Lycaon stood before the gates of the city of Andromeda, where Patrick's army had gathered. Now it was his army, at least for a time. The soldiers of Cawanor would have no trouble defeating the rabble that had gathered at Medea. He recalled the battle of Telmarion, and how they had broken through the lines of the finest of Andris' soldiers. They would have no problems here. Andris, after all, had taken the best soldiers of Uzgob with him when he fled. A bigger problem was Rendon. It was unlikely that his new brother would be easy to rein in. As Lycaon overlooked the encampment he turned to Rendon.
"Brother, King Patrick has granted us a great army for our use," Lycaon said. "When the heretics look upon it, they will quake in their boots. It is about time that they march and retake Medea. Once that is done the heretics shall scurry away like rats."
Rendon gave Lycaon a half smile that could have meant anything “Of course brother, it is time we removed the emperors enemies from these lands. Before long we will be welcomed back into Nyhem as heros, and with the emperors gratitude no doubt”
Lycaon paid little head to the expression of Rendon. He was more concerned with getting his new army moving and ending this heretics' revolt as quickly as possible.
"Then it is time we get moving," Lycaon said. "I shall get the men moving".
“Very well then, I shall ride with my order near the back and stop any stragglers from falling behind, we can’t have these Uzgobian dogs think they can get away with poor discipline under our command”. Rendon said, he always disdained the northern filth that plagued Formaroth and took enjoyment in keeping them in their place.
"So be it, brother," Lycaon said. "You shall find me and my Order at the front, with the forces of Cawanor."
A page brought Lycaon his steed to him, already clad in steel. After he lifted himself atop his horse, Lycaon began to ride towards the vanguard of the army.
*
Lycaon stood at the head of his army, as he stood amongst his horsed knights of the Holy Order of Saint Elenor. The elite soldiers of Cawanor stood behind him, as they stood before the walls of the castle of Medea. Behind them were the other soldiers that Patrick had brought, who formed the bulk of the army. The foot soldiers of the Order of Saint Elenor were stationed in the rear. The reason given was that they were to be the reserve force, but the truth was that they had already suffered high casualties, and Lycaon did not wish for them to suffer any more. The army set up camp outside of the city walls, and the garrison inside did not try to attack him. From their scouts reports it seemed that they were not as numerous as their propaganda made them out to be and would not easily be lured out from the safety of their gates. Lycaon was beginning to prepare the order to attack, a scout bowed and approached him, and was accompanied by two men dressed in what looked to Lycaon like the garb of a savage or barbarian.
“Sir,” the scout said. “I bring to you the Chief of the Zuwu Tribe, as well as his translator.”
“One of the tribes of Uzgob, then,” Lycaon said. He knew nothing of them, other than there were nomads in Uzgob who still clung to their ancient ways, and that they had sided with the heretics. Lycaon had already arranged for their extermination.
“And what business do the Zuwu have with us?” Lycaon said.
“On behalf of Sakoura Spearbreaker, Chief of the Zuwu Tribe, I offer our tribe’s surrender,” the translator said. “We ask for nothing but that we be allowed to go in peace and return home without fear of reprisal.”
“The Empire is not so lenient as to allow insurrection to go unpunished. The tribes of Uzgob may be free and self-ruling, but they are subjects of Uzgob all the same, and not independent nations. They are subject to the same law as any other. Your Chief has already committed treason, and now that his fortunes have been altered slightly he wishes to return to the winning side. But high treason cannot be avoided so easily. If there is some reason why your crimes should be forgiven, the Empire shall listen. What does the Zuwu Tribe have to offer us?”
Their conversation for a moment ceased, as the translator turned once again back to his chief. They spoke in a language he did not understand for several minutes, and Lycaon simply waited for their conversation to finish. Of course, Lycaon had no desire to refuse this tribe’s reconciliation with the empire. They may have been traitors, but they were far from the first to choose the wrong side, only to be reconciled later on. The prominent traitors and heretics like Fenick and his closest allies would face the gallows, but others like the Zuwu were merely small pieces, and could be reconciled.
“We know the walls and gates, what Fenick has chosen to protect, and what he has been forced to leave unguarded,” the translator said.
“That shall be useful,” Lycaon said. “But your transgression was more than words. Your crime was action, and so it shall take action to be forgiven.”
“Ask your leader,” Lycaon said.
His words were layered with hostility. He still maintained the impression that he was cold and hostile, but that stage had already passed for Lycaon. He saw that this tribe would be useful going forward. He had no idea how many of these tribes there were, but after Medea fell the tribes would follow this Zuwu tribe’s lead one after another. Their surrender itself was of no real consequence. Whether they had surrendered or not, Medea would fall and the heretical rebellion would fall with it. But if the tribes surrendered to him, it would have consequence. Savages, Lycaon had believed, gave more to personal loyalty than others did, and so they would be more loyal to him than to the Emperor, especially an Emperor like Alasdair, who could not even leave his palace to lead his own armies while there was a rebellion in the Realm. If they had their own reasons for joining the rebellion, which Lycaon suspected to be the case, he would be able to shape them according to his will. More to the point, Lycaon saw the chief, and he could tell he did not carry himself like a fool. He was sure to know what needed to be done.
“Know this, greenland man,” Sakoura said. “When night darkest, path opens.”
“What do you mean?” Lycaon said.
“What he means-” the translator began
“He sees what I mean,” Sakoura said. “And now we go.”
It was the dead of night, and Lycaon was waiting for some sort of signal from the tribesmen. He had been hoping that they would deliver, but night had come and he had yet to see anything from them. He had kept the main force of his army awake, hoping that somehow the tribesmen would follow through with their promise, but so far he had yet to see anything. Lycaon decided that he would wait until the following night to attack, and by the time. While Lycaon was thinking this however, he saw smoke rising from the castle town. Lycaon stared at it for some time, and became convinced that the smoke most definitely was coming from the walls, and not from deeper within the city.
“Captain!” Lycaon said, turning to one of his officers. “Organize the men, prepare for battle. See what our scouts can find out about that smoke.”
“Yes, Grandmaster,” the officer said.
Lycaon, walking with a squadron of knights accompanying him, walked to the head of his army. The vanguard was already prepared for battle, and more were quickly arriving. As the army was assembly, quite quickly considering the time, the smoke became thicker, and Lycaon saw signs of battle from up above, as well as the faint sound of battle in the far distance. It seemed that the tribesmen had keep their promise after all. It was then that Captain Saint-Simon, one of the only major officers to survive the battle with the Grim Company, approached Lycaon.
“Grandmaster, scouts report signs of battle atop the walls,”
“I can see that, captain,” Lycaon said. “Might you have anything useful to add?”
“It is too dark to see who is fighting,” Saint-Simon said.
“On the contrary, it is perfectly illuminated,” Lycaon said.
“Grandmaster?” the Captain was confused.
“Return to your battalion, captain,” Lycaon said. “It shall not take long for battle to resume.”
“Ah yes, of course, Grandmaster,” the captain said.
The fighting continued atop the rooftop. Lycaon guessed only a few minutes had actually passed. It would still take time for his army to mobilize, but they would be ready soon, as Lycaon had been hoping something like this would happen. As Lycaon saw his army began to take its proper shape, Commander Raymond approached him. He had served impressively in the battle against the Grim Company, after the untimely demise of Ser Sayer. It had been a defeat, but at least the strawberry-haired officer knew how to organize a proper withdraw. So Lycaon had made the decision that he would be Lycaon’s most trusted officer until he could get back into contact with one of his Lieutenant-Masters. Raymond stood by him, alongside Lord Gisborn.
“How fares our young hero,” Lycaon said, referring to Herona.
“She is tired, Grandmaster, I can see it in her eyes,” Raymond said. “
“Whatever attachment you have towards her, commander, bury it,” Lycaon said. “I never shirk from fighting, and neither do any of my men. I do not doubt that you have heard no complaints or desire for reprieve from Herona herself.”
Smoke and fire was seen from atop the walls of Medea, and the sound of battle soon ceased, as the gates opened. Lycaon now understood. When the chieftain had said that when the night was darkest a path would open, it was not a riddle but a promise, and a truth so simple Lycaon had been unable to grasp it. Yet now was not the time to mull over it.
“March!” Lycaon shouted. “Lord Gisborn, organize all the men you can. We shall show these heretics the might of Cawanor.”
Lycaon did not know how long the gates would be open, so he knew he would have to act quickly. However brave and battle-hardened his footsoldiers were, their strength paled in comparison to the might of the elite warriors of Cawanor. Thus, the soldiers of Cawanor were ordered to charge in first. As they passed through the now open gates of Medea, the soldiers of Cawanor ran at full speed. Waiting inside were militiamen, ill-prepared to face a foe like them.
*
Agathas stood behind a battalion of militiamen, hoping that they would be able to hold, though from the looks of things that was unlikely. Other forces had been sent to deal with the breach, but it had happened so fast, and was unexpected, that it had thrown all of their plans into chaos. It looked like it would take a miracle for them to achieve victory. Worse yet, the Grim Company had never shown up, like they were supposed to. For now, the only allies Agathas’ militiamen could count on were the tribesmen of the Sunnah tribe, led by Chieftain Umar the Wise. He hoped he would live up to his name.
“So, chief, any bright ideas?” Agathas said.
“They may look intimidating, but no matter how much a greenlander wears, he is still a man,” Umar said. “With the walls out of our control for the time being, we cannot use our oil pots. We must create a wall and hold them off until the bulk of our forces can return from the wall.”
The Cawanorians charged at full speed at the militiamen, and the militiamen did not fare well. As they charged, they broke through the ranks of the Uzgobian levies. However brave they might have been, they were not trained soldiers, and the soldiers of Cawanor were among the greatest in the realm. Agathas could only glance around nervously as it looked their line would collapse. But Umar stood unflinchingly, and as the Cawanorians pushed themselves deeper, Umar’s Sunnah warriors covered the flanks, and attacked them from the side. There would be no gap from which the Cawanorians could come pouring in. Even if they could defeat them, they would hold them off for as long as they could.
The fighting continued ferociously, but neither the militiamen nor the Sunnah tribesmen stood much of a chance in the long run against the greatest heavy infantrymen in Formaroth. The Cawanorians continued to break through. Agathas raised his sword and lunged it through the neck of one of the Cawanorian soldiers. But as the Cawanorians furthered their advance, another one of them faced him, and knocked him down to the ground. As he was waiting for his enemy’s strike to come, Agathas heard the sound of reinforcements coming, and his opponent hesitated slightly as he saw them. A spear came flinging across the air and struck Agathas’ opponents in the neck. A moment later Agathas saw Yama Wyrmslayer standing over him, offering him his hand. Agathas took it and was back up on his feet. Reinforcements had arrived, but Agathas knew it wouldn’t be enough.
“It won’t be enough, Chief,” Agathas said. “You’re warriors are good, but–”
“Never mind,” Yama Wyrmslayer said. “Go. To Fenick.”
“These men here are under my command,” Agathas said.
“Take them,” Yama Wyrmslayer said. “Leave this to warriors. But Fenick must know. He must prepare, and you must survive.”
Then Yama pushed him back, and Agathas knew that he had to leave. He knew the chieftain had a point. Agathas was not a thinking man, or a planning man, but he had an idea of what Yama had in mind. If they wanted the war to continue, there were some who needed to survive this night. The militiamen retreated, and Burunu warriors rushed to take their place. Nonetheless, Cawanorian soldiers now filled the area, and pushed the tribesmen back. Yama was prepared for whatever came. After all, these soldiers, no matter how impressive, were nothing compared to a Wyrm. He had no intention of dying today. After all, he had to ensure that Sakoura Spearbreaker paid for his betrayal and the disaster it had caused.
“Warriors of the Burunu, you who have faced the harshness of the sands and monsters it has birthed, show no fear to these greenlander tinmen,” Yama Wyrmslayer said. “A man is only a man, no matter how much he may cover himself in metals.”
*
Fenick looked out from the balcony over what had once been the count’s own estate. A scout had not yet returned to report what had happened, and not much time had passed, but Fenick could guess. The imperial forces had broken through. The Uzgob nobles still held out their support in fear that their uprising would fail, and the Grim Company was nowhere to be seen. It was then that the door behind him slammed opened. Fenick almost expected for it to be Lycaon’s henchmen, coming at last to kill him, but it was only one of his guards standing beside Agathas.
“Sir, colonel Agathas has arrived!” the guard said. “And he can report on what’s happening at the gate.”
“I think I can guess the sort of news you have to tell me, colonel,” Fenick said. “Tell me, what do you think of our odds?”
“Well, sir, if our forces can stave off a direct assault at the gates then once we retake the walls-” Agathas began.
“Colonel, honesty is one of your strong points,” Fenick said. “Tell me, what our odds?”
“Defeat is already assured,” Agathas said. “Still no sign of Lady Grim or her company. Shows what good mercenaries are. We still cannot find the Count. He ran off somewhere, I’m sure.”
“We have no choice,” Fenick said. “Agathas, you shall organize our surrender.”
“Surrender!” Agathas said. “We are prepared to fight to the death, if you need us to.”
“I do not need you to,” Fenick said. “You are better alive. Perhaps they shall kill us. Perhaps not, one of us shall live through this night. But…I do not think it will come to that. We must prepare for what comes after.”
“And what of yourself, sir?” Agathas said.
“I am prepared for whatever may come, Agathas,” Fenick said. “Now go. With whatever authority you believe I possess, have our forces surrender.”
“So it’s finally come to this,” Agathas said. “It has been an honor, Fenick.”
“Yes,” Fenick said. “And it is not nearly over. Now go, colonel. I have other things to deal with.”
“Aye, sir,” Agathas said, and gave Fenick a final salute.
Then as Agathas left, Fenick turned to the guard.
“Now that that is dealt with, have our guest released from his cell, and give him this,” Fenick said, and gave the guard a key. “It’s the key to the cellar. I have no interest in it, and I am sure that it will have more use in his hands than in mine.”
“And what of the traitor-king?” the guard said.
“I have already decided that we shall not kill him,” Fenick said. “Do not ask me again. I am sure Alasdair’s friends will find him. What happens to him after that is none of my concern.”
“Your reverence, I’m no one of importance, I know that you need not listen to me,” the guard said. “But it is of your concern. If we surrender now and let Nizaar off, all this was for nothing.”
“I am not your king,” Fenick said. “But if you want an alternate set of orders, I am sure the Count would be happy to give them.”
“The Count is gone, your reverence,” the guard said.
“You may go, sir, whenever you see fit,” Fenick replied bluntly. “And remember the keys.”
“Of course, your reverence,” the guard said unenthusiastically. “I shall do it at once.”
*
The soldiers of Cawanor were forcing their way through the streets of Medea. Resistance was fading as militiamen and tribal warriors fell one after another. The Cawanorians were the vanguard who struck the center of the rebels, while Herona herself stood at the flank, and pushed back any militiamen or warriors who tried to flank the Cawanorians. They continued to advance, walking over the bodies that littered the floor. The sight of bodies littering the streets, their blood seeping into the ground, was not a sight that Herona would be able to forget anytime soon. Another charge came from the tribesmen. Herona held out her spear and struck one of the tribesmen through the neck. They wore no armor and made easy opponents. She could not remember how many of them that she had killed, but many had come her way, and before they could kill her she slew them. No…that was no excuse. Here she was the aggressor. Yet she could not remember their faces, she could not remember striking them or killing them. It was all a blur.
Then the fighting began to cease. As the battle had been raging, the enemy’s forces withdrew, and then Herona saw the sign that the battle was finally over. Then Herona saw a white flag flying high atop the keep. Even all the way back in the flank Herona could see it. She was no strategist, but she was surprised that the battle had already ended. Though many of the rebels had died, many others still lived. Herona looked up ahead. She saw militiamen, tribesmen, along with some rebel knights and more professional soldiers. There were thousands of them, and all of whom had dropped their weapons and yielded. Immediately, she and the other soldiers rushed forwards and surrounded them but did not attack.
Their surrendered enemies no longer put up any resistance. Herona herself became one of their jailers. Wielding her spear, she served as a guard as an officer barked orders, and told her and her fellow soldiers where next to lead their new prisoners. Once the streets were cleared of them, Lycaon entered the city. Flanked by his elite guard and followed by pages and squires wielding flags and heraldry, it was quite the procession, but was quite barren compared to ones he was used to. Unlike the times when he had walked through Nyhem, there were no jubilant crowds there to greet him and herald his entrance. Indeed, it was likely that he had few friends in Medea. However, that could change in the near future.
Lycaon approached the place that had once housed the Count. Now, however, the Count seemed to be gone, and instead it was the heretic leader who would be waiting for them inside. Rhodanthe approached along with another footsoldier, and they pushed open the large doors to the estate. They walked inside, and Lycaon was surprised to see that while Fenick was there to meet them he was not seated upon the throne. He was with several guards who were, curiously enough, unarmed. He stood behind the empty seat of the count looking rather unintimidating. Rather, Lycaon only saw the eyes of defeat in this old man.
“I am surprised not to see you on that throne, Fenick,” Lycaon said.
“I am no noble, no count,” Fenick replied. “I am only a man who spoke the truth.”
“There was no truth in your words, heretic,” Lycaon said. “Kneel.”
“I offer to you my head, do not ask for my knee as well,” Fenick said. “So it is has finally come, Lycaon. The day is yours. But remember that this is not the end.”
“No, heretic, it is only the beginning,” Lycaon retorted. “Soon a new day shall come, in which men such as you shall be wiped from memory, and the plague of Johannia shall not even be remembered.”
“We cannot be erased, Lycaon,” Fenick said confidently. “Try as you might, the people’s voice cannot be silenced. Our will cannot be altered to whatever you see fit.”
“Your speeches have run dry, Fenick,” Lycaon said. “If you are so confident in the voice of the people, I will meet your challenge. The light shall cast down the dark, and you will be cast down. You shall be forgotten, and the Church shall bear fruit where your heresy once took root. Have your men stand down. If they do not wish to join you down in your dungeon, they will accept the true way of the church”.
“Do not harm them,” Fenick said. “They are good men, and many are not even followers of Johannia. Simply friends and loyal retainers.”
“There is a certain order to these things,” Lycaon said. “Your city still stands. If I wished for every man to be struck down, it would already have been done.. Besides yourselves, and what remains of your army, who else have you housed here? Where is Nizaar?”
“He was in the dungeon,” Fenick said.
“Was?” Lycaon said.
“He did not survive the battle,” Fenick said.
“I doubt the battle would have reached him down here, Fenick. You killed him. You killed your king.”
“He was not my king!” Fenick exclaimed
“You killed your king,” Lycaon repeated. “He was your king. A rebel and heretic like yourself perhaps cannot understand it, but you do not choose your king. They are born into their position by the will of the gods”.
“Do not lecture me, Lycaon, not on this!” Fenick said. “I am a man of the king.. If you believe a king cannot be chosen, surely it is Andris, and not Nizaar.”
“I have heard enough from the heretic,” Lycaon said. “His place now is in the dungeon. I trust your men shall have no problem showing my soldiers your new temporary home.”
“Very well,” Fenick said. “It was I who surrendered. Let this be the end of it”
Herona, along with a number of other soldiers, followed Fenick’s guards downstairs. The soldiers of the Holy Order kept Lycaon close, with guards on every corner of him.
“Grandmaster,” said Raymond, bowing to Lycaon as he approached. “Shall Lord Rendon be informed that Fenick has been captured without incident? “Yes,” Lycaon said. “He will like to know.”
*
Some time passed before lord Rendon finally arrived, his armour unmarked and clean. It was clear that while he had partaken in the battle he had kept to the edge of the battlefield away from harm.
“Ser Lycaon” He said with panic in his voice “I bring urgent news”.
"In this time of victory, what could bother us now, Lord Rendon?" Lycaon said
“It is Lord Nizzar, he lies gravely wounded in a cell beneath the keep. Alas even with our mages I doubt he will survive long. He says that he has an urgent message but refuses to tell me. The only person he will relay it to is yourself”.
"Then we must go to him while he still lives," Lycaon said. "Follow me, men. We must have this dealt with as quickly as we can."
With that said, Lycaon followed Rendon into the dungeon.
As one would expect, the dungeons were most unpleasant. Most of the cells were empty and devoid of any furniture except a bucket for the inmates to defecate into. The floor and walls were made of a rough and dirty sandstone and would make sleeping upon them most uncomfortable. Most disturbing was that most of the cells were stained with fresh blood. It seemed fenick had cleared the prison when he killed Nizzar, though for what purpose was unknown. Most strangely was that no bodies were present in the cell. Had fenick cleared the cell? If so Lycaon could only wonder for what reason. Eventually they approached a heavy wooden door.
"This is where the most important prisoners are kept" Rendon said as he went on ahead of lycaon opening the door "quickly" he hurried as he went through
Lycaon and his knights quickly walked through the cell, as he was eager to see what had transpired inside there.
"Fresh blood," Lycaon said. "But for what purpose, and why were they taken away? Fenick shall have to answer for this."
Lycaon walked into a large stone room with three cells at the end of them. By comparison to the cells they had just walked by these ones were in far better condition with furniture and comfortable beds. It was clear these cells had been made for important prisoners. However these were not what caught Lycaon’s eyes; the floor was littered with dead corpse wearing tribesman and Medea guardsmen attire. Even more curious; a dozen or so Knights of Nidanke stood in the room with their weapons drawn. From behind Lycaon and his men came two more Nidanke knights, cutting off the exit. Once His knights were in position Rendon draw his blade
“You die here traitor” Rendon said with a wide smirk
"At arms!" Lycaon shouted, and nothing more needed to be said. He had to depend on his soldiers to defend him.
Herons had not been expecting battle. A wave of confusion washed over her, but as soon as swords were drawn she moved without thinking. One of Rendon's knights drew his sword, and as she heard Lycaon shouted instinctively she rose her spear and struck him through the neck below the helmet. Meanwhile Lycaon's other knights formed a circle around him, protecting their grandmaster. Rendon's knights charged, and Lycaon's went to hold the line. Rendon's knights cut down the militiamen quickly. Even with all the experience they had gained they were no match for Rendon's heavily-armored knights. All except for Herona, who deflected every blow from the opposing knight, before she struck him dead with a strike with her spear below the neck. Herona was not the only one. Lycaon's knights began to push forward, and Lycaon himself joined the fray. With his sword he struck down one of Rendon's knights, and when a second turned to him he struck him with a precise blow through the vizor.
As they started to gain ground, Lycaon shouted, "So brother, have anything to say for yourself now?"
Rendon started to panic, his knights had outnumbered Lycaon’s and yet they were falling like flies. The cell that had originally meant to cut off Lycaon now served to trap himself. While Rendon’s men were well armed and trained, Lycaon’s had been forged in battle many times over and it showed. With the tide turning Rendon, who had previously stayed away from the fight desperately joined the fray, swinging at Lycaon’s head.
Lycaon raised his own sword, and deflected Rendon's strike. Herona moved to protect her Grandmaster, but was stopped by one of the knights.
"Stop," the knight told Herona. "He doesn't want us to interfere. Not with him."
Facing Rendon, Lycaon made a strike against Rendon's armor with his sword, and the power of Lycaon's strike made Rendon fall backwards. As the last of Rendon's knights protected their leader, Lycaon's knights closed in.
"Any last words before you die, Rendon?" Lycaon said.
Rendon started to panic as he saw the light gleam across Lycaon's sword. His knights were dead and he was now defenceless.
"Mercy my Brother" he cried "I was only following orders"
"And whose orders would that be, Rendon?" Lycaon said. "Alasdair's?"
Rendon paused, uncertain whether it would be wise to betray Alasdair but the gleam from Lycaon's sword squashed all doubts "Yes! He originally planned for me to gradually take over the order but it soon became clear that wouldn't happen. So when he received word about my engagement to your sister he ordered me to kill you and take your place”. This was only half the truth, Alasdair had actually told him to wait until after his marriage to Irene before killing Lycaon, but chances to do so inconspicuously were few and far between. This had been his best chance of taking his brother-in law out of the picture. Or so he thought. “He named you a traitor, who am I to refuse the king. MERCY BROTHER”. Rendon was practically crying now, this had been his first true taste of battle and never did he expect to find himself on the other end of his opponents blade.
"How tragic it is, dear brother," Lycaon said. "You could have been the eternal thorn in my side, but it seems our Emperor miscalculated and overreached. But I cannot blame him. After all, he does not truly know me. Still, the blame falls on you as well, that you could not see this result. At least let me tell you this, my sweet brother. Did you truly think you, with a face like your own, could seduce my sister, the fairest face in my father's land, even under the influence of the wine? No. The truth is I was the one who instigated it. You may think it incredible, perhaps even cruel, for a brother to trade away his sisters all's virginity to a drunken sot, but it was for a worthy cause. Yet you turned out to be a disappointment. You would have my sister, my father's land, and - with a little maneuvering - the whole of the Sypius Plains once I got rid of Charles. That should have won you to my side, but I overestimated you. Why am I telling you all this? Why, obviously it is because you shall never leave this dungeon. But fear not, for all things can be forgiven in death."
Before Rendon could move, Lycaon raised his sword and struck it through Rendon's head. Herona gasped when she saw it, and her body quivered. He died instantly, and as Lycaon removed his blade from Rendon's skull, his corpse fell onto the ground. Herona could not believe it. Even after he surrendered, no mercy had been given, even to a man of his stature. Yet she was the only one who quivered, the others being unshaken. Lycaon saw it in Herona and turned to her.
"Do not worry over a single death," Lycaon said, grabbing her shoulder. "In times of conflict we must do the unthinkable without hesitation. You saw yourself that he revealed himself to be the enemy, and as the Church we must be ever vigilant. Enemies abound that seek to do us harm, and we must be prepared to strike with eagerness before they have a chance to cut our throats."
"Yes, Grandmaster!" Herona said.
"Now, we shall have to inform the others of this tragedy," Lycaon said. "A remnant of Fenick's forces awaited us down here and took by surprise. It was unfortunate that Rendon did not survive."
"Brother, King Patrick has granted us a great army for our use," Lycaon said. "When the heretics look upon it, they will quake in their boots. It is about time that they march and retake Medea. Once that is done the heretics shall scurry away like rats."
Rendon gave Lycaon a half smile that could have meant anything “Of course brother, it is time we removed the emperors enemies from these lands. Before long we will be welcomed back into Nyhem as heros, and with the emperors gratitude no doubt”
Lycaon paid little head to the expression of Rendon. He was more concerned with getting his new army moving and ending this heretics' revolt as quickly as possible.
"Then it is time we get moving," Lycaon said. "I shall get the men moving".
“Very well then, I shall ride with my order near the back and stop any stragglers from falling behind, we can’t have these Uzgobian dogs think they can get away with poor discipline under our command”. Rendon said, he always disdained the northern filth that plagued Formaroth and took enjoyment in keeping them in their place.
"So be it, brother," Lycaon said. "You shall find me and my Order at the front, with the forces of Cawanor."
A page brought Lycaon his steed to him, already clad in steel. After he lifted himself atop his horse, Lycaon began to ride towards the vanguard of the army.
*
Lycaon stood at the head of his army, as he stood amongst his horsed knights of the Holy Order of Saint Elenor. The elite soldiers of Cawanor stood behind him, as they stood before the walls of the castle of Medea. Behind them were the other soldiers that Patrick had brought, who formed the bulk of the army. The foot soldiers of the Order of Saint Elenor were stationed in the rear. The reason given was that they were to be the reserve force, but the truth was that they had already suffered high casualties, and Lycaon did not wish for them to suffer any more. The army set up camp outside of the city walls, and the garrison inside did not try to attack him. From their scouts reports it seemed that they were not as numerous as their propaganda made them out to be and would not easily be lured out from the safety of their gates. Lycaon was beginning to prepare the order to attack, a scout bowed and approached him, and was accompanied by two men dressed in what looked to Lycaon like the garb of a savage or barbarian.
“Sir,” the scout said. “I bring to you the Chief of the Zuwu Tribe, as well as his translator.”
“One of the tribes of Uzgob, then,” Lycaon said. He knew nothing of them, other than there were nomads in Uzgob who still clung to their ancient ways, and that they had sided with the heretics. Lycaon had already arranged for their extermination.
“And what business do the Zuwu have with us?” Lycaon said.
“On behalf of Sakoura Spearbreaker, Chief of the Zuwu Tribe, I offer our tribe’s surrender,” the translator said. “We ask for nothing but that we be allowed to go in peace and return home without fear of reprisal.”
“The Empire is not so lenient as to allow insurrection to go unpunished. The tribes of Uzgob may be free and self-ruling, but they are subjects of Uzgob all the same, and not independent nations. They are subject to the same law as any other. Your Chief has already committed treason, and now that his fortunes have been altered slightly he wishes to return to the winning side. But high treason cannot be avoided so easily. If there is some reason why your crimes should be forgiven, the Empire shall listen. What does the Zuwu Tribe have to offer us?”
Their conversation for a moment ceased, as the translator turned once again back to his chief. They spoke in a language he did not understand for several minutes, and Lycaon simply waited for their conversation to finish. Of course, Lycaon had no desire to refuse this tribe’s reconciliation with the empire. They may have been traitors, but they were far from the first to choose the wrong side, only to be reconciled later on. The prominent traitors and heretics like Fenick and his closest allies would face the gallows, but others like the Zuwu were merely small pieces, and could be reconciled.
“We know the walls and gates, what Fenick has chosen to protect, and what he has been forced to leave unguarded,” the translator said.
“That shall be useful,” Lycaon said. “But your transgression was more than words. Your crime was action, and so it shall take action to be forgiven.”
“Ask your leader,” Lycaon said.
His words were layered with hostility. He still maintained the impression that he was cold and hostile, but that stage had already passed for Lycaon. He saw that this tribe would be useful going forward. He had no idea how many of these tribes there were, but after Medea fell the tribes would follow this Zuwu tribe’s lead one after another. Their surrender itself was of no real consequence. Whether they had surrendered or not, Medea would fall and the heretical rebellion would fall with it. But if the tribes surrendered to him, it would have consequence. Savages, Lycaon had believed, gave more to personal loyalty than others did, and so they would be more loyal to him than to the Emperor, especially an Emperor like Alasdair, who could not even leave his palace to lead his own armies while there was a rebellion in the Realm. If they had their own reasons for joining the rebellion, which Lycaon suspected to be the case, he would be able to shape them according to his will. More to the point, Lycaon saw the chief, and he could tell he did not carry himself like a fool. He was sure to know what needed to be done.
“Know this, greenland man,” Sakoura said. “When night darkest, path opens.”
“What do you mean?” Lycaon said.
“What he means-” the translator began
“He sees what I mean,” Sakoura said. “And now we go.”
It was the dead of night, and Lycaon was waiting for some sort of signal from the tribesmen. He had been hoping that they would deliver, but night had come and he had yet to see anything from them. He had kept the main force of his army awake, hoping that somehow the tribesmen would follow through with their promise, but so far he had yet to see anything. Lycaon decided that he would wait until the following night to attack, and by the time. While Lycaon was thinking this however, he saw smoke rising from the castle town. Lycaon stared at it for some time, and became convinced that the smoke most definitely was coming from the walls, and not from deeper within the city.
“Captain!” Lycaon said, turning to one of his officers. “Organize the men, prepare for battle. See what our scouts can find out about that smoke.”
“Yes, Grandmaster,” the officer said.
Lycaon, walking with a squadron of knights accompanying him, walked to the head of his army. The vanguard was already prepared for battle, and more were quickly arriving. As the army was assembly, quite quickly considering the time, the smoke became thicker, and Lycaon saw signs of battle from up above, as well as the faint sound of battle in the far distance. It seemed that the tribesmen had keep their promise after all. It was then that Captain Saint-Simon, one of the only major officers to survive the battle with the Grim Company, approached Lycaon.
“Grandmaster, scouts report signs of battle atop the walls,”
“I can see that, captain,” Lycaon said. “Might you have anything useful to add?”
“It is too dark to see who is fighting,” Saint-Simon said.
“On the contrary, it is perfectly illuminated,” Lycaon said.
“Grandmaster?” the Captain was confused.
“Return to your battalion, captain,” Lycaon said. “It shall not take long for battle to resume.”
“Ah yes, of course, Grandmaster,” the captain said.
The fighting continued atop the rooftop. Lycaon guessed only a few minutes had actually passed. It would still take time for his army to mobilize, but they would be ready soon, as Lycaon had been hoping something like this would happen. As Lycaon saw his army began to take its proper shape, Commander Raymond approached him. He had served impressively in the battle against the Grim Company, after the untimely demise of Ser Sayer. It had been a defeat, but at least the strawberry-haired officer knew how to organize a proper withdraw. So Lycaon had made the decision that he would be Lycaon’s most trusted officer until he could get back into contact with one of his Lieutenant-Masters. Raymond stood by him, alongside Lord Gisborn.
“How fares our young hero,” Lycaon said, referring to Herona.
“She is tired, Grandmaster, I can see it in her eyes,” Raymond said. “
“Whatever attachment you have towards her, commander, bury it,” Lycaon said. “I never shirk from fighting, and neither do any of my men. I do not doubt that you have heard no complaints or desire for reprieve from Herona herself.”
Smoke and fire was seen from atop the walls of Medea, and the sound of battle soon ceased, as the gates opened. Lycaon now understood. When the chieftain had said that when the night was darkest a path would open, it was not a riddle but a promise, and a truth so simple Lycaon had been unable to grasp it. Yet now was not the time to mull over it.
“March!” Lycaon shouted. “Lord Gisborn, organize all the men you can. We shall show these heretics the might of Cawanor.”
Lycaon did not know how long the gates would be open, so he knew he would have to act quickly. However brave and battle-hardened his footsoldiers were, their strength paled in comparison to the might of the elite warriors of Cawanor. Thus, the soldiers of Cawanor were ordered to charge in first. As they passed through the now open gates of Medea, the soldiers of Cawanor ran at full speed. Waiting inside were militiamen, ill-prepared to face a foe like them.
*
Agathas stood behind a battalion of militiamen, hoping that they would be able to hold, though from the looks of things that was unlikely. Other forces had been sent to deal with the breach, but it had happened so fast, and was unexpected, that it had thrown all of their plans into chaos. It looked like it would take a miracle for them to achieve victory. Worse yet, the Grim Company had never shown up, like they were supposed to. For now, the only allies Agathas’ militiamen could count on were the tribesmen of the Sunnah tribe, led by Chieftain Umar the Wise. He hoped he would live up to his name.
“So, chief, any bright ideas?” Agathas said.
“They may look intimidating, but no matter how much a greenlander wears, he is still a man,” Umar said. “With the walls out of our control for the time being, we cannot use our oil pots. We must create a wall and hold them off until the bulk of our forces can return from the wall.”
The Cawanorians charged at full speed at the militiamen, and the militiamen did not fare well. As they charged, they broke through the ranks of the Uzgobian levies. However brave they might have been, they were not trained soldiers, and the soldiers of Cawanor were among the greatest in the realm. Agathas could only glance around nervously as it looked their line would collapse. But Umar stood unflinchingly, and as the Cawanorians pushed themselves deeper, Umar’s Sunnah warriors covered the flanks, and attacked them from the side. There would be no gap from which the Cawanorians could come pouring in. Even if they could defeat them, they would hold them off for as long as they could.
The fighting continued ferociously, but neither the militiamen nor the Sunnah tribesmen stood much of a chance in the long run against the greatest heavy infantrymen in Formaroth. The Cawanorians continued to break through. Agathas raised his sword and lunged it through the neck of one of the Cawanorian soldiers. But as the Cawanorians furthered their advance, another one of them faced him, and knocked him down to the ground. As he was waiting for his enemy’s strike to come, Agathas heard the sound of reinforcements coming, and his opponent hesitated slightly as he saw them. A spear came flinging across the air and struck Agathas’ opponents in the neck. A moment later Agathas saw Yama Wyrmslayer standing over him, offering him his hand. Agathas took it and was back up on his feet. Reinforcements had arrived, but Agathas knew it wouldn’t be enough.
“It won’t be enough, Chief,” Agathas said. “You’re warriors are good, but–”
“Never mind,” Yama Wyrmslayer said. “Go. To Fenick.”
“These men here are under my command,” Agathas said.
“Take them,” Yama Wyrmslayer said. “Leave this to warriors. But Fenick must know. He must prepare, and you must survive.”
Then Yama pushed him back, and Agathas knew that he had to leave. He knew the chieftain had a point. Agathas was not a thinking man, or a planning man, but he had an idea of what Yama had in mind. If they wanted the war to continue, there were some who needed to survive this night. The militiamen retreated, and Burunu warriors rushed to take their place. Nonetheless, Cawanorian soldiers now filled the area, and pushed the tribesmen back. Yama was prepared for whatever came. After all, these soldiers, no matter how impressive, were nothing compared to a Wyrm. He had no intention of dying today. After all, he had to ensure that Sakoura Spearbreaker paid for his betrayal and the disaster it had caused.
“Warriors of the Burunu, you who have faced the harshness of the sands and monsters it has birthed, show no fear to these greenlander tinmen,” Yama Wyrmslayer said. “A man is only a man, no matter how much he may cover himself in metals.”
*
Fenick looked out from the balcony over what had once been the count’s own estate. A scout had not yet returned to report what had happened, and not much time had passed, but Fenick could guess. The imperial forces had broken through. The Uzgob nobles still held out their support in fear that their uprising would fail, and the Grim Company was nowhere to be seen. It was then that the door behind him slammed opened. Fenick almost expected for it to be Lycaon’s henchmen, coming at last to kill him, but it was only one of his guards standing beside Agathas.
“Sir, colonel Agathas has arrived!” the guard said. “And he can report on what’s happening at the gate.”
“I think I can guess the sort of news you have to tell me, colonel,” Fenick said. “Tell me, what do you think of our odds?”
“Well, sir, if our forces can stave off a direct assault at the gates then once we retake the walls-” Agathas began.
“Colonel, honesty is one of your strong points,” Fenick said. “Tell me, what our odds?”
“Defeat is already assured,” Agathas said. “Still no sign of Lady Grim or her company. Shows what good mercenaries are. We still cannot find the Count. He ran off somewhere, I’m sure.”
“We have no choice,” Fenick said. “Agathas, you shall organize our surrender.”
“Surrender!” Agathas said. “We are prepared to fight to the death, if you need us to.”
“I do not need you to,” Fenick said. “You are better alive. Perhaps they shall kill us. Perhaps not, one of us shall live through this night. But…I do not think it will come to that. We must prepare for what comes after.”
“And what of yourself, sir?” Agathas said.
“I am prepared for whatever may come, Agathas,” Fenick said. “Now go. With whatever authority you believe I possess, have our forces surrender.”
“So it’s finally come to this,” Agathas said. “It has been an honor, Fenick.”
“Yes,” Fenick said. “And it is not nearly over. Now go, colonel. I have other things to deal with.”
“Aye, sir,” Agathas said, and gave Fenick a final salute.
Then as Agathas left, Fenick turned to the guard.
“Now that that is dealt with, have our guest released from his cell, and give him this,” Fenick said, and gave the guard a key. “It’s the key to the cellar. I have no interest in it, and I am sure that it will have more use in his hands than in mine.”
“And what of the traitor-king?” the guard said.
“I have already decided that we shall not kill him,” Fenick said. “Do not ask me again. I am sure Alasdair’s friends will find him. What happens to him after that is none of my concern.”
“Your reverence, I’m no one of importance, I know that you need not listen to me,” the guard said. “But it is of your concern. If we surrender now and let Nizaar off, all this was for nothing.”
“I am not your king,” Fenick said. “But if you want an alternate set of orders, I am sure the Count would be happy to give them.”
“The Count is gone, your reverence,” the guard said.
“You may go, sir, whenever you see fit,” Fenick replied bluntly. “And remember the keys.”
“Of course, your reverence,” the guard said unenthusiastically. “I shall do it at once.”
*
The soldiers of Cawanor were forcing their way through the streets of Medea. Resistance was fading as militiamen and tribal warriors fell one after another. The Cawanorians were the vanguard who struck the center of the rebels, while Herona herself stood at the flank, and pushed back any militiamen or warriors who tried to flank the Cawanorians. They continued to advance, walking over the bodies that littered the floor. The sight of bodies littering the streets, their blood seeping into the ground, was not a sight that Herona would be able to forget anytime soon. Another charge came from the tribesmen. Herona held out her spear and struck one of the tribesmen through the neck. They wore no armor and made easy opponents. She could not remember how many of them that she had killed, but many had come her way, and before they could kill her she slew them. No…that was no excuse. Here she was the aggressor. Yet she could not remember their faces, she could not remember striking them or killing them. It was all a blur.
Then the fighting began to cease. As the battle had been raging, the enemy’s forces withdrew, and then Herona saw the sign that the battle was finally over. Then Herona saw a white flag flying high atop the keep. Even all the way back in the flank Herona could see it. She was no strategist, but she was surprised that the battle had already ended. Though many of the rebels had died, many others still lived. Herona looked up ahead. She saw militiamen, tribesmen, along with some rebel knights and more professional soldiers. There were thousands of them, and all of whom had dropped their weapons and yielded. Immediately, she and the other soldiers rushed forwards and surrounded them but did not attack.
Their surrendered enemies no longer put up any resistance. Herona herself became one of their jailers. Wielding her spear, she served as a guard as an officer barked orders, and told her and her fellow soldiers where next to lead their new prisoners. Once the streets were cleared of them, Lycaon entered the city. Flanked by his elite guard and followed by pages and squires wielding flags and heraldry, it was quite the procession, but was quite barren compared to ones he was used to. Unlike the times when he had walked through Nyhem, there were no jubilant crowds there to greet him and herald his entrance. Indeed, it was likely that he had few friends in Medea. However, that could change in the near future.
Lycaon approached the place that had once housed the Count. Now, however, the Count seemed to be gone, and instead it was the heretic leader who would be waiting for them inside. Rhodanthe approached along with another footsoldier, and they pushed open the large doors to the estate. They walked inside, and Lycaon was surprised to see that while Fenick was there to meet them he was not seated upon the throne. He was with several guards who were, curiously enough, unarmed. He stood behind the empty seat of the count looking rather unintimidating. Rather, Lycaon only saw the eyes of defeat in this old man.
“I am surprised not to see you on that throne, Fenick,” Lycaon said.
“I am no noble, no count,” Fenick replied. “I am only a man who spoke the truth.”
“There was no truth in your words, heretic,” Lycaon said. “Kneel.”
“I offer to you my head, do not ask for my knee as well,” Fenick said. “So it is has finally come, Lycaon. The day is yours. But remember that this is not the end.”
“No, heretic, it is only the beginning,” Lycaon retorted. “Soon a new day shall come, in which men such as you shall be wiped from memory, and the plague of Johannia shall not even be remembered.”
“We cannot be erased, Lycaon,” Fenick said confidently. “Try as you might, the people’s voice cannot be silenced. Our will cannot be altered to whatever you see fit.”
“Your speeches have run dry, Fenick,” Lycaon said. “If you are so confident in the voice of the people, I will meet your challenge. The light shall cast down the dark, and you will be cast down. You shall be forgotten, and the Church shall bear fruit where your heresy once took root. Have your men stand down. If they do not wish to join you down in your dungeon, they will accept the true way of the church”.
“Do not harm them,” Fenick said. “They are good men, and many are not even followers of Johannia. Simply friends and loyal retainers.”
“There is a certain order to these things,” Lycaon said. “Your city still stands. If I wished for every man to be struck down, it would already have been done.. Besides yourselves, and what remains of your army, who else have you housed here? Where is Nizaar?”
“He was in the dungeon,” Fenick said.
“Was?” Lycaon said.
“He did not survive the battle,” Fenick said.
“I doubt the battle would have reached him down here, Fenick. You killed him. You killed your king.”
“He was not my king!” Fenick exclaimed
“You killed your king,” Lycaon repeated. “He was your king. A rebel and heretic like yourself perhaps cannot understand it, but you do not choose your king. They are born into their position by the will of the gods”.
“Do not lecture me, Lycaon, not on this!” Fenick said. “I am a man of the king.. If you believe a king cannot be chosen, surely it is Andris, and not Nizaar.”
“I have heard enough from the heretic,” Lycaon said. “His place now is in the dungeon. I trust your men shall have no problem showing my soldiers your new temporary home.”
“Very well,” Fenick said. “It was I who surrendered. Let this be the end of it”
Herona, along with a number of other soldiers, followed Fenick’s guards downstairs. The soldiers of the Holy Order kept Lycaon close, with guards on every corner of him.
“Grandmaster,” said Raymond, bowing to Lycaon as he approached. “Shall Lord Rendon be informed that Fenick has been captured without incident? “Yes,” Lycaon said. “He will like to know.”
*
Some time passed before lord Rendon finally arrived, his armour unmarked and clean. It was clear that while he had partaken in the battle he had kept to the edge of the battlefield away from harm.
“Ser Lycaon” He said with panic in his voice “I bring urgent news”.
"In this time of victory, what could bother us now, Lord Rendon?" Lycaon said
“It is Lord Nizzar, he lies gravely wounded in a cell beneath the keep. Alas even with our mages I doubt he will survive long. He says that he has an urgent message but refuses to tell me. The only person he will relay it to is yourself”.
"Then we must go to him while he still lives," Lycaon said. "Follow me, men. We must have this dealt with as quickly as we can."
With that said, Lycaon followed Rendon into the dungeon.
As one would expect, the dungeons were most unpleasant. Most of the cells were empty and devoid of any furniture except a bucket for the inmates to defecate into. The floor and walls were made of a rough and dirty sandstone and would make sleeping upon them most uncomfortable. Most disturbing was that most of the cells were stained with fresh blood. It seemed fenick had cleared the prison when he killed Nizzar, though for what purpose was unknown. Most strangely was that no bodies were present in the cell. Had fenick cleared the cell? If so Lycaon could only wonder for what reason. Eventually they approached a heavy wooden door.
"This is where the most important prisoners are kept" Rendon said as he went on ahead of lycaon opening the door "quickly" he hurried as he went through
Lycaon and his knights quickly walked through the cell, as he was eager to see what had transpired inside there.
"Fresh blood," Lycaon said. "But for what purpose, and why were they taken away? Fenick shall have to answer for this."
Lycaon walked into a large stone room with three cells at the end of them. By comparison to the cells they had just walked by these ones were in far better condition with furniture and comfortable beds. It was clear these cells had been made for important prisoners. However these were not what caught Lycaon’s eyes; the floor was littered with dead corpse wearing tribesman and Medea guardsmen attire. Even more curious; a dozen or so Knights of Nidanke stood in the room with their weapons drawn. From behind Lycaon and his men came two more Nidanke knights, cutting off the exit. Once His knights were in position Rendon draw his blade
“You die here traitor” Rendon said with a wide smirk
"At arms!" Lycaon shouted, and nothing more needed to be said. He had to depend on his soldiers to defend him.
Herons had not been expecting battle. A wave of confusion washed over her, but as soon as swords were drawn she moved without thinking. One of Rendon's knights drew his sword, and as she heard Lycaon shouted instinctively she rose her spear and struck him through the neck below the helmet. Meanwhile Lycaon's other knights formed a circle around him, protecting their grandmaster. Rendon's knights charged, and Lycaon's went to hold the line. Rendon's knights cut down the militiamen quickly. Even with all the experience they had gained they were no match for Rendon's heavily-armored knights. All except for Herona, who deflected every blow from the opposing knight, before she struck him dead with a strike with her spear below the neck. Herona was not the only one. Lycaon's knights began to push forward, and Lycaon himself joined the fray. With his sword he struck down one of Rendon's knights, and when a second turned to him he struck him with a precise blow through the vizor.
As they started to gain ground, Lycaon shouted, "So brother, have anything to say for yourself now?"
Rendon started to panic, his knights had outnumbered Lycaon’s and yet they were falling like flies. The cell that had originally meant to cut off Lycaon now served to trap himself. While Rendon’s men were well armed and trained, Lycaon’s had been forged in battle many times over and it showed. With the tide turning Rendon, who had previously stayed away from the fight desperately joined the fray, swinging at Lycaon’s head.
Lycaon raised his own sword, and deflected Rendon's strike. Herona moved to protect her Grandmaster, but was stopped by one of the knights.
"Stop," the knight told Herona. "He doesn't want us to interfere. Not with him."
Facing Rendon, Lycaon made a strike against Rendon's armor with his sword, and the power of Lycaon's strike made Rendon fall backwards. As the last of Rendon's knights protected their leader, Lycaon's knights closed in.
"Any last words before you die, Rendon?" Lycaon said.
Rendon started to panic as he saw the light gleam across Lycaon's sword. His knights were dead and he was now defenceless.
"Mercy my Brother" he cried "I was only following orders"
"And whose orders would that be, Rendon?" Lycaon said. "Alasdair's?"
Rendon paused, uncertain whether it would be wise to betray Alasdair but the gleam from Lycaon's sword squashed all doubts "Yes! He originally planned for me to gradually take over the order but it soon became clear that wouldn't happen. So when he received word about my engagement to your sister he ordered me to kill you and take your place”. This was only half the truth, Alasdair had actually told him to wait until after his marriage to Irene before killing Lycaon, but chances to do so inconspicuously were few and far between. This had been his best chance of taking his brother-in law out of the picture. Or so he thought. “He named you a traitor, who am I to refuse the king. MERCY BROTHER”. Rendon was practically crying now, this had been his first true taste of battle and never did he expect to find himself on the other end of his opponents blade.
"How tragic it is, dear brother," Lycaon said. "You could have been the eternal thorn in my side, but it seems our Emperor miscalculated and overreached. But I cannot blame him. After all, he does not truly know me. Still, the blame falls on you as well, that you could not see this result. At least let me tell you this, my sweet brother. Did you truly think you, with a face like your own, could seduce my sister, the fairest face in my father's land, even under the influence of the wine? No. The truth is I was the one who instigated it. You may think it incredible, perhaps even cruel, for a brother to trade away his sisters all's virginity to a drunken sot, but it was for a worthy cause. Yet you turned out to be a disappointment. You would have my sister, my father's land, and - with a little maneuvering - the whole of the Sypius Plains once I got rid of Charles. That should have won you to my side, but I overestimated you. Why am I telling you all this? Why, obviously it is because you shall never leave this dungeon. But fear not, for all things can be forgiven in death."
Before Rendon could move, Lycaon raised his sword and struck it through Rendon's head. Herona gasped when she saw it, and her body quivered. He died instantly, and as Lycaon removed his blade from Rendon's skull, his corpse fell onto the ground. Herona could not believe it. Even after he surrendered, no mercy had been given, even to a man of his stature. Yet she was the only one who quivered, the others being unshaken. Lycaon saw it in Herona and turned to her.
"Do not worry over a single death," Lycaon said, grabbing her shoulder. "In times of conflict we must do the unthinkable without hesitation. You saw yourself that he revealed himself to be the enemy, and as the Church we must be ever vigilant. Enemies abound that seek to do us harm, and we must be prepared to strike with eagerness before they have a chance to cut our throats."
"Yes, Grandmaster!" Herona said.
"Now, we shall have to inform the others of this tragedy," Lycaon said. "A remnant of Fenick's forces awaited us down here and took by surprise. It was unfortunate that Rendon did not survive."
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