everyone looked up in surprise at the sudden assault above. Thanatos’ men recovered quickly, immediately rushed up the stairs, the crossbow wielding one firing his weapon before engaging in the melee. Thanatos was ahead of even them though - he moved quickly, rushing towards the runic barrier and pushing Miriam in front of him.

Lana realised what he was doing too late. The poor young girl was shoved into the faintly glimmering air over the rune - Lana tried desperately to dispel the magic before it took action, only to look on in horror as Miriam was blasted across the room by a wave of directed force. A moment later, the rune faded.

As soon as it did, Thanatos was upon her - moving behind her and seizing her around the waist. He put the dragonbone dagger to her throat - roughly enough that a few drops of blood began to trickle down her neck. She winced, remaining silent. He didn’t need to tell her again not to cast any spells with a blade at her throat.

Above them, the commotion was dying down. Thanatos’ men were skilled, but poorly equipped and take by surprise. Even had they been at their best, they were no match for Cawanor’s finest.

“Walk.” Thanatos said in Lana’s ear. She did. Terror twisted her features - rescue was so close… But so was death. She couldn’t bear the thought that she would die like this, and so she followed her captors instructions even now.

The two of them ascended the steps, slowly but surely, Thanatos keeping his blade in place the entire time. Lana winced at the light, her eyes unused to the brightness of so many torches after so long in dimly lit room. A small part of her was ashamed as well, to appear before her saviours in such a state.

She was stripped to her underwear, these scraps of cloth stained by her blood and sweat. Her body was on display for all, with burn marks, cuts and bruises leaving little flesh unscathed. Many bandages were wrapped around her arms and legs, from more recent and deeper wounds. Only her face was untouched, even relatively clean thanks to being repeatedly dunked into a bucket of water for a day.

Thanatos looked around at the armored men that had stormed his hideout, arrogance and hate clear in his gaze.

“De Reimer?” He said, though it was more statement than question. “Good. That will save time. Tell the Emperor, that if he wants his advisor back, he will reverse the succession of House Thale, and return all of my land, holdings and money to me Thanatos Thale, as the rightful heir.”

“Why not tell him yourself” came a voice from behind the wall of soldiers. In unison the soldiers parted revealing the Emperor himself standing before Thanatos. Beside him stood Alenius,prepared to shield her emperor from any potential desperate attacks that Thanatos might attempt. Though given the small army between them, Thanatos would be cut down long before he even got close to Alasdair. Alasdair himself sounded as confident as usual, though it was clear he was visibly disturbed by the current sight of Lanaya”.

Thanatos’ eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. After all, it wasn’t so far fetched that the Emperor would personally direct a rescue of one of his advisors. “This witch ensorcelled my father, then killed him after he changed his will.” Thanatos spat the words with extreme venom, baring the depth of his hatred. “She stole my land. My Heritage!”

Lana winced as the knife moved at her throat. Thanatos was practically trembling with rage now. “All I ask, is that you return what is rightfully mine, and I will… let her go.”

Alasdair refocused his attention on Thanatos “We are aware of her crimes my Lord and she will be dealt with in accordance with the law, likewise you will be compensated for your loss. I promise justice will be delivered, but if you kill a royal advisor then I am afraid only the executioner's noose awaits you. Let her go”

Thanatos’ eyes narrowed. “Compensated for my loss?” He said suspiciously. “That is very vague… your excellency. I want assurance that everything that was taken from me will be returned. And that I will not be penalised for anything that has happened here.”

“Why would you possibly be punished”? Alasdair said as he raised his arms “You were merely avenging your father’s unfortunate death. You have my sympathies, had someone harmed my own family I would have done the same.” He continued as he rested his hand on his chest “You have my word as your emperor that you will have what you rightfully deserve”.

Thanatos’ expression softened, and he loosened his grip on Lana. “Thank you your excellency. It seems I may have underestimated you… My apologies.” Then he leaned close to Lana’s ear, and with a sneer spoke, his tone vengeful and triumphant. “You here that Lanaya? You’re finally getting your due reward you traitor.” With that, he took the dagger from her throat and shoved her away.

She staggered forward, but quickly regained her balance and rushed towards the soldiers, slipping between their ranks to put them between her and Thanatos. There was a hunted look in her eyes - she was unsure if Alasdair had meant what he said. Still, he had come to save her, and that had to mean something, so she lingered a moment.

For a moment Alasdair looked at Lanaya with a look he had never given her before: Pity. He nodded to his guards, three of whom approached Thanatos. Without hesitation, one hit him hard in the stomach while the other two seized him. While this was going on Alasdair started to unbutton his cape “as I said, you will get what you rightfully deserve” he said with a cruel smile. Once he finished unbuttoning his cape he approached the half naked Lanaya and covered her with it.

Lana stared at Alasdair as he approached, but when he put the cape around her shoulders she quickly clutched it to her, looking at the Emperor in an entirely new light. For a moment, she hesitated, overcome by conflicting emotions. Shame, lingering fear and relief chief among them, but also gratitude and disappointment.

Gratitude towards Alasdair for her rescue… And disappointment that it had not been Eli.

Relief and gratitude quickly won out though, and she stepped forward and hugged Alasdair. “You saved me.” She said quietly, her voice cracking ever so slightly. She began to blink away tears. “You saved me…”

Across the room, as soon as he recovered and saw what was happening, Thanatos began shouting. “You bastard! You filthy dog! Treacherous Snake!” Then his face twisted in revelation. “She’s got you too hasn’t she? The witch has ensorcelled the Emperor!”

In retaliation to insulting their emperor, the same guard who had hit him before continued to do so, though this time he did so with far greater ferocity.

Alasdair was taken aback, not only was the sudden show of affection so unlike Lanaya, but the fact that she was on the brink of breaking down in front of him made Alasdair shudder at the thought of what she must have been through. Whatever spite he had for her had disappeared “Lets take you back to the keep, we will find someone to look at those wounds, your safe now” Alasdair spoke calmly as he gentle placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her towards the door.

“Thank you.” She said meekly, still on the edge of breaking down. She stopped as they reached the door, and turned back, as if forgetting something. Then she turned to Alasdair. Mustering her thoughts, she tried to put some authority, or at least stability, back into her voice. “I cannot leave yet.” She said, though immediately glanced longingly out the door at the Imperial carriage down the street.

“There is another, a mage girl called Miriam. ...He... captured her as well to ensure I would not attempt to escape.” She glanced back again, uncertainty on her face now. She didn’t know if she should bring attention to the other things she was missing. The dagger would raise several awkward questions, and the gem as well. Ultimately, she decided it was worth the risk, for the alternative was potentially losing them entirely.

“Also… The dagger… He… used is important. And he took a crimson gem from me as well, bound in silver upon a silver chain.”

With a nod of his head Alasdair gestured to his guards who immediately left the room in search of Miriam and Lanaya’s gem. The guard who had subdued Thanatos took the dagger from Thanatos's belt and handed it over to his emperor. Alasdair eyed the dagger with curiosity, before handing to to Lanaya. As he did two of the guards who had left returned from their search, with them was a young girl who Alasdair assumed was Miriam, she looked bruised and shaken but was otherwise alive and able to move. One of the guards accompanying her approached Lanaya, in his metal hands were a array of different gems and jewellery.

“Forgive me my lady” he said, his voice echoing from inside the great helm “But I found numerous object from with Lord Thales room, are any of these the gem you were looking for”? Alasdair always found it unnerving whenever a Cawanor soldier spoke; they were normally silent save for the occasional word and whenever they did speak they did so in such a way that even he found them intimidating.

Lanaya immediately spotted the crimson gem. As she reached for it, she could feel the power radiating from it. A small part of her mind screamed not to touch it, to demand the man crush it in his armored fist, but that part was quickly quashed as irrational.

She picked it out of the collection and wasted no time in pulling the chain around her neck and refastening it. There was a faint crimson glow emanating from the gem as it contacted her skin once more.

As soon as she had reclaimed the gem, she immediately felt powerful again, standing taller and straighter, with more of the usual arrogance so typically attributed to her. Her voice was steady now as she spoke, and she was no longer fighting back tears. The change was out of character and swift - unnaturally so. “Thank you.” She said, looking at the Cawanor Soldier. “Thank you again for rescuing me your excellency.” She said to Alasdair, before turning away towards the carriage. “Let us be away from this place. Send Miriam back to my Manorhouse.”

Alasdair was surprised at her sudden and rather unnatural recovery. He had also noted the unusual glow that was coming off the gem. It was brief but clearly noticeable and Alasdair doubted that Lanaya in her current state would have cast such a pointless and unpractical illusion spell. The glow had come from the gem itself and it was likely linked with Lanaya’s sudden mood change. In was in this moment Alasdair recalled Alice’s research and he wondered if this was the same gem she had given to Lanaya. Either way it was irrelevant at this moment and if it helped to calm her then it was for the best she wear it. Though he would have to question either her or Alice about it later.

“I shall leave you to deal with matters here, co operate with Ser Glynda if needed, but ensure all of Thanatos’s possessions remain in our hands”. After salute of confirmation from his guards Alasdair left the room and followed Lanaya into the carriage.

Fajera’s screams of pain echoed throughout the castle. Andris paced nervously outside of their new bed chamber. Unlike their room back in Andromeda, this one was cold and harsh, it seemed that Morian cared little for furniture or homely comforts. The day had nearly passed but every hour felt like a day. He watched as the castle servants were dashing in and out with clean and bloody towels. There was nothing that he could do to help, he’d only be in the way. Then suddenly the screams had subsided. There was nothing but silence. Barely a minute had passed but for Andris, it felt like an eternity. He immediately feared the worst. Then the cries of a newly born babe could be heard.

Andris stopped pacing once one of the servants exited the bed chamber.
“Lord Mandarass. Would you like to see your wife and son?”
Andris was filled with both relief and happiness when he heard those words. He nodded and headed into the chamber to see Fajera in the bed asleep from sheer exhaustion. He saw his new born being cradled by another servant.
“Let me look at him.”
The servant approached him. It had not been the first baby that he had seen. He had seen each of his nieces a few days after each of them were born. But this time was different, this was own flesh and blood. He was so small with a little hair on his head and fast asleep. A few tears started to roll down Andris’ face. They were tears of both joy and sadness. He had a child that he could call his own. But due to to his missing arm, he could not even hold his own son his arms for fear that the baby would fall and he was born in a country that was his own.
“Andris?” a voice said faintly.
Andris looked to see that Fajera was awake.
“Fajera, are you alright?”
“I’m ok. But where’s our baby?”
“It’s okay, he’s absolutely fine.”
The servant passed the still sleeping baby to Fajera. She started to cradle him. The baby slowly opened it to reveal a deep blue eyes. Tears of happiness streamed down Fajera’s eyes.
“What should we call him?”
Andris had thought about this for weeks on the journey to Deliverance but his mind was made up.
“Afdul. Afdul Mandarass, first of his name and I promise you this my son. You will see your homeland soon.”

The next morning. Andris was up and ready to meet the war council along with the local representatives of the island to give him a proper tour of the castle. Andris was so focused on getting his family settled that he left most of the responsibilities of managing the army to Maror and Freya. Andris had reached the courtyard and he could see members of his war party had gathered along with a couple of representatives who were dressed in their regal attire. Or at least regal by Deliverances standards. The courtyard was a wide open area that lay at the center of the castle. It was filled with dead trees and weed filled flower beds, it was clear Morian hadn’t been much of a gardener.
“Welcome my Lord!” said one of the representatives with a bow.
“My name is Hektor. I will be showing you around castle Mordrin. No doubt you will be here for a while to gather your forces.”
“It’s nice to meet you Hektor. Lead on.”

The rest of Castle Mordrin was similar to what Andris had already seen; cold and depressing. Back home his palace had been filled with colours and life, here the walls were made of the same black stone with no variation. While the walls of Andromeda’s palace had been covered in art and banners, here the only decoration were the occasional weapon or pieces of armour hung on the wall. The only light that entered the castle came from the small narrow windows that scattered the halls. This castle had been partially built to intimidate the locals, and this black colossus did that task perfectly. Just walking around it’s halls made Andris feel uneasy. As they ventured through the castle Andris asked Hektor many questions to which he answered enthusiastically. It was clear that Hektor was only interested in buying favour with his new king rather than out of any form of loyalty, however his information was detailed and useful. As they continued to walk Andris learned that due to the terrain of the island, Deliverance had multiple farms and silos filled with food to last for years should anything drastic happen. He had also learned that Island was capable of sheltering all of his soldiers and along with that his forces had been bolstered with over 26,000 militia; a much needed boost to his army after the battle of Telmarion.
They headed down to the lower parts of the castle.
“And here is the legendary vault of Deliverance.” Hektor said.
The door to the vault was huge and was the first room in this castle that had any life to it. It was covered with multiple gears that seemed to be the only way to open the door, with a small keyhole in the centre.
“It’s previous owner, as you know, was none other than the pirate king Morian, the most fearsome raider to sail the sea’s in over a century. He had this vault hand crafted by the finest locksmiths and craftsmen of the imperium. Once they had finished they claimed that no one other than the key holder could get into it. However Morian not wanting to take any risks decided to seal them inside the very vault they had created. I believe he said that they could admire their handiwork for the rest of their days” Hektor said with a shudder. Already he felt far safer with Andris as his new king then he did with Morian. “I had heard that the two of you had met on the battlefield.”
“You could say that our encounter was a little explosive.” Andris said with a faint smile on his face. “Where’s the key then?”
“The only key was under the possession of Morain himself. He’d never let it out of his sight.”
Andris let a sigh of disappoint.
“However when Morain went on his usual drunken stupors he would always sleep like a babe. The other nobles and I agreed that a copy should be made in case the worst was to happen.”
Hektor then revealed the copied key from his pocket and handed it over to Andris. He was glad to finally be rid of it, had Morian ever found it in his possession he would surely of been flayed alive.
“I’ll leave the honours to you my Lord.”
Andris walked towards the huge door and turned the key. With that the giant gears on the door began to creak and move. Slowly the giant door began to open. Andris looked astonished at the sight that now beheld him. The vault was filled with mountains of gold coins. Other items of incredible value were also in the vault. Goblets, crowns, sceptres, silks, full suits of armour, jewels and chests all escapades of the late Morian. With this he could easily fund a army, regardless, the contents of the vault would prove to be invaluable to the alliance. Suddenly, a Mandarassan soldier entered the room with a sheet of paper.
“Lord Mandarass. We’ve received encrypted a message.”
“Let’s have a look.” Andris instructed as he was handed the letter. The contents of the letter were indeed encrypted, written in a cipher that he could not understand. However he spotted the crest of a white eagle. It had been a while since he had seen it but he soon recognized it as the crest of Mazeltof. This puzzled him as he knew that all remaining members of the Mazeltof family that had not been imprisioned were now alongside him and under protection of the Alliance.
“Give this to Dilys Mazeltof.” Andris ordered to the soldier. “She may be able to decipher the encryption.” The soldier quickly rushed out of the room. “Now my friends, without any other interruptions, let us continue with the tour.”

A few days had passed but the message was finally decrypted. The cipher had indeed been of Raldaian origin, developed during the civil war against Heylot. A small war meeting had gathered to discuss the new issue at hand. Only Freya, Maror, Ian and Dilys were called to the meeting. Andris entered the throne room where Lady Neptuna and the Mazeltof’s awaited him. Like the vault the throne room was one of the few rooms in the castle that possessed any form of life. Upon first entering it Andris had been taken aback by the sheer amount of jewels and trinkets that decorated the room. The throne itself stood out amongst the shining sea of treasures as by comparison it was made of solid iron decorated with skulls and bones of which Andris had long removed. Andris sat himself upon the throne.
“Well Lady Mazeltof. What news do you have for us.” Asked Andris.
“Well Lord Mandarass. After some effort my brother and I have decrypted the letter you gave us. With much joy I can reveal that our sister Alicja Mazeltof, who we thought dead, is alive and well” Dilys replied, barely able to contain her joy ”She is accompanied by a small group of surviving allies and have gathered in the forests of Raeldar. It seems they have set up some sort of base their and are welcoming in Alliance sympathizers every day”.
“That is indeed good news.” Andris replied. “I am happy for you my friends”
“We must send men to retrieve them immediately” Ian said, like Dilys he too was struggling to contain his happiness “if the concord or even the south discovered that there was some form of resistance forming they will send their forces to crush them”. However before he could continue Freya stood up
“If I may my Lord.” Freya interrupted. “Might I suggest that we use these allies to our advantage?”
“What did you have in mind?” asked Andris inquisitively while the Mazeltof siblings were slightly worried about Neptuna’s suggestion.
“Since we have left Formaroth, we have had little to no information of any events that transpire in Formaroth. The best we had hope for are rumours and stories told by any passing fishermen or traders, and we all know how reliable those are. I suggest that we use these allies to establish not only a base on the mainland, but also a spy network that can relay new information to us give us a tactical advantage should we ever need it. They will be of far more use to the alliances cause there then they will mooching around here.” Andris paused for a moment as he considered what had been proposed. He knew the Mazeltofs wouldn’t like it, but he couldn’t deny that Freya had a good point. Already Alicja had established a base on enemy soil and somehow remained undetected, if he brought her home now he would lose a huge tactical advantage.
“That is a good idea Lady Neptuna. That could prove to be invaluable to the alliance.”
“Forgive me Lord Andris.” Dilys interrupted bluntly. “But if you are to go through with this, we demand that our sister be brought safely to Deliverance.”
“We will try our best my lady.” Said Andris, sympathetic for her concern for her sister. “Lady Neptuna, once this meeting is adjourned make ready for a small company to head to Raeldar. Send your most experienced sailors, we can’t risk the southern fleet spotting them and discovering our new outpost. Once they help the allies establish the spy network they will act as a personal escort for the lady Alicja”.
“Begging your pardon lord Andris.” Ian asked “But knowing Alicja she won’t abandon her allies. She’s a Mazeltof, she’ll be too stubborn to leave. Perhaps if you gave her a direct command to come to Deliverance she may listen”. Andris’s heart wanted to side with the Mazeltof siblings, but he had already sacrificed to much on this war to feelings.
“We will try our best but if the lady Alicja will not heed us then she will have to stay. I will not command her otherwise. Perhaps she can be the head of the very network itself. She has clearly already proven to be very capable…”
“But my lord!” interrupted Dilys on the brink of shouting.
“I have made my decision!” shouted Andris. Silence fell upon the room. “I will not give up a tactical advantage for the sake of one person. We all have made sacrifices in this war and every one must do their part for the cause”. To this Dily simply scowelled at Andris, visibly angered at the decision that had been made, though she was able to hold her tongue. The same could not be said for Ian who had turned away from Andris.
“And some of us have sacrificed far more than others” He said coldly as he headed towards the door. Dilys tried to stop him by putting her hand in his shoulder, but in response he shrugged her hand away before opening the door and walking down the cold black hallway. A silence fell over the room. Andris was the first to break the silence as he noticed something strange.
“Where is Maror?” Andris asked Freya.
“I don’t know my Lord. Should I get the guards to look for him?”
“No. I’ll go look for him. This meeting is now adjourned.” He doubted they were going to get much more done after Ian’s outburst.

An hour had passed but Andris had eventually been informed that Maror was in the courtyard training. Andris walked into the courtyard to see Maror practicing on a straw dummy that a servant had likely set up for him. But something was wrong. His form was wrong and he placing too much strength into his swings, sacrificing his stance. This was not training, but a pure display of rage.
Andris approached Maror as he decapitated the head of the dummy in a yell of rage.
“What did he do to piss you off so much?” said Andris with humour to lighten the mood of the courtyard.
Maror turn suddenly with his sword ready but quickly lowered it realizing that it was Andris.
“My lord. My apologies I didn’t realize you were here.” He replied gruffly, turning his face away from Andris
“Please Maror, I think we’ve spent enough time on the battlefield to drop the formalities”. Maror simply grunted in response
“Good, I was never much good at them anyway”
“Now what seems to be the trouble?”
“I was merely training my… I was just training.”
“Well the dummy won’t give you much of a challenge. How about I give it a go.”
“Are you sure that is wise?” Maror ask as he looked at Andris’s missing arm, he knew that Andris would not add much more of a challenge.
“I insist.” Andris said as he unsheathed his sword. “Just do what comes naturally.”
Maror nodded and raised his sword. A moment had passed before Maror started to charge right at him. As Maror begun to swing his sword, Andris quickly deflected the attack and then using his leg swept Maror of his feet, landing face first into the dirt.
“Anyone could tell that you’re angry. I know you Lannistarks use anger as a weapon, but only if you control it with you mind. Otherwise you’ll leave yourself open to mistakes like that one.Perhaps I can help. So tell me. What’s wrong?”
Maror picked himself off the ground and sat down as he spat out the dirt he had swallowed, behind the anger Andris could see the pain in Maror’s eyes. Though he tried to fight it, his eyes were starting to water.
“It’s Serala. I received word that her funeral had been held in Glarmion. I didn’t even know she was dead. We lost each other during the retreat of Telmarion”. As he said this a couple of tears started to roll down his face. “I should have gone to find her. If I tried she may have been here now. I keep thinking about it. Over and over again. She was my blood, my twin, we were born into the world together and we should have left it together on the battlefield”. He said rage once again rising inside him.
“You can’t blame yourself Maror.” Said Andris joining him on the floor. “For years I called myself a coward when I watched my brother executed right in front my eyes while hundreds of people cheered when his head his the floor. But I realized that if I did try to stop it I would have died too, and what good would that have done anyone? All I would have succeeded in doing would be ensuring my brothers death was in vain. I would never have been able to avenge him. Serala may be gone but you continue not only her legend but the legend of your entire bloodline. It is up to you to see justice done to those who have done this, but you can only do that with a clear head and a steady hand.”
Andris offered out his hand to Maror who seemed calmer than he had been a moment ago. Maror looked at Andris before taking his hand and gently placing his fist on Andris’s chest. It was Glamorian custom but one that Andris knew well, it was a sign of respect that Glamorian soldiers showed to their brothers and sisters in arms.

“Thank you Shield brother”. Said Maror with a faint smile. “Now I think it’s about time I drunk myself into a stupor, my sister will spit on me from the heavens if I don’t have at least ten drink on her.”
Andris returned a smile “Of course. Take care my friend”.
As Maror opened the door to the castle Andris could overhear a conversation between two guards. From the accent Andris could tell they were both Uzbobian.
“Have you heard about what the locals say about the nearby mountains?”
“That’s a bunch of bollocks. Who in their right mind would live up their? Let alone an old man.”
“But he isn’t just an old man. The legend says that he has the power to bring armies back from the dead.”
“Sounds like a bunch of horseshit. I swear the local swill they call beer down here is getting to that dim-witted head of yours”.

The sweltering heat of Uzgob was, as it always had been, unbearable. Patrick had been riding for days now and between the freezing cold nights and the stifling hot days, his temper was being tested. Mercifully the walls of Andromeda could be seen on the horizon and Patrick could even hear some of his men from behind cry out in joy. Accompanying him from Cawanor were four thousand professional soldiers along with three thousand militia. During his journey Patrick had convinced Catryn Tuania to give him three hundred Telmarion longbowmen, whos famed archery would surely be of great assistance for the war to come. Alongside him rode Evennis and three other nobles; Lord Roid a middle aged man with thinning hair and a thick long beard and standing supporter of the De Reimers, Lord Gisborn a hardened and tested battle commander with short well kept ginger hair and Lord Crawford, a young boy of only sixteen with messy black hair. His lack of experience and youth made him stand out amongst the other commanders and he was only there because Lord Roid owed his family a favour.

As they entered the city Patrick couldn’t help but silently marvel at Andromeda, as much as he disliked Uzgob and the people that lived there he couldn’t deny their capital was one of the most beautiful settlements in Formaroth second only to perhaps the city of Vine. Much of the city folk had abandoned the main streets, likely out of fear after they heard the De Reimer forces were coming. Patrick smiled; the fact they were afraid and not rioting was a good thing, it meant that the populous of Andromeda knew better than to join the heretics in rebellion against the newly founded empire. As they neared the city center Lord Gisborn dismissed the men and gave them permission to rest and drink at the local taverns, after the long journey they had to travel on foot it was probably the best order he could have given to raise morale. Once Patrick and his fellow commanders approached the gatehouse to the palace the light wooden gates swung open, the palace itself was very grand and beautiful with many followers and palm trees decorating the courtyard; it was clear that the palace was built with what was aesthetic pleasing in mind rather than maximizing defensibility. Perhaps this was why Andris was able to break in and escape without being stopped. Patrick and his fellow lords dismounted and allowed for the palace servants to take their horses to the nearby stable. As they walked up the sandstone steps to the entrance the door opened to which a tall bald man olive skinned man appeared, Patrick soon recognised him as Nizaar’s seneschal whom he had met last time he had been here.

“My Lords it is a great honour to have you here” he said with a bow

“Our visit is hardly a honour” Patrick said, ignoring the seneschal as he walked past him “we would not be here if it wasn’t for Nizaar’s failings”.

“Lord Nizaar is in the war room” The seneschal stammered, he had been ordered to direct Patrick there but given the confidence in which Patrick stroke it was clear he already knew where he was going. Patrick swung the doors to the war room open and without hesitation continued to walk. Inside was Nizaar along with a couple of other nervous commanders. Nizaar by comparison looked far more steadfast, however it was clear Patrick’s presence made him uncomfortable. Once he surrendered Uzgob to the concord he had hoped he would never have to see a De Reimer again, or at least not so soon.

“My Lord” Nizaar said as he stopped leaning on the war table and stood straight. Patrick came to halt at the war table before turning to the other two commanders in the room.

“Leave us” the two commanders look to Nizaar for confirmation but before he could answer Patrick exclaimed “was it he who gave you the command or I! Why do you look to him for answer”? To this the two guards bowed before leaving the room. Patrick once again turned his attention to Nizaar

“Three months. In only three months you have allowed a civil war to break out in Uzgob and lost territory to fanatic rebels and desert dwelling savages. Explain yourself”.

“The heretical movement, was out of my control, and given the unstable state of the north at the moment it was to be expected that they would gather a large following amongst the people”.

“It matters not if the cause was out of your control, you were responsible to seeing that any resistance to my Brother’s rule was subdued. We had a agreement, you serve your emperor loyally and ensure that the citizens of Uzgob do the same. In exchange we allowed you to govern Uzgob and decide the fate of its people. So far it seems you have been ineffective in your duty as Lord of Uzgob, perhaps we should find someone else, someone who will deploy a firmer hand”. At this Nizaar shifted uneasily

“That will be unnecessary” Nizaar said firmly “With all due respect my lord, I did not call for your assistance. My men are more than capable of dealing with matter on our own”.

“Glad you think so. As it will be your men to dealing with this threat. I want you to put together a force of three thousand Uzgobian Militia and have them assemble outside the city by tomorrow evening”. At first Nizaar looked at Patrick with confusion but his stare turned cold as he realized his reasoning. “You intend to use my men a fodder? To test the enemy's strength before commiting your own men”? Nizaar said in a hushed tone, trying his best to contain his anger.

“On the contrary, you said your men were more than capable with dealing with the heretic threat, this is your chance to prove it. The way I see it if your men succeed then I am no longer needed here and will leave Uzgob immediately. If not then I will have no choice but to commit my own soldiers to this cause”. Patrick finished. Nizaar wasn’t sure how he should have felt; on one hand it was clear that Patrick was treating Uzgobian soldiers as expendable and cared nothing for their lives. On the other he had actually been given a chance to deal with this himself and a opportunity to get the De Reimer forces and their king out of his land.

“Very well, I accept this if only to prove that Uzgob does not require help from the south when dealing with internal matters. I will lead my troops personally…” Patrick was about to speak up before Nizaar firmly added “I will have it no other way”. Patrick hesitated. While Nizaar was a important figurehead that he rather not risk losing, he knew matter than to push the man too far by demanding that he stay.
“Fine” Patrick said as he turned to face lord Crawford “You will take lord Crawford with you, along with the five hundred sell-swords we recruited along the way, consider their services a gift on behalf of house De Reimer”

“My lord” Lord Crawford stammered “I am grateful for the honour but I don’t not know if I am…” he continued before being interrupted by Lord roid

“Consider this a chance to prove yourself to your family. Surely a few heretics won’t be a problem for you” He said as he placed his hand on his shoulder.

“I ... see” Lord Roid stammered “Then I accept this duty you have bestowed upon me with the highest gratitude” he said with a bow. Nizaar was unamused and did nothing to hide his contemptment

“Good” Patrick stated before turning back to Nizaar “Do be careful out there, it would be a shame if you were to die. Who knows what might become of Uzgob otherwise”

***

The Count and his entourage had already left the city. He had assured Fenick that there would be no point in him staying for any battle that was to come, and that whatever happens he must survive for the sake of the cause and the greater good, and the like. He encouraged Fenick to do the same, but Fenick would not leave the city. Not now. He knew the count to be a coward, but as for himself he would face the enemy head on, for he knew that if Medea itself fell then no one would venture to join them, and the count himself would become nothing but an outlaw. Besides, he knew that he was the true leader of this movement, and the city would need a leader in this time of peril. Fenick, escorted by a troop of tribal warriors, headed over to the northern walls of the town. It was there that they would make their stand against the De Reimers. He walked among the walls and saw the impressive encampment of the enemy in the distance. They were not quite what they were expecting. Reports had told of a far more impressive army than this. Adathas, colonel of the militia of Medea came over to Fenick.
“Sir, all stations are ready,” Adathas said. “They aren’t quite what I was expecting.”
“No doubt this is only the first wave,” Fenick said. “When we turn them back here they will return with another, stronger force.”
“If we turn them back, sir,” Adathas said.
“The gods are on our sides,” Fenick said. “Though I think they shall prefer to have us seize victory by force rather than deliver it to us.”
“All the same to me, sir,” the Adathas said. “Far as we can tell they’re wielding the banners of De Reimer and Uzgob. Looks to me like those down there are Uzgob men the same as us, each of them is worth as much as one of us. The sun won’t bother them much.”
“Then we will have to hope our walls will make up for where our numbers fail,” Fenick said. “I will leave it to you, colonel.”
“Yep,” Adathas said. “We’ll show them hell.”

***

“The men are ready Lord Nizaar” Lord Roid replied. Ever since they left Andromeda he had been hanging on Nizaar’s every word. He had no idea why King Patrick had selected him to be second in command, he had no experience at commanding soldiers or forming strategies. Perhaps he intended him to learn from Nizaar, or maybe this was his chance to prove he was worthy of command. Either way he had left the planning of the siege to Nizaar and had acted more as a messenger to the men then he had their commander.

“Very well, we shall start the siege immediately. Give the men the order” Nizaar said
“At once” Lord roid replied, bowing before leaving the tent. Once he left Nizaar sat down on his bedroll. He had no idea what to expect from this siege. While the tactics he had deployed were the best he could do with what he knew, he had no idea what opposition he faced. He didn’t know the strength or size of Fenick’s forces and if he lost this battle Uzgob would suffer. Uzgob; he had betrayed his king, surrendered its land and now he was leading his own men into a potential suicide mission, all for the greater good of Uzgob. Sometimes he wondered what might have been if he had stayed faithful to Andris and resisted the De Reimers whether things would have been better or if he had made the right decision and saved Uzgob from a even more terrible fate. It matter not now, the decisions he had made were final and now all he could do was follow them to their end. Nizaar stood up, took a minute to compose himself before walking out the tent to led his men.

-----

The forces on the wall were stationed and positioned for the inevitable siege which was soon to happen. Colonel Adathas stood among his men with a spear and shield at his side, intent on fighting amongst his men once the fighting started. Most of his men were militiamen with only the lightest of armor and a simple spear and shield, but they were not alone. They were accompanied by the warriors of the Zuwu tribes, every one of them grizzled tribesmen with fearsome expressions on their faces, and they were led by their even more fearsome chieftain, Sakoura Spearbreaker. Adathas did not talk with him unnecessarily – the chieftain knew little of the common tongue – but he knew at least that they were ready to begin the siege.
“I never have fought on a wall,” Sakoura Spearbreaker said in the common tongue with his characteristic heavy accent. “Strange thing.”
“You and your men’ll have to get used to it,” Adathas said.
Sakoura Spearbreaker laughed. “Yes. Zuwu are glad for fight always. But you are bolder – that is the word – bolder than your men, Adathas. They look like they will run when they see us.”
It was soon enough when Nazeer’s forces were riding up to the walls of Medea. Adathas was up on the wall, ready to lead the men to battle, just as he had ordered. As Nazeer’s army approached, Adathas had his men ready themselves. As soon as they were in range, Adathas ordered the archers to fire their crossbows. Bolts flung through the air, and Nazeer’s soldiers fell to the ground, though not nearly enough of them, and soon enough they were returning fire. Their advance was not greatly slowed, and this great force continued to march towards the walls, and Nazeer himself was within the ranks leading them. The enemy readied their siege ladders, and Medean militia braced themselves for the attack.
Adathas shouted orders and was determined not to let Nazeer’s forces easily assert themselves on their walls. Nazeer’s forces were organizing themselves in force, and with their multitude of siege ladders were closing in. They threw their siege ladders upon the walls and began to climb up on them. Adathas’ militiamen, however, continued again and again to throw down those ladders. Then Adathas shouted an order, and they prepared the pots filled with boiling oil. They threw them down on to the ground and burned the men below. Then the militia atop the walls threw torches down below, and soon a great fire spread down below that threatened to envelop all of those below, though those above on the stone wall were not reached by the flames. Nazeer himself was almost enveloped by the flames but was dragged away from the flames at the cost of four of his men.
Adathas knew that it was far from over. Even though the flames blocked off one section, at other sections of the wall they were coming in strength. Nazeer was once again leading his forces, and they were coming up in force further down the wall. No matter how many times they knocked the ladders down, they kept placing them back up. At last, however, Nazeer’s forces began to mount themselves atop the wall. Nazeer himself was leading them into battle. Beside him were several hundred grizzled veterans who contrasted against the simple militia of Nazeer. It was at that time that Sakoura and his tribesmen charged ahead to counter them. They were glad to have an opponent to fight.
The tribesmen fought ferociously and tenacious, and though they were lightly armored they fought ferociously. The battle was raging, and Sakoura Spearbreaker wished to take out the enemy’s leader himself, since he had been gracious enough to show his own face. Sakoura plunged his spear through the opening in the armor at the neck of his first opponent, his spear going clean through, and Sakoura withdrew the spear as quickly as it had landed. With his men fighting by his side, he made his way towards Nazeer. One after another the enemy fell before Sakoura. They were of small notice, however, for Sakoura. He had broken the spears of a hundred warriors in the past, and each of them of more note than the Greenlander soldiers who blocked his path today. Then he at last he aimed his spear at Nazeer. Nazeer drew back from the aim of the spear, and Sakoura instead struck one of Nazeer’s bodyguards.
“You too shall die!” Sakoura said to Nazeer in the Greenlander tongue.
Nazeer did not retreat but went to face the tribesman. Nazeer’s bodyguards were soon facing Sakoura’s warriors, and soon it was simply the two of them there to face each other. Nazeer struck his blade, but Sakoura repelled it with his shield, and struck again rapidly with his spear. Nazeer raised his shield and deflected it. There, they exchanged blows, and Sakoura proved more fearsome than Nazeer was expecting, and Nazeer, clad as he was in his armor, could not match Sakoura’s speed. Just when Nazeer thought he was about to make a clean strike at Sakoura and finally slay this troublesome opponent, Sakoura deflected the blade and made a strong blow against Nazeer’s chest. It only dinted the armor and bruised the skin beneath. Nazeer would not allow himself to lose, however, and he raised himself and struck furiously at Sakoura. The two of them were engaged in a furious exchange of strikes and deflections once again, until Nazeer found the slimmest of openings in Sakoura’s stance and took it. Then with a strike of his blade struck at Sakoura, and Sakoura struck at him. Both of them narrowly avoided death, with Sakoura’s spear only barely missing an opening in Nazeer’s armor and Nazeer nicking Sakoura’s spear.
Nazeer drew away from Sakoura, and his men went to protect him. At that time Sakoura had no choice but to withdraw. His men were losing ground, and he had lost his chance to kill Nazeer. The militiamen and tribesmen continued to fight their enemy on the wall and refused to retreat. Yet many of them were slain, and though many of their enemy were slain as they were too numerous to repel.
It was then that something began to shift in the sands. From below the forces of Medea had obtained reinforcements. Yama Wyrmslayer and his warriors from the tribe Burunu and Umar the Wise and his warriors from the tribe Sunnah struck at Nazeer’s flanks. They came from behind, and struck at the rear of Nazeer’s army. They were numerous, too numerous for Nazeer’s army to shake off. Fighting reigned, and many on both sides were then slain. Yet the tribesmen were fearsome. They fought rapidly and wildly, and their shamans uttered magical chants that emboldened the tribesmen and made Nazeer’s men lose heart. With many of their own dead and surrounded at all sides, Nazeer’s soldiers surrendered. Yama Wrymslayer slew one of the surrendering officers with a strike to the face with his club and dragged away one of the others, and the other tribesmen followed suit, dragging away their new captives. Up above on the wall Nazeer forces found themselves surrounded and without reinforcements, and the militia and tribesmen steadily whittled away at their remaining reinforcements.
“Next you shall die!” Sakoura Spearbreaker said.
“Wait, we want him alive!” Adathas said. “Okay, your majesty, time to surrender. Don’t misunderstand, though. We aren’t giving you a choice. You can either come with us quietly, or kicking and screaming.”
“Well, sir,” Lord Roid said to Nazeer, standing amongst the handful of soldiers that were still standing. “If you had any last ditch plans now would be as good a time as ever to reveal them.”
Nizzar simply looked over the battlefield at his now scattered and captured forces. He had lost, there was nothing he could do. To think Fenick had somehow convinced the tribesmen to fight with him, just how far did this heretical corruption go? How much power had it already gained? Nizaar briefly considered throwing himself from the battlements, just to deny his enemies their prize. But what good would that do? Uzgob still needed him and he could serve it far better as Fenick’s captive then he could dead. Still now that he had failed in his task a De Reimer now sat in a position of power over his people and the thought chilled Nizaar to the bone. He had to find someway to escape Fenick and get back to Andromeda, by any means necessary.
“Very well I will not disgrace myself by futilely resisting” Nizaar said as he dropped his sword, the sword vibrating as it hit the ground “Just know, that you have no idea what you have unleashed here today”.
“Do you think we fear Alasdair here, like you do?” Adathas said. “Take him away. I will deal with him later. You should be thankful, Nizaar. We shall duly send a letter to Patrick informing him of your victory here. I’m sure he will want to see to it in person.”