Rhodanthe stood in front of the royal families of Raeldar and Thralreth, the leaders of the Southern Alliance, men and women who could have her head in a moment if she wanted. And yet they had chosen to meet with her personally and privately, in her capacity as the prophet. Standing before her were King Bearnard Sutharlan, Queen Sorcha Sutharlan, Iain Sutherlan, Queen Mylla Staghain, and Grand Duke Alfred Staghain, all dressed in their regal attire.
“So, Bearnard, this is the prophet you’ve been telling us about,” Queen Mylla said. “The child prophet from Uzgob who bravely led the people of Nyhem from the dangers of Alasdair’s tyranny into the safety of the South.”
“I’m no one so grand as that, y’majesty,” Rhodanthe said.
“But you must be, if all of that really is true,” Grand Duke Alfred said.
“Is it all true, Bearnard?” Queen Mylla said. “There have been prophets before. There is also Johannia, whose vision we could say is far less radical, and far easier for the nobles to swallow.”
“She is credible,” King Bearnard interjected. “Her gift has been observed. Ask Sorcha if you don’t believe me.”
“I have seen charlatans and madmen, and Rhodanthe is neither of them,” Queen Mylla said. “She may seem a normal girl at most times, but at times the spirit of the One enters her. I saw when it entered her, and everyone who was present.
“Do you have still doubt, Mylla?” Bearnard said. “Or will you now choose to hold your support?”
“No, we remain in agreement, Bearnard,” Queen Mylla said. “Rhodanthe shall be the prophet of the land. Moreover, there is more important business at hand. How many of your nobles have agreed to join with us. How many of the noble houses will agree to convert?” “A majority,” Grand Duke Alfred said. “But not more than seventy percent.”
“It is not enough,” Bearnard said.
“It will have to be enough for now,” Mylla said. “Having dissidence in such a radical event is inevitable. I am sure more will come around, once things stabilize. How many of your nobles will come around, Bearnard?"
“Iain, my son, how much support were you able to gather?” Bearnard asked.
“Well,” Iain began, rather nervously. “We have made as many overtures to the nobles as possible. We have assured them of Rhodanthe’s sincerity and how her doctrine is a perfect fit of our lands. That said, many are not eager for change…"
“How bad is it?” Bearnard said.
“Only about fifty percent,” Iain said.
“So for every man who sides with me, there is another who sides against me,” Bearnard said.
“They will come around, father,” Iain said.
“They had better,” Bearnard said. “Or we will be so mired in conspiracies that my reign will come to a premature end.”
“Your majesties,” Rhodanthe said. “I won’t fail you. I won’t let you down.”
“I can ensure that there shall be no disturbances when Rhodanthe holds her church ceremony,” Iain said. “It will be a grand procession. It will signify the end of the old and the beginning of the new."
“I am sure it will be a splendid affair,” Sorcha said. “And the beginning of a new era for our people.” --------- As Rhodanthe stood within the cathedral in the city she sweated, and it wasn’t simply because she was standing in front of the great fire that the cathedral held. The cathedral was filled to brim with people who were there to abandon the old Church and embrace the new ways. These “new ways” were her ways, and no longer simply Johannia’s way. Rhodanthe had never fancied anything fancy or grand for her life, yet now people saw her as leader, prophet, and high priestess. And to think she was not yet seventeen years old. She may not have wanted this, but with the new faith spreading, there was no one else that the new people would turn to. As Rhodanthe stood in front, thousands of eyes on her, she waited as a procession of priests walked down the crowded aisles, holding onto the leathern straps of their censers. The people of South baptized believers in an unusual manner. Baptism was not simply done with water – for baptism in cold water would cause many to freeze to death here in the south – but with water so scalding hot that it turned to steam. As the priests walked down the aisles and approached the benches with their censers in hand, the people were surrounded by the smoke, and breathed it in, and in this way were the people baptized. This was not their first baptism. Thousands had come to the cathedral seeking to convert to what people had been calling the New Faith, the faith that Rhodanthe had brought from the lands of the desert. Among them were none other than the royal families of both kingdoms of the Southern Alliance, and many of their most prominent nobles.
“Men and women,” Rhodanthe said. “I’m no great speaker, so I won’t pretend to be. I’ll only say what I need to say, what needs to be said. You’ve come here of your own free will. No one’s forced you. I haven’t forced, the kings haven’t forced you, you came yourself. You came here to be baptized in the name of a peasant girl some would call mad. The greatest armies in the continent will come down from their palaces up north and cut you limb from limb. Are you really sure you want this?”
“We are,” King Bearnard said.
“And so are the rest of you so sure? Anyone who leaves will not be punished. You can trust the King on that. I’ll make it so if he won’t. Anyone who is not prepared to risk their life, leave this church.”
Instead of protestations or shouting, there was simply silence, and a clear acceptance of what their new prophet was actually saying. This silence continued for what could have only been around thirty seconds, yet it felt like an eternity. And through that time no one left the Church. Rhodanthe walked down the pews of the cathedral quickly, with a steaming censer in her hand. She turned to an old peasant woman in the back and turned to her, and surrounded her with the steam of her censer.
“In the name of the One, whose above all thing, I baptize you,” Rhodanthe said. “Let them remember that you were the first one that the Prophet baptized.”
Then Rhodanthe continued to baptize. From the peasants and the other commoners Rhodanthe heard cries of adulation. From the nobility she heard calls of gratitude, but they did not seem as genuine as what she heard from the others. Rhodanthe probably could never really adjust to ways of higher society and their ways of etiquette and manners, but she hoped that they were as genuine as the peasants were. Her job was unceasing. For hour after hour Rhodanthe continued to baptize, and when the steam from one censure ran out a priest rushed to grab another one for her. She turned to the royal families and baptized the two of them herself. Waving her censure, she turned to them, and the royal families wrapped in their silks and their furs were wrapped in her smoke as well.
“We are done here,” Rhodanthe said to them bluntly. “You may all go home now. May the One be with you all!”
“You are a hard woman, Rhodanthe,” Iain Sutharlan said to her.
“Well, I’m tha’ prophet, ain’t I,” Rhodanthe said. “‘pologizes if I did anythin’ to offend ya’ majesties, but tha’ prophet’s gotta be strong.”
“The prophet has done well enough,” King Beanard said. “The first step is done.”
Yet even as they were talking, there was another man walking towards them. From the way he was dressed, and the way he was running towards them they could tell that he was a messenger. He huffed and puffed as he ran towards them, but he made sure to get his words out. “My lords!” the messenger said. “I bring a message.”
“By all means, speak,” the Queen said. “If you are in such a hurry to deliver your message, it must be important.”
“Yes, m’lady,” the messenger said. “Johannia has arrived, along with many exiles from Uzgob.”
“And Fenick?” Rhodanthe asked.
“Nowhere to be seen, Prophet,” the messenger said. “Perhaps captured in Medea."
“Well, we must give them a warm welcome,” the Queen said. “Johannia is the mother of the new faith, after all.”
Lycaon had no desire for a grand procession for when he returned to Sypius. Indeed, it seemed unlikely that he would welcome in Nyhem after what had already conspired. It had been made clear to him that he would not be welcome in the presence of the Emperor for much longer. Yet he would ensure that Alasdair that the Church could still be a mighty enemy, especially one to an emperor with so little legitimacy. He was now returning to his childhood home of Linsdorf once again, where the headquarters of the Holy Order had been temporarily returned to. With his holy knights by his side, Lycaon entered the village that lay below the castle. As the common people cheered at him as he entered on horseback Lycaon waved to them.
“People of Linsdorf, we have victory!” Lycaon said.
They cheered, though he was unsure if the people truly knew what kind of victory he had won. They trotted through the village, while squires for the Holy Order handed out food and money to the peasants. Lycaon always made sure that he was generous to the people, and for this they always loved him. He return to his family later, but first Lycaon had to see what Ser Glynda had been up to. Moreover, he had to tell his future successor what the changes in their plans would be, for these would be drastic changes. Lycaon approached the headquarters, with a squire there waiting to take his horse in the stables. Lycaon dismounted and thanked the squire, and entered into the local headquarters for the Holy Order. It was not a large place, but the strategic location – outside of Nyhem yet within the Sypius plains – was what made it so useful.
“Grandmaster, welcome back, and allow me to congratulate you on your victory,” Ser Glynda said. “We have already heard great news of your victory.”
“Your welcome is well received, Ser Glynda,” Lycaon said. “But with every victorious campaign another theatre of war opens up. The real work is now only beginning.”
“Oh? What has happened now?” Ser Glynda said. “We have received no news of any other crisis from the east. I had heard that the heretics had been completely crushed, and only remnants of them remain in lands beyond the Emperor’s reach.”
“That much is true, but you would do well to remember that not all that occurs passes through the lips of messenger and gossips,” Lycaon said. “Listen well to this: we have at last been betrayed. The emperor’s inquisitor, Alasdair’s blasted spy, tried to have me killed, and were it not for the skill of my knights he would have succeeded. His declaration of war is clear. We must show him that the Church is not the emaciated foe he thinks it to be.”
“We must not move too quickly,” Ser Glynda said.
“I already have my plan,” Lycaon said. “There shall be no more of Alasdair’s inquisition. The idea of a state-run inquisition was an insult to the Church, but no matter. It shall be null and void very soon. Ser Glynda, it is time for the Church to throw away political intrigue and devote itself to action. I will go to Nyhem and meet with Alasdair. It may be the last time I have the pleasure of meeting the Snake.”
“Will that really be safe, Grandmaster?” Ser Glynda said. “He is not a man that is gracious in anger.”
“I very much doubt he will kill me,” Lycaon said. “Yet even if he does, you are here. If I come to any harm, you know what you must do. If I must die, then so be it, but the Order must live on.”
“I believe you will come to no harm, Grandmaster,” Ser Glynda said. “But if it comes to it, gods’ willing, I shall do my duty.”
There was as of yet no sign of Nizaar. Despite everything Lycaon had been told, there was no sign of the old King’s body. They had searched the dungeon, and what they had found surprised them. His soldiers went to the place that Fenick had placed Nizaar, and found it full of blood, but it was unlikely to be Nizaar’s own, since besides Nizaar’s empty cell were several of the corpses of Fenick’s soldiers. However, all that had been overshadowed in the midst of the assassination attempt by Rendon. Rendon was one of Alasdair’s lackies who had been sent to spy, disrupt, and assassinate him. It showed Lycaon just how foolish he had become. He had thought it was possible to reason with Alasdair, that he might be able to coexist with him. But he had been reminded that a Snake is always a Snake. The reason Lycaon could never support Alasdair as Emperor was because Alasdair, naturally treacherous and apt to assassination and intrigue, was not fit to rule Formaroth. He could no longer trust any of Alasdair’s advisors. He would cancel his agreements with Alasdair’s mage, Lady Dionisa. The Church never gained anything from anyways, and as both a loyal Circle mage and close advisor to the so-called Emperor she could not be trusted. Just then, as Lycaon was thinking what his next step would be, a scout entered the throne room.
“Grandmaster, there are men approaching the castle,” the scout said. “They bear the flag of the Emperor!”
“Then we shall have to welcome them,” Lycaon said. “Prepare a delegation to meet them, and have the gate opened for them. I will go to meet them myself.”
To the south.
After their field battle with the heretic forces and technically the forces of lady Grim, even though not a single blow had been exchanged between them, the imperial army had made great headway through the barren lands of Uzgob. The Steel Fist and some of the other groupings were prepared and didn't suffer much from the march, but as always the militia were ill equipped and prepared and many didn't even have field flasks.
Claus pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore the pleadings from the Telmarian lieutenants. He had arranged as much water as he could spare from the other forces, but being a practical man, he simply wouldn't direct resources from important skilled elements to keep an ill equipped section going. He was very much of the school that with the right men in the right place, numbers don't matter, the force cannot be beat. While it was never as simple as that in practise he held to the ideal of the idea.
After days his scouts were reporting them as closing in on the capitol, the church forces had done a number on the heretics and all over were proof of that.
Biggest proof of all was that he could march upon the capitol unopposed.
He began to march his army into the city, the open gates and the eerie near silence of the place got to the militia, whom became paranoid and jittery, compared to the Steel Fist as the polar opposite were a finely tuned force of destruction with their synchronised footfalls. In truth Claus was a bit spooked as well. This big of a city usually isn't this silent, even after a hostile takeover, he began to wonder what the church actually did here, but dismissed the thought. As Claus was entering the city, Lycaon was there to meet him. Dismounting from his horse, and accompanied by a handful of his knights, Lycaon approached Claus and his soldiers.
“Greetings, emissary of our Emperor,” Lycaon said. “I do not believe we have had the opportunity to meet before, but I welcome you to the city of Andromeda. As you can see, we have retaken the jewel of the desert from the heretics, but that is where our blessings end. I hope you bring good news from out west.”
Quickly eyeing him, Claus tried to get a bearing on Lycaeon, but he seemed to be the very icon of the church the rumours had him to be, tall, handsome and stern.
Claus being slightly cautious of religious types wouldn’t let his looks deceive him though. -”Greetings to you grandmaster, heard a lot about you. Seen some of your handiwork on the way up as well.” He extended his hand for a handshake.
-“Names Claus... Lord Claus Rotstein, advisor of war.”
Lycaon took Claus’s offer, and shook his hand. “Lord Claus Rotstein, it is an honor to finally meet you. We fought together at Telmarion, though I did not have the chance to meet with you in person. You do me too much honor. Though I was present, it was the armies that our Emperor sent that took the city, not my small force. It is good that you are here. I am afraid that Lord Rendon shall not be joining us. The inquisitor that the Emperor sent has betrayed us, and tried to assassinate me, and in the confusion he died. Rendon’s Knights of Nidanke have been put into custody. Unfortunately, that was not all the ill luck that occured. The rightful king of Uzgob, Nizaar has disappeared, and the cell he was being held in was empty. Yet at least the heretic behind all of this is safely behind bars, and I can assure you he will not be going anywhere until he faces justice, which gods’ willing, will be soon.” Claus had trouble processing all of that information, first the in his eyes humbling of himself on the part of taking over Uzgob, then the news of the betrayal and deaths. He was silent for a few seconds.
-”That’s certainly a lot to take in. It’s very worrying to hear of treason and assassination, it’s good that you escaped unharmed.” Claus was earnest and it was easy to see.
-”It seems my arrival was well needed, even if my forces don’t seem overly important rest assured that an ally has arrived.” He smirked happily until he realized he’d never sounded so corny in his life, that was a lie, he’d been way more corny before.
“Then it shall be good to have you by our side,” Lycaon said. “It is to my hope that this fighting is over. Since the Battle of Telmarion my Order has been beaten and weathered, and I have lost many of my best men. Lady Grim herself took out nearly a sixth of my entire Order. I am glad to have your aid, and the aid of the Emperor. I can show your men to the palace. I’m sure it will make better quarters than the desert.”
-”I’m sure it will.” Claus was visibly relieved about realizing he didn’t have to camp in the desert any more, at least until he moved out again.
But there was much to discuss and he knew that a session of serious strategizing was needed to get a good feel for the situation and their next objective.
-”Please show the way.”
Lycaon began to escort Claus and his soldiers from the entrance of the city to it’s center, where the palace was. A pair of knights guarded the doors of the palace of Andromeda, and they opened up the wide doors to the palace when Lycaon approached. Lycaon and his knights, with Claus and his soldiers following behind him, entered into the palace. Though it did not compare to the palaces and castles in the west, the palace was indeed spacious.
“There is plenty of room in the palace here. Your officers and your most worthy soldiers will have plenty of room to stay here comfortably. Other places shall be prepared so that the rest of your soldiers shall be able to rest comfortably, and be free from the desert,” Lycaon said. “Tell me, what news do you bring from our Emperor? The rebellion is dead. The emperor’s soldiers keep the peace for now, but they cannot stay forever. We shall have to set up a new regime, so I am anxious to know what orders I can receive."
-”I am sad to say, there might be a problem. I was instructed to reinstate the rightful ruler Nizaar. Seeing that Nizaar is missing we’ll indeed need to find a new leader.” Claus stroked his chin in thought and turned to his staff.
-“Katriana, i’ll need the papers on the mission detail, but i doubt there’s much more in there.” She turned her gaze away from Lycaeon as Claus spoke and responded with a sharp nod before looking again at Lycaeon.
She was studying his handsome features and angelic features, he appeared more like a deity than man. She got stuck looking for a few more seconds before getting the papers Claus needed which didn’t take long.
-”Yes, this is the papers… sirs.” Katriana spoke as all eyes were on her. For some reason Lycaeon made her nervous. -”Excellent, looking through it. The emperor of formaroth… Yadda yadda... the task i give to you… yadda yadda… to reinstate the ruler Nizaar in Andromeda… much love and kisses, the emperor.” With a massive smirk he handed the document to Lycaeon.
-”Some parts might not be like that. Read it yourself, the task i have been given is to reinstate Nizaar to the throne of Uzgob and vanquish the rebels. So i guess we’ll have to try and find the sod.”
“I hope that it will not be long before we find him,” Lycaon said. He noticed that Katriana could not take her eyes off of him, and her stares were clearly not through infatuation. Claus was clearly less fearful. “Nizaar has been chosen by the Emperor to rule, and so he is the only choice. But we have no idea how long it will take to find him. My men have so far been unable to find him, and we have no idea how long it will take before he is discovered. In the meantime, someone else shall have to serve as a provisional leader, but I see no obvious solutions as to who that would be. The easiest way, I suppose, would be to summon the nobles to Andromeda. Have a council of nobles rule over Uzgob while Nizaar is missing. The one who stands out the most could be provisional leader, if we still cannot find Nizaar by then.” Claus nodded as Lycaeon spoke, the man knew his stuff.
-”Agreed, since none of us have any real authority nor time to lead here, getting hold of a temporary ruler is probably the best option until we can find Nizaar and see Uzgob free of any rebels or dissidents.”
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.
“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."
Rhodanthe had been out of her element ever since she had arrived in the South, but now that she had arrived at the royal Winter Palace, she had been feeling even more out of place than before. She was put into an intricate purple gown which Rhodanthe found itchy compared to regular clothes, and which was held up by a corset that was tugging into Rhodanthe so hard she felt that it had violated her. Her hair was put into a high braid which Queen Sorcha’s stylist had made in an intricate style. At least she had prevented her from putting her hair into the ringlets that the Queen had initially recommended. Barristan had told her that compared to what they wore in Nyhem, this clothing was plain, but that was not how Rhodanthe saw it. She breathed a sigh as she waited inside the guestroom, which was fancier than anywhere else she had ever slept. Queen Sorcha or one of her servants probably would come to get her any minute now, which was making her nervous. She had apparently entered her prophet state when she had been with the Queen before, and it seemed to have made an impression. After that the Queen took her from south to meet the King. He was her king now, so Rhodanthe hoped she could make a good impression. But she wasn’t good with this sort of thing and hoped that she didn’t mess up. Nearly all of the people who had come to Raeldar with her were no longer with her. Most had joyfully swore eternal loyalty to King Bearnard Sutharlan, and had run off to become soldiers or farmers. They were loyal to Rhodanthe and would rush to her side again if she could ever find them again, but they did not belong to her, and once she had fulfilled her goal of bringing them to safety, they no longer accompanied her. Only a circle of her closest allies and friends had remained with her, which including Barristan, her personal scout Alan, and her tutor Wilhelma. It was easy to feel isolated now. One wrong move, and with a word the King could send her back to Alasdair, perhaps on the end of pike. The thought made her shiver. Her thoughts, however, were interrupted when the door suddenly opened up. Rhodanthe quickly jumped up to her feet, or at least as quickly as one could in this corset. At the door was Asta, a servant who was about Rhodanthe’s age, but who had served the Sutharlans her whole life.
“Ma’am,” the servant said as she bowed. “If you would follow me.”
“Where’s Barristan?” Rhodanthe said.
“He is further down the hall, ma’am,” Asta said. “But he will not be joining you in the throne room.”
“Huh? Why?” Rhodanthe said. “I need ‘em with me.”
“His Majesty, on the advice of Her Majesty, is willing to grant you an audience,” Asta said. “But the invitation for you alone. I am sure you understand, ma’am.”
“Ah, ‘course. Everything’s fine as always,” Rhodanthe said.
Barristan was out in the hallway, waiting for her to come out. But, as Asta had said, it seemed that Rhodanthe would have to deal with this.
“You’ll be handlin’ this one alone,” Barristan said.
“Don’t see how I can,” Rhodanthe said. “Never met a king before.”
“But you’ve met a queen,” Barristan said. “And you did alright there.”
“That was different,” Rhodanthe said. “I wasn’t alone. And I didn’t hafta do politics.”
“The Queen has put a good word in for you,” Barristan said. “He’ll know who you are. Long as you keep yerself together, you’ll do well enough.”
“I’ll try me best,” Rhodanthe said.
Asta led Rhodanthe to the throne room. Two fearsome-looking guards armed with halberds and clad in heavy plate guarded the door. They gave Asta a nod and opened up the hefty red doors which marked the opening to the throne room. The cold grey stone was covered by an elegant blue rug with golden trimmings which led up to the throne. Sitting upon a tall throne of strange bluish metal was a man dressed in fine robes, and adorned with a great crown which consisted of two layers; the outer layer was white like ice, while the inner part was red like blood.
“That is King Bearnard – long may he reign – sitting upon the Chilled Throne, an artifact that was ancient even when the first Remonnet High King came,” whispered Asta said. “Sitting upon his head is the Red and White Crown. It symbolizes the union of the blood of the Remonnets and the Sutharlans, according to the historians. Some say, however, that it represents how the Remonnets left Raeldar in a sea of blood. But you did not hear that from me. And besides them is Octavia Celestine, Grandmaster of the Order of Saint Zacarias. Now, remember to address His Majesty with respect, and bow properly.”
Rhodanthe couldn’t do anything but follow Asta’s instructions. Rhodanthe bowed as deeply as she could. She didn’t have “manners,” but she hoped that she could make up for it by bowing deeply enough.
“M’lord, I’m glad fer ya summons,” Rhodanthe said.
“Raise your head, Rhodanthe of Uzgob,” King Bearnard said. “My Queen has told me much of you, your journey, and your gift of prophecy. You have earned my Queen’s trust, and perhaps even her belief, but why should I believe you? You do not have the look of a prophet. No one will mistake you for Klebrithy.”
“Dear, there is no need to scare the child,” Queen Sorcha said.
“I ain’t no preacher, y’majesty,” Rhodanthe said. “‘Scuse me, y’majesty. I might not have any o’ that proper ‘elokence’ other people that speak to ya’ do, so I can’t be thinkin’ of swayin’ ya one way or another. I dunno if you’ll see me as prophet. But me and the others, we came down this way ‘cuz there’s no other place we could go. When the de Reimers killed ah’ friends, and was comin’ fa’ us next, we knew we’d need a new home. That’s why, y’majesty, I humbly petition fa’ sanctuary.”
“You are right, you do not have ‘elokence,’” King Bearnard said. “But better the honest man’s truth than the flatterer’s treachery. Your request for sanctuary is granted, for now.”
“Your Grace, if you would,” Octavia said. “This girl is nothing but a heretic, her gift of prophecy nothing but the result of possession of demons. Her followers are miscreants, malcontents, and, worse of all, foreigners. Just as plague is a pestilence of the body, heresy is a pestilence of the soul. It devours, debilitates, and brings death to all it blights. We do what we can to cure this excruciating disease of the soul, but our primary aim should be to ensure that this disease does not spread to even more souls.”
“And would you have me eliminate Rhodanthe, as the source of this disease?” King Bearnard. “That is where your argument leads, correct?”
“Octavia, please be understanding of everyone’s position,” Sorcha said. “Rhodanthe has come a long way, and simply wishes for a place to call her own once again.”
“Your Grace, it is not as a girl that I bring my objections to Rhodanthe,”
“You called her a foreigner,” Bearnard said.
“Well, your Grace…” Octavia said.
“Do you see the problem, Rhodanthe?” Bearnard said.
“Sorry, y’majesty, I don’t quite know what ya’ mean,” Rhodanthe said.
“You ask for peace and coexistence, while the Grandmaster asks for the opposite,” Sorcha said. “Coexistence is not something which will be easy to do.”
“Might be, y’majesty. I ain’t know much ‘bout these sorts o’ things, y’majesty,” Rhodanthe said. “All I’s askin’ is that those’ve us who came into your kingdom get to live. I know they’ll work n’ fight n’ die fa’ ya. All I’m askin’ ya ta’ do, y’majesty, is ta’ do nothin’.”
“It will not be easy, but the people of Raeldar will obey their King,” Sorcha said.
“My answer has already been given,” Bearnard said. “Rhodanthe and her followers shall be given sanctuary. But I shall not take more. I do not wish for a horde of northerners swarming my borders.”
“Mylla will want to hear about this,” Sorcha said.
“That I will leave to you,” Bearnard said. “I am sure that she will want to meet Rhodanthe.”
Ser Oswyn knew that there were battles, campaigns, and other things of great importance happening in the east, but in this sleepy part of Iruladdin Oswyn had his own duties to tend to. Though it might have seen like Oswyn had disappeared for good, and was not to be seen again, here he was. He rode into the village of Dirge, having travelled an ancient dilapidated road deep into the forests of Iruladdun, and saw prying eyes staring at him in every direction. Oswyn could tell immediately this village would not be pleasant to him. The houses made of wood were clearly well-crafted, the hostility of the village destroyed any pleasantness their sight might have had for Oswyn. He had been told little of this village, since there was so little to tell. There was perhaps no place more secretive than the village of Dirge in all of Formaroth. This was the home of the Cult of Erena, the oldest monastic order in Formaroth, who existed even during Klebrithy’s lifetime. Owing to their ancientness, and the fact that they sided with Klebrithy, they were a link to an ancient past, and a source of legitimacy for the Church. Thus, the cultists were above reproach, however eccentric and secretive they seemed. They were said to be great magic users in their own way, but they were very different from those who learned at the Circle and objected to being called mages. In fact, it seemed they objected to a great many things. Apparently if you were an outsider, they were some of the touchiest people imaginable. As Oswyn rode into Dirge, men and women in thick gray robes stared at him in every direction. Oswyn thought he even felt like he was being watched from behind, since it was from behind him that the feeling of being watched was at its strongest, but when Oswyn looked behind him there was no one there. Nonetheless, the feeling of being watched from behind persisted.
“Outsider!” one of the cultists said. “Are you lost? You clearly are not a prospective initiative.”
“I come on behalf of the Church,” Oswyn said. “A diabolical plot has struck the Church and all of Formaroth, and your aid is requested.”
“If the Cult of Erena answered every call to arms, the Cult of Erena would never know rest,” the cultist said. “Know this, outsider. The Cult of Erena shall provide aid to the Church if we that is what is required of us, but not hungry for war. The elders shall decide if you are worthy. Past their tests, and if your cause is worthy the Cult of Erena shall die for you.”
“A test? Regardless of whether I pass or fail, your aid is needed,” Oswyn said.
“If the Church truly thought the situation was desperately enough to call for our aid, then they would send one worthy enough to pass this test,” the cultist said. “Now, outsider, continue on to the cave. There is another like you, but far more eloquent. She shall make one such as you understand all things.”
Oswyn knew better than to argue. He continued onward. The cultist had told him to head to the caves. With no knowledge of this village all he could do was move deeper into the village. He dismounted, and since there was no stable moved to tie his horse to a tree. Yet as Oswyn approached the tree, his horse strongly protested, raising his hooves up, kicking back and forth, and neighing loudly. Oswyn was surprised. His horse was hardy and fearless and had never objected to anything before. He would have run headlong into a wooden spike more than once if Oswyn had not been guiding him.
“Easy, boy,” Oswyn said. “What’s wrong?”
Oswyn did everything he could, but no matter what, his horse continued to whine and kick. Eventually Oswyn gave up when he realized that it wasn’t being tied to a tree that his horse feared, it was the idea of being near the forest that his horse feared. He could feel dozens of eyes peering at his failure to tie up his horse from all directions, and at first Oswyn felt slightly embarrassed. Then he realized that he was alone and had been for some time. He felt a gust of wind come through the forest and heard a rustling of leaves from within the forest. It was not a rustling made from wind. After Oswyn realized it was the sound of footsteps stepping against the leaves and twigs he felt a very strong urge to get away from their as quickly as possible. He took his horse’s rein in hand and walked away from them there as quickly as possible.
Soon Oswyn looked and saw a towering temple made of russet stone and bronze, much taller than the small wooden houses he had seen so far. It had been obscured by the trees, but as Oswyn approached he was in awe. It was simply made, and only a fourth the size of the Grand Temple, but in a village as simple as Dirge it seemed utterly magnificent. It resembled other temples he had seen to a degree, except for the strange runes carved on an inscription above the door. The runes had a certain resemblance to the common language but were different enough that he had no idea what the inscription said.
“Keep moving, outsider,” the guardian said in a monotonous voice that Oswyn somehow felt was full of malice. “You stand before the Temple of the Galcazhar. Only initiates, to partake in the Mysteriae Sacra Minora may enter, and your attire betrays the fact that you are no initiate.”
“Temple of the Galcazhar?” Oswyn said. “It was the Temple of the Galcazhar that Klebrithy based his own
“I know not of this Grand Temple, outsider, but when Klebrithy built his temple he took this very Temple as his model but dedicated it to all true gods instead of just one,” the guardian said.
“To think it still stands after all these centuries,” Oswyn said. “What does the inscription say?”
“If you cannot read the inscription, then it is not for you to know,” the guardian said. “The initiates can read it. Once they understand it, then they are ordained. But you are clearly not here for initiation.”
“No,” Oswyn said. “And I should be going.”
Oswyn went further into the village, as the guardian continued to guard the Temple of the Galcazhar. As he got deeper within, he finally saw the caves, which had been obscured by the trees. Oswyn saw many cultists standing by there. Several stood guard by the cave entrance, while others were busy meditating and reading. More striking, however, was a woman who was not clad in the gray robes of the cultists. He could tell immediately that she was an outsider like himself.
“Hello,” she said to him as soon as she saw him. “You must be the man that Grandmaster Lycaon sent.”
“Ser Oswyn at your service,” Oswyn said. “I am surprised to find another non-cultist other than myself here.”
“Yes,” she said. “I am Ricarda. By profession I am a mage, trained in the Circle, but I have had some dealings with Lycaon. Currently, I have been studying the Cult of Erena, the most ancient magical organization in Formaroth. This will be my sixth month together with the Cult of Erena.”
“It is hard to believe anyone could spend so long here as a visitor,” Oswyn said.
“They are not friendly at first,” Ricarda said. “They are simply very secretive and bent on keeping their ancient traditions alive. I think when they look to Nyhem they felt threatened. It represents such a different world, such a different way of life from the ways of the Cult of Erena that they are afraid they will be swept away if they allow others to get too close. I am sure you are suspicious of them. They worship a little differently than they do in other temples, and so they fear others would not be understanding. But make no mistake, they are as loyal to the Church as you are.”
“Then why are they watching us?” Oswyn said.
“Watching us? No, they are quite private individuals,” Ricarda said. “While they may have stared at you when they first arrived, they were just surprised. They will let you be once they realize you have a good reason for being here.
“I can feel them staring at me, through the forest,” Oswyn said. “They are hiding within and watching me. I have felt their eyes ever since I entered the village.”
“You must nervous,” Ricarda said. “There is no one in the forest. The cultists never enter into the forest, not even for scavenging, since the local lord provides food and water for them in exchange for the medicine they make. Besides, by birth these men are farmers and smiths. Do they look like the sort who could hide from you in the forest if they wanted?”
Suddenly, Oswyn felt a chill go down his spin. Though he could not prove it, Oswyn knew that something was rotten in the village of Dirge. Nonetheless, the Grandmaster had sent him here, and he would not allow this village to scare him away.
“The Cult of Erena’s aid is needed,” Oswyn said. “The situation is desperate. Heretics sweep across the land, especially, I hear, in that barren land of Uzgob.”
“Yes, the Grandmaster mentioned as much,” Ricarda said. “The initiates, I am sure, told you you need to past their test, I assume? The test itself is nothing much itself. All you need to do is go through the Cavern of Erena’s Respite, the cave just up ahead. And you will have to go alone. The elders are deep inside the cave, and I am sure they will aid your request, if you make clear how desperate the situation is. But you should be careful. You are not a mage, so you cannot tell, but the magic is incredibly thick within there. There are things within there which I saw that I still cannot explain.”
It was just then that the sound of a great bellowing came from within the cave.
“This day just keeps getting better and better,” Oswyn said.
Leaving Ricarda and the village of Dirge behind him, Oswyn stepped into the cave. It was pitch black inside, and the only illumination came from the dim light seeping in from the outside. Oswyn had no choice but to use his hands and feet to feel his way around. Suddenly, it began to become darker, and he could no longer see any light. He moved around slowly, feeling the wall in front of him to feel for a way forward. Eventually, he found two different openings in the cave. As he was thinking which path to take, Oswyn saw a light emerge, seemingly from random, at the center of the cave. Oswyn could have walked towards it, but he couldn’t help but think it was a trap. He took the left path, and walked into the darkness, deeper into the cave. As he walked blindly through the path, he felt like the ground from under him disappeared, but he did feel himself fall. Then he felt as if all the oxygen in the cave disappeared. He gasped for air, and tried to run out of there, but it was all in vain. Every direction he moved he felt only the cold rock of the cave’s walls and began to suffocate. As he was about to pass out air once again filled his lungs. He moved his hands around him but could feel nothing. A second ago he had been surrounded by rock at every side, but now they were gone.
In the distance he heard the sound of water dripping. He followed the sound, until he found a source of water. He could not tell how large the source of water was, but it was at least large enough for him to deep his arm into. Then he heard a splash. It was definitely a splash, and not the ripple of a drop of water falling into the water. It was the sound of movement in the water, and Oswyn, even in complete darkness, could tell that it was no fish that was wadding in that water. He heard a bellowing, the sound of a voice unbelievably low and loud making a great groan, and then a great force knocked Oswyn to the ground. It was not an invisible force. It was like a great, long, wet tentacle knocked him to a ground. Or so he thought.
“What are you!” Oswyn screamed. “Gods, tell me, what madness reigns in this damned village!”
Oswyn thought he heard a laugh, a terrible and low laugh that sent chill through him and threatened to drive him mad. As he went to draw his sword, he felt something knock it out of his hand and smashed the blade to pieces. As he was knocked to the floor again Oswyn saw a light with a slight green tinge. Against his better judgement he leapt towards it. It felt like for an eternity he crawled towards it frantically, until he saw a vision of a glowing woman in white, but in a moment, it seemed to fade.
“Your fate is a terrible one, for one so loyal. You are condemned to live, and see the whole truth revealed.”
Oswyn was on the ground and felt like he had just awoken from a nightmare. His sword was gone, and there was once again a dim light coming from outside the cave. Before him he saw three people sitting cross-legged at the back of the cave. They were robed, and Oswyn could not see their face. Oswyn still had not settled down. The memories of what had happened were jumbled in his mind, as if they had not been real, but Oswyn could not dismiss them. He saw them. Thus, he was far from being calm.
“What was that? That light, that creature?” Oswyn said. “Elders, tell me! You live here, don’t you? You must understand. Tell me!”
Oswyn was knocked back as a gust of wind struck him. Yet it was only one of the elders’ magic, annoyed at the noise Oswyn was making.
“You have made it this far, outsider,” the elder in the middle said. “And you are not fit for the mysteries of this cave. Tell me why you are here, and you shall have your answers.”
Oswyn still had his mind on what he had seen in this cave. But at the elder’s words he was suddenly aware once again of why he had entered the cave in the first place. The panic in his mind faded.
“The…the Church has need of you once again,” Oswyn said.
Then Oswyn spoke to the elder for a long time. He spoke to him so long that his eyes began to adjust to the darkness around him. Oswyn told, in detail, all that had transpired from the beginning of Johannia’s rebellion, to the unrest the heretics were spreading across the east, to the rebellion in Uzgob. Then there was silence for a long while. It felt like an eternity to Oswyn. Eventually, however, the elder spoke.
“So it has come,” the elder said. “‘The end shall come when blood sweeps the land, and four plagues shall come and bring the land to a final ruin. The First Plague brings death to the tree of life and turn the parchment to stone. The Second Plague shall divide the soil and sap it of its strength and unity. The third shall sunder Truth, and falsehood long hidden once again shall. The fourth shall bring again the forces of darkness, and the land shall once again be shrouded in darkness.”’
“What is that, elder?” Oswyn said. He felt that it sounded familiar, but he was no theologian.
“The Last Prophecy of the Devi,” the elder said. “And so it comes. Tell Lycaon that the Cult of Erena shall aid him in all his ventures. Command, and we shall obey. But warn him that we shall not participate in politics; the power struggles of kings and bishops is no business of ours. Such squabbles are the business of rats and carrions, fit only for men who have turned their souls black with vain and fleeting ambition.”
“He shall be glad to have your aid, elder,” Oswyn said.
“And you still have questions,” the elder said. “I promised you I would answer, and now the time has come.”
“I saw…things,” Oswyn said. “The light disappeared, I was surrounded in complete darkness. The walls around me vanished, and I saw myself in a cave with a creature in the water. It overpowered me, its tendrils grabbed. And I saw a light, a woman, more beautiful than any I had ever seen before…Was it real?”
“The cave does not lie,” the elder said. “But one such as you cannot hope to understand. The magic here is great, and its magic is still active. Ask the mage outside, and she shall tell you the same. Yet you are one who is untrained in magic. You are unable to understand the truths of this. There are ancient things in things in this cave, and ancient truths hidden here, things which can only seen through years of meditation and practice of the magical arts. Erena herself blesses some with visions of herself and departs knowledge. Perhaps, for some reason unknown even to us, there was some reason that you were given a vision of her. Whatever she told you, I advise you to ponder it, though I doubt one not versed in magic and the ancient writings could understand her words.”
“And the beast?” Oswyn said.
“There are only so many secrets we may divulge to an outsider,” the elder said.
“Then I leave you now, elder,” Oswyn said. “The Grandmaster shall be glad to hear of your support.”
The elders had nothing else to say to him, so Oswyn left them. He was able to leave the cave by following the light behind him. It did not resemble at all the place that Oswyn had been blindly wandering around a few moments ago. It was strange, like running down a long hallway, looking back, and discovering you had been a hut the whole time. This cave had no end to its mysteries. When he was out of the cave he took a deep breath, glad that he was finally away from it. Ricarda was there, looking over some papers and books when he emerged.
“You’ve finally returned,” Ricarda said. “It’s been nearly four hours since you entered into that cave.”
“Four hours? Impossible!” Oswyn said. “I could not have been in that cave for more than twenty minutes.”
“Look for yourself,” Ricarda said. “The sun is setting. You will have to spend the night in the village.”
“Let us hope that it will be a peaceful sleep, and not an eternal one,” Oswyn said.
“I’m sure you had some difficulties in that cave,” Ricarda said. “That is putting it lightly,” Oswyn said. “I saw things I cannot explain.”
“The magic in that cave is quite thick,” Ricarda said. “If you aren’t versed in magic you won’t be able to handle. It leads to what we might call hallucinations, though that is oversimplifying things. Others are knocked unconscious and are given unexplainable dreams. It leads to temporary memory loss. They cannot remember being knocked unconscious.”
“But what I saw there, it was real,” Oswyn said. “I know it. I remember it well.”
Nizaar had been kept in the cells of Medea for what had felt like at least a week. Though the dungeons themselves were grim and dark, he and Lord Roid were as comfortable as a prisoner could hope to be. They had been given beds, a table, two meals a day and even a deck of cards. Both he and Lord Roid had spent much of the days playing with the deck to take their minds of the currently predicament. Lord Roid had even introduced Nizaar to a new card game native to the lands of Cawanor, known simply as ‘Kings’. Before the battle Nizaar only cared for Roid as a captain and had no interest in getting to know him any further than that. However their time in the cell together had forced him to get better acquainted with the young lord and much to his surprise he took quite a liking to the man. He was young and naive but he wasn’t arrogant, he was also loyal and as far as Nizaar could tell had a good heart. They were currently in the middle of a game of Kings, with Roid as usual having the advantage. However their game was interrupted by the jailor clumsy unlocking the door to the cell. He was a overweight sweaty man who was not native to the lands of Uzgob. He was normally in a drunken state and today was no different. He was accompanied by two other Medean guards of whom one walked towards Nizaar and grabbed him by the arm and led him out of the cell.
“Where are you taking him”? Roid questioned as he threw his hand on the table.
“None of your concern southern dog” Spat the other guard as he signalled the jailor to lock the door. While they clearly had no intention of telling him where they were taking him, Nizaar had a feeling that Fennick had finally decided that he wanted to talk with his prisoner.
The guard dragged Nizaar into a spacious room that held a large table with two chairs on opposite sides. On one side was Fenick, and standing behind him were four fierce-looking tribesmen armed with spears. It seemed like Nizaar had been defanged for the time, but Fenick thought it was always best to make sure with men such as him. Fenick did not like him, but he had sufficiently proved his skill in battle, despite his defeat.
“Welcome, false King. I am sure you by now have become quite used to your new home,” Fenick said. “Let me be brief. I will leave the small talk to a minimum, Nizaar. I hope you understand that your situation. You have not been mistreated, and neither you nor your friend have suffered any bodily harm while in your cell. A less just man would have had you hanged. We have appreciated your cooperation so far, and I will have need of it further. Tell me, what have the De Reimer’s told you? What are Alasdair and Patrick planning, and what is it that could possibly turn a man such as yourself against your rightful king?”
Once the guards released him Nizaar calmly pulled out the seat opposite Fenick and sat down.
“To answer your first question, I know no more of the De Reimer’s schemes than you do. They do not trust me enough to reveal their plans to me. Even if I did know I am sworn to my emperor and cannot reveal his plans to a enemy, my honour has already been stained once, I will not tarnish it further”. After saying this Nizaar’s face turned grave “However my true loyalty is and always will be to Uzgob and its people. You ask why I betrayed my King, it is because his ambitions were tearing the kingdom apart, and it was his people who were paying for it”. At this Nizaar looked Fenick dead in the eye “and you are no different. Your rebellion has once again brought chaos upon Uzgob, and will spread pain and suffering until you are stopped”.
“Look how mightily he protests!” Fenick said, scoffing. “It was you alone, and not the people of Uzgob, who deemed it necessary to surrender. Before you so eagerly pass down judgement from on high, remember that it was the people, and not me alone, who decided that it was not yet time to surrender. But enough of this. I do not believe you would have any deep loyalty to Alasdair. After all, a turncoat does not change his nature. I believe I told you that this would go easier if you were to speak honestly. Perhaps you are still misunderstanding your position. I did not keep you alive because I need you. On the contrary, it would be much more useful to me if you had gotten yourself killed. But you surrendered properly, and I will not kill one who has become my prisoner. But if this is all you have to say for yourself, then I might as well march you back to your cell.”
“What is it you want Fenick” Nizaar asked, his eyes unwaveringly staring into Fenick’s “To be free of De Reimer rule? To oppose the church and see the realm follow your own faith? It will not work” Nizaar’s voice saddened “Andris had five kingdoms supporting him and even he couldn’t resist them. You have what exactly? A few hundred fanatics? Tribesmen who arm themselves with animal hides and whatever steel they can scavenge together? You can disrupt the De Reimer hold over Uzgob for a time but you don’t know them like I do. Patrick will see all of Uzgob burn if only to stamp out any dissentients. I beg you as a man who loves this kingdom above all else, end this rebellion and prevent drawing the ire of the De Reimer’s any further”.
“How quaint, that you speak of the depravities of the de Reimers, yet you gave yourself over to them,” Fenick said. “If you knew the de Reimers as you claim you do, you must know that the suffering they would inflict through war is but a small fraction of the suffering that the people of Formaroth shall have to endure if the de Reimers’ are allowed to consolidate their rule. But I will squabble with you over this, Nizaar. I did not bring you here to hear your excuses, your political philosophy, and certainly not your advice. What I want is information. Perhaps you know more than you are letting on, and perhaps not. I doubt that I shall get anything more out of you on that note, however, so allow me to change the subject. Patrick seems to have put you in charge of taking me out. What of that? What should I expect of Patrick? How will he act?”
“I cannot tell you his plans for as I said I do not know them. But if you are expecting him to march his armies into the desert to face you then you will be disappointed, he is smarter than that. I suspect he will use his forces and the inquisition to squeeze Uzgob and her people. Until they either reject you or be destroyed. With a man as charismatic as Lycaon at the helm of the inquisition, the former is more likely” Nizaar replied, in truth he should have just refused to tell Fenick anything and remained silent, however as Fenick had mentioned he had no true loyalty to Patrick.
“I would be quite surprised if he could squeeze Uzgob’s people dry, as this land is already dried enough,” Fenick said. “You say that he will not come to the desert? There could be no greater fallacy. No, we shall force him to come to the desert. I reckon that even now Patrick, and especially his men, have already had too much of our Uzgob sun. As for Lycaon, I would not worry about him. He is the past. Once the man had his uses, but as he chose to stay behind while I and Johannia strove ahead, he is irrelevant. I think you will hear little of him in the coming days. Guards, I think this one has said all he has to say. Bring in the other one.”
“If you will not listen to reason then you are right I have nothing more to say to you. Though if you will listen to anything I have said understand this; for your own sake do not underestimate Patrick” as the guards took him away Nizaar simply mumbled “Not like Andris did”. “Bring in the next one, I think he will be less stubborn,” Fenick said. “And bring me two bottles of wine and a glass. I am sure that our next guest will appreciate it.”
So then Fenick waited, as he waited for the guards to do as he commanded. In a few minutes they brought in Roid. Fenick offered him a seat, and he took it. Then Fenick, holding the glass of wine poured it into a glass, and took a drink from the glass. “Would you like some?” Fenick said. “I am sure you have been thirsty for it these last few days. Tell me, what is your name?” Roid looked at Fenick with uncertainty, however he soon ceded.
“I won’t turn down wine if it is offered to me, even if it is given to me by an enemy”
One of the guards made a motion to pour a glass, but Fenick preferred to do it himself. He took up the other glass and poured it full of wine, and then handed into it to Roid.
“You are welcome to have as much as you like,” Fenick said. “But while your at it, why don’t you tell me who you are.” Roid took the glass from Fenick’s hand and after a brief moment of hesitation, took a sip from it. He was unsure what infomation he should divulge to Fenick, however even in defeat the man had treated him and Nizaar with honour and dignity, the least he could do was show him the same in return.
“I am Lord Roid of house Gray, I along with two other lords were hand picked by Patrick De Reimer to return order to Uzgob” He replied proudly.
“Lord Roid,” Fenick said. “I am not an eloquent man, so let me be brief. The De Reimers’ reign will soon fall. The whole land rejects them. My uprising here shall be but one of many, soon. It does not take much to see that soon they shall have war with both the Southern Alliance and the Blackwells. I would like you to join me. You will have your men and your command back, and you have far more to gain here than anything Patrick would give you.”
Roid was taken aback by the blunt manner in which Fenick had asked him to change his allegiance
“You ask me to betray both my king and emperor and forsake my honour”?
“Lord Roid, I offer you a chance to fight on the right side of this war,” Fenick said. “I will allow you as much time as you need to think on it. But remember what I have said here. The De Reimers still reign for now, but one day they will fall.”
“And why are you so certain that you, a fanatical desert dweller will succeed while the De Reimer’s will fail” Roid questioned before quickly drinking his wine, he suspected this conversation wasn’t going to last long and wanted to enjoy his drink before it was taken away. “As I said, the de Reimer’s shall face stiff resistance everywhere,” Fenick said. “His armies are tired, and his resources are spent. War with the Blackwells and the Southern Alliance will come soon, and their fresh troops will tear apart the de Reimer’s armies. In the meantime, rebellions here and elsewhere will spring, and in the end the Alasdair will be swallowed up by his endless list of enemies. Know this, Lord Roid - you may call me a fanatic, but my war was never about religion. That is a battle for another time. I follow the new Church, but many of my new allies follow the old Church. I have one aim, and that is freeing these lands of the de Reimers’ grasp. But I think I may have misjudged you. As you say, I am just a desert fanatic and you are a loyal follower to the de Reimers. Feel free to enjoy your drink as long as you like. I will not take that away from you.”
“Very well” Roid said as he reached for the bottle of wine for a refill, before he could take it however the bottle was snatched away from him by one of the guards. Roid looked at the man bitterly as he finished what was drops were left in his goblet and turning to Fenick “I will consider what you have said, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Chances are Patrick will arrive here soon with the Cawanorian soldiers he brought, and unlike that unprofessional mob that we lead they will crush this rebellion”.
“Well, I can at least let you take the bottle with you back to your cell,” Fenick said.
The guard begrudgingly gave Roid back the bottle to which Roid took with a smirk.
“I thank you for your hospitality, it was more than I had expected” Roid said as he stood up and was led away by the guards who had brought him here.
The Grim Company meets the forces of the Holy Order of Saint Elenor on the road and launches an unexpected attack. Lady Grim leads the infantry to attack the front, while Ieyasu takes the horsemen to attack the rear. Ser Gwladis leads the frontline of the Holy Order's forces, while Ser Sayer leads his knights to guard the rear and counter Ieyasu's forces. Gwladis is overwhelmed and killed, and the Holy Order's center quickly collapses. After hearing of his daughter's death, Ser Sayer charges through enemy lines and injures Ieyasu. However, he confronts Lady Grim shortly afterwards and is narrowly defeated and killed. After that, the forces of the Holy Order start to collapse. Herona and a few other soldiers hold the mountain road, which gives Raymond enough time to reorganize the forces of the Holy Order so that they can manage an orderly, less costly retreat. The Grim Company withdraws for the time being, while the Holy Order retreats from Uzgob.
Ser Sayer marched on the road at the head of his army, marching upon a dusty Uzgobian road. He had arrived in western Uzgob and had plans to head further inward in order to combat the heretics. There had been clear reports that a heretical rebellion had begun inward. It seemed that the only thing which sprung from this barren land was insurrection. As his army marched forward, they found a large contingency of forces on the road. Ser Sayer sent his scout to discover who it was. After Ser Sayer waited long enough, the scout returned to him.
“You’ve returned,” Ser Sayer said. “Have you found out who it was up there?"
“The Grim Company, I think they’re called,” the scout said. “Recognized their flags and arms, ser.”
“I remember,” Ser Sayer said. “They fought on Andris’ side. What do they want?”
“Nothing that they've let become known to me, ser,” the scout said. “But I know they’re on the road.”
“I can see that. I have no interest in this defeated band of mercenaries," Ser Sayer said. “I hope that they shall have no interest in us. It would be unfortunate if our roads were to cross once again. Let us hope it does not come to that. The war is over, and a mercenary does not fight for free.”
The army had arranged themselves under Ser Sayer’s orders, and by now everyone knew that a large band of mercenaries were on the other side. Raymond, the man who Herona had once known as the strawberry-haired man but who was now her commanding officer, was walking beside her and beside her teacher, Ser Gwladis. Things were quiet for the moment, but it was not to last long. Herona saw up ahead that the Grim Company, mostly on horseback, had already amassed, and for some reason she could tell that it would end well.
“This’s bad,” Herona said.
“Commander Sayer said that they have no reason to attack,” Raymond said.
“No, Herona is right,” Gwladis said. “I see it as well. They are going to attack, and our forces will not hold.”
Gwladis never said much, but she was always quick to act. After saying this she ran forward to the front of the army and was soon out of their sight. Herona slowed down her marching, and took out of her spear, and began to sharpen it. Several moments passed.
“What are you doing?” Raymond said.
“Preparin’ me spear, ser,” Herona said. “Reckon we’ll be doin’ tha’ same soon.”
Rhaetia rode proudly on her horse and was once again Lady Grim, with Ieyasu riding by her side. The so-called Holy Order was right in front of them now. As they were now they did not look like they fully ready to fight, as if they really believed that she would not attack. It was a common belief, after all, that a mercenary would never fight for free, and as far they knew she had not been rehired by any of their enemies. That lack of information would be their loss.
“Men, once these very men routed us, but today we shall have vengeance,” Lady Grim said. “Charge!”
Lady Grim herself was leading the vanguard of foot soldiers of the Grim Company. She yelled her commands, and they charged. From her hands there came a glowing redness, which soon expanded until it became a glowing fireball. Lady Grim propelled it towards the Order’s forces, and it smashed through the center of several ranks, slaying more than a few men, and scattered the center of the Holy Order’s forces. Officers shouted at their men to return to formation, to keep their shields up, but the formation had been broken. It was then that the charge from the Grim Company’s vanguard came, with Lady Grim being foremost amongst them. Ser Sayer shouted orders for platoons in the and flank to assist their fledging center. Lady Grim, however, sought for the Holy Order’s center to break immediately. As Ser Sayer’s own cavalry went to support the failing center of his forces, he soon found himself countered by the Grim Company’s own horsemen, led by Ieyasu. Along with her men she crashed into the Holy Order’s forces. When she faced the first man she struck with a spell of lightning, striking his armor, and he was immediately electrocuted. Then she enchanted her blade with a spell of fire, which could burn at the touch and cut through armor like butter.
Lady Grim cut down several more men with her flaming sword, as her men advanced. Yet though the center regiment of the Holy Order was failing, resistance still was fierce, as reinforcements from behind came, led by Ser Gwladis’ regiment. Ser Gwladis always led from the front. As she met with the forces of the Grim Company, she rose her sword, and with a single swing quick as lightning she struck down two men. Nimbler than any cat and fiercer than any bear, she struck down every man who dared to face her. More than a dozen men had fallen before her already, and now the brave soldiers of the Grim Company were already cowering at the idea of having to face her. As long as she stood, Lady Grim knew that she would not have victory. The soldiers of the Holy Order rallied around Ser Gwladis, as she slew one after another of the mercenaries of the Grim Company. She did not flinch or hesitate as her enemies swarmed her and slew them one after another.
“Idiots!” Lady Grim shouted. “She is just a woman, not a god! Can’t you kill a single woman!”
“I pity you," Ser Gwladis said. “Even if you retreat, I can no longer allow you to live.”
“You dare to mock me?” Lady Grim said. “I am Rhaetia, the Lady Grim. The elves quake in fear at the mention of my name, the Samurai bow to my glory!”
“We are not in the east now, my lady,” Ser Gwladis said. “Have you ever heard the saying, the dogs with the fiercest bark have the slightest bite?”
“So, I am a dog now? How rich! I suppose that would make me a bitch, then,” Lady Grim said. “Though I am no less a bitch than one of Lycaon’s dog. So, from one bitch to another, let me show you just how hard my bite is.”
Lady Grim conjured up a lightning spell and blasted it to her. However, Gwladis was too fast. The lightning Ser Gwladis avoided, and she dashed at Lady Grim faster than she could believe. Lady Grim cursed loudly, and would have been struck down there, except that at the last moment one of her soldiers shoved her out of the way. Her soldier had been slain in her place instead. Lady Grim did not give up. She got herself up as quickly as she could.
“Shit! Surround her! Kill her at all costs!” Lady Grim shouted. “She must die!”
Ser Gwladis’ company clashed again with the vanguard of the Grim Company. When Ser Sayer had left, he had not brought the best of the Grim Company. Though they had some experience from the Battle of Telmarion and the Riot of Nyhem, they were no match for the best of the Grim Company. In their moment of weakness, Lady Grim decided it was time to strike. With two dozen of her best soldiers she struck at Ser Gwladis. As Lady Grim struck with spells, her soldiers surrounded Ser Gwladis, and fought in a furious struggle. Though Ser Gwladis found herself isolated, she never gave an inch willingly, and being cornered only made her fight that much harder. With a rapidity and a disciplined ferocity that they had never seen before, Ser Gwladis fought. Her body was filled with injuries, as swords came at with from every direction. She brought down with her ten of the Grim Company’s best, but in the end she fell. As her limbs finally gave out, she fell to the ground. She no longer tried to reach her sword, because she knew it was over. Her years of service finally at an end, her thoughts turned to the years she lived, and the places and people she had seen. In life she had never known rest, so now she could only hope that now the gods would give her an eternal rest. She made an effort to close her eyes, and she never opened them again.
“Farewell, knight. I did not know your name, but I knew you better than I have known many of my friends. It was a shame that we had to meet in this way,” Lady Grim said. “Forward! It is over! The greatest of the Order has fallen! Don’t stop moving! Forward!”
The Grim Company’s vanguard continued to advance, past Ser Gwladis body. Before she moved on ahead, Lady Grim cast a small invisible barrier over Ser Gwladis, that ensured the body would remain unharmed for the remainder of the battle. Lady Grim had been in many battles and had fought against a great many who called themselves great warriors, but she had never seen anything like her before.
In the meantime, as Lady Grim continued to push forwards, Ser Sayer led the cavalry, made up of knights of the Holy Order, against those of Ieyasu. The battle was fierce, as charge met charge, and the fighting devolved steadily, as more and more fell and the earth ran red with blood. In the frontline was Ser Sayer, shouting orders as he was fighting. And in the distance, there was the desperate voice of Captain Keithan, that cried, “Ser Gwladis has fallen! Our hero has fallen!”
“Impossible!” Ser Sayer shouted. “Gwladis! Traitor dogs, mercenary cur, whoreson filth, may the curses of every god and demon real and imagined fall upon you! Not even vengeance a million times over will not be enough for this crime! Gwladis! Gwladis! Charge, you ingrates! Charge in the name of my daughter, the greatest soul ever there was!”
Ser Sayer shouted at the top of his lungs as he charged, and his men had no choice but to follow him. Yet the charge ultimately was reckless. Ieyasu laughed at the foolish tactic, but his laughter perhaps came too soon. Ser Sayer charged with fury, and with himself and several handfuls of other knights he broke through the Grim Company’s line. Ieyasu went to meet them. Each of them, each on horses, charged towards each other, raising their lances, almost like it was joust. Yet here whoever would receive death in addition to humiliation. As both of them went to strike with their lances, Ser Sayer struck a moment quicker and with slightly better aim and knocked Ieyasu off his horse with a strike to the chest. Ieyasu was wounded, and felled from his horse, but survived. Ser Sayer was ready to deliver death from above, when a blast of lightning came towards him. It felled his horse, but Ser Sayer quickly rose himself up.
“This makes two defeats in a row, Ieyasu,” Lady Grim said.
“Careful, Rhaetia,” Ieyasu said. “He seems like just another brute, but he is strong.”
“Of course not,” Lady Grim said. “Lycaon only associates with the best, after all.”
“Is it true, that my daughter, my Gwladis, is dead?” Ser Sayer said.
“If you mean the knight, then she died bravely and honorably,” Lady Grim said. “I have ensured that her body has been left untarnished.”
“And do you expect me to thank you?” Ser Sayer said, but then he gave a mirthless laugh. “Should I thank you that you did not defile my Gwladis’ corpse? Honorable death? Hah! She is dead all the same. I imagine that you surrounded her at every angle. That’s the only way the likes of you could have killed my Gwladis. Now that I have you alone, both of you will die, and they will not be gentle deaths.”
Though his horse had been slain, Ser Sayer had risen himself quickly. He might not have gained the skill that his daughter did, but his was style was the same. As Lady Grim launched a fireball towards him Ser Sayer dodged to the right, and never stopped running towards Lady Grim. Then when he was finally close to her, he struck. When Lady Grim parried, sparks filled the air thanks to the spell of fire cast on her spell, but Ser Sayer was undeterred. He struck again and again at Lady Grim, striking at many different angles. Then Ser Sayer, as their blades were connected, tried to push her to the ground. But Lady Grim made a push herself, and made another strike with her blade, and her enchanted blade cut through Ser Sayer’s armor. He bled but did not yet fall. He thrust his blade with the most force yet, and Lady Grim, charging her blade full with fiery magical energy, parried the strike, and her own fiery blade cut clean through Ser Sayer’s blade. Nonetheless, he did not cease, and thrust his broken sword into Lady Grim’s gut, which wounded her, though she was protected by chainmail. As Ser Sayer’s other hand went towards Lady Grim’s neck, Lady Grim struck her blade at his neck. She struck true, and blood spewed from Ser Sayer’s neck rapidly. Nonetheless, he did not die immediately, and as long as he drew breath he would give up. With one of his hand’s Ser Sayer struck at Lady Grim’s hand and threw her blade from her hands, and he put his other hand across her neck. Lady Grim pulled a dagger from her waist and struck in vain against Ser Sayer’s plate-covered arms. It seemed that it was over for Lady Grim, as Ser Sayer’s grip refused to loosen. However, Ser Sayer was bleeding out rapidly from his neck, and after about a minute Ser Sayer’s strength began to give away. As Lady Grim felt her consciousness slowly begin to fade Ser Sayer’s grip finally loosened, and she drew herself away from her and gasped quickly and desperately for air.
“My Lady Grim,” Ieyasu said weakly.
“You have my permission to withdraw,” Lady Grim said.
Wonderful…” Ieyasu said. “Now I just have the small problem that I can’t move.”
Lady Grim began to raise herself up, though she was still gasping for air and her gut was wounded. She was exhausted – spellcasting tended to do that to a person – but she was far from done. The battle was still at its height. The weight of losing its commander had not yet been felt by the Holy Order. The Grim Company would have to keep pushing. As some of her soldiers approached her, she spoke.
“Carry Ieyasu out of here,” Lady Grim said.
“And what of you, my Lady?” her soldier said. “You have been injured.”
“I still live,” Lady Grim said. “When it comes time for me to leave, I will.”
For a moment, as the cavalry saw their commander fall, the knights faltered, but Captain Brandon ran forward, and blew loud upon the war horn. The sound broke through the sounds of battle and rang through the air. It was loud, and as musical as it was exhilarating. “Men, knights, cowards,” Captain Brandon said. “Don’t think you’ll get off running now that the going’s getting tough! I don’t know about you, but I tend to show these gutless fools something to fear. For the Commander!”
With Captain Brandon leading what remained of the knights, Lady Grim took it upon herself to counter. She jumped on to Ieyasu’s horse and led the horsemen of the Grim Company herself. As she led the countercharge. As knights thrust their lances towards her, she parried their strikes with her shield, and then struck them down with her blade. At the height of the fighting Lady Grim went to Captain Brandon. As the two of them charged against each other, Lady Grim tossed a fireball. It may have been cheating, but she was not feeling well, and was more concerned with winning than with honor right now. When the fireball reached Captain Brandon fell, and when the knights saw this scattered and began to withdraw at a rapid pace almost immediately.
As for the footsoldiers, Captain Keithan tried to hold the line among the militiamen of the Holy Order. Lady Grim led the cavalry to charge their flank. Being attack from the front and from the flank was too much for the militia. As the horsemen broke through their lines, Captain Keithan himself was slain, and their ranks were broken, and they were forced to retreat. Lady Grim smiled. It seemed that the Holy Order’s defeat was inevitable now, though Lycaon was not here to face her now. The Holy Order was beginning to retreat en masse now, and the battlefield was starting to become even more chaotic as the formations of the Holy Order’s soldiers began to dissipate. There were no longer neat formations within the forces of the Holy Order. They were running the way they had come.
Herona felt almost like she was being trampled with all the people running past her. She was running with them, in her own way. It was a mechanical motion, which Herona did automatically, without thinking of it. She saw Raymond was there, still holding the line and doing what he could to stop the disorderly retreat, along with some of the other knights. But it was mostly himself. It was having some effect, but there was something missing. Why should they have any motivation to fight any longer, after having suffered so many setbacks already?
“Herona!” Raymond said.
“Here ser,” Herona said.
“Retreating with the rest of them, I see,” Raymond said.
“Aye ser,” Herona said.
“And will you be satisfied with that?” Raymond said. “Will you be satisfied to suffer a defeat like this, while you run and are chased like dogs?”
Why not? Herona almost asked that to him. She knew that it was a useless question. Truth be told such questions no longer met anything to her. To some, she was sure, such big questions were very meaningful, but not for a soldier like herself. Nonetheless, she knew that it was her duty – whatever that meant – to turn back and keep fighting even if the whole army was retreating. Because the whole army was retreating, she had to keep fighting.
“Never mind that, ser. Got somethin’ up ya’ sleeve?” Herona said.
“If we continue to run like this, without any respect for formation, they will kill us all,” Raymond said. “Do what you can to make sure they do not pierce the mountain roads.”
“Aye, ser,” Herona said. “They ain’t gettin’ through me.”
As soldiers ran past her to retreat, Herona took a handful of soldiers that Raymond bad gathered to guard the mountain pass from which they once come from. She did not know what Raymond was doing, or what his plans were, but at least she could hold this pass. A group of horsemen were charging towards her, thinking they would quickly break through such few numbers. As the cavalry charged towards them, hoping to run them down, Herona held out her spear, and did just as Gwladis had taught her. As the horsemen charged her, she struck her spear and cut through the flesh of two separate horses. Her fellow soldiers did the same. They did the same as she did and stood their ground as their spears pierced the flesh of the charging horses. Then a force of shock infantry that outnumbered them three-to-one suddenly charged at them, but Herona stood strong, and with them everyone else. She would just have to do what Gwladis had always taught her. As the first infantryman came to her, she struck her spear through his vizor and cleaved his skilled. Then just as quickly as she struck she withdrew her spear, and struck down another one of the mercenaries. With her spear she aimed rapidly, and just as Gwaldis had taught her. Man after man of the Grim Company fell at her hand, and none could stand against her.
Lady Grim herself was trying to break their line now. She led a second charge herself. As Lady Grim led the charge Herona carefully eyed her and did something that she had practiced often with Gwladis. As she became close she tossed her spear like a javelin. It was a good shot, and hit Lady Grim’s breastplate hard, and she went down, and did not get up until her men rose her. Their charge was weakened, and Herona did not allow herself or her fellow soldiers to fall before it. Elsewhere, Raymond was gathering the remnants of the army that had scattered behind the mountain pass and was doing all he could to reorganize them. Some came back to reinforce Herona’s position, to make sure the mountain road would not fall. The Grim Company gave two more attempts at a charge, and tried to break through the mountain road, but compared to the initial assault it was lackluster. The Grim Company had lost its leadership, with both Lady Grim and Ieyasu injured and taken away from the action. Lady Grim could have kept watched over them, hoping she could wait them out, but she did not risk the possibility of the Holy Order calling reinforcements. Lady Grim, as her wounds were being tended to, gave the order for a retreat. Yet there was no doubt that this was a victory for the Grim Company, and when there was no longer any sign of the Grim Company Raymond would order their own retreat.
Raymond led the infantrymen as they marched out of Uzgob, leading the frontline of the ranks as they carried out their tactical withdraw. He continued to do so until Captain Simone-Simon announce that they would set up camp. Raymond was glad to do so. He was tired, but not as tired as many of their soldiers. He noticed that Herona looked particularly haggard, her arms were drooping, and her eyes looked devoid of life. As Herona was setting up her tent, Raymond went over to. He tried to help her with setting
“No need fa’ that, ser,” Herona said. “Settin’ up tent’s soldier’s work, fa’ grunts like me.”
“It’s the least I could do, with all you’ve done for me,” Raymond said.
“Ain’t somethin’ a officer’d be sayin’ to one o’ his soldiers,” Herona said. “Just did me duty.”
"Right," Raymond said. He was about to saying something, but then stopped himself. "You did well today."
“Thank ya, ser,” Herona said. “All’s in a day’s work. Tha’ sweat, blood, sounds n’ clanks’ o’ iron, the killin’ n’ dyin’. Ah, but don't mind me ramblin', ser. All I’s sayin’ is, all’s in a day’s work.”
“You seem tired,” Raymond said.
“Reckon we’re all tired, ser,” Herona said. “Long day.”
“That’s not quite what I meant,” Raymond said.
A soldier came up to them and said, “Lieutenant Raymond?”
“What is it?” Raymond said.
“Captain Simone-Simon would like to speak with you, ser, immediately. Officer’s meeting,” the soldier said.
“If that is what the captain wishes, I must obey,” Raymond said.
Raymond had a few other things he wanted to say to Herona, but for now they would have to wait. Raymond walked over to where Captain Simone-Simon was, and saluted. They were still setting us his tent, so he was meeting him outside.
“Ser, I thought this was an officer’s meeting,” Raymond said. “Where is everyone else?”
“There is no one else, lieutenant,” Captain Simone-Simon said. “Everyone else is dead. Commander Sayer, Ser Gwladis, Captain Keithan, Captain Brandon, and others. I have you and a few remaining sergeants. You did well, captain, better than I did. I don’t even want to imagine what would happen if you had not been there.”
“That was more due to Herona than to me,” Raymond said.
“Humility is good,” Captain Simone-Simon said. “But this is simply the truth. I must be honest, my friend, this is unmitigated disaster on a larger scale than I could possibly imagine. You are the only one who can possibly have any idea what to do next, not me. From now on I plan to defer to you as much as I can. I have no doubt that when we are all back home once again you will be made a captain in your own right.”
“I imagine I don’t have any choice in the matter,” Raymond said.
“I imagine not,” Captain Simone-Simon said. “So, lieutenant, what shall we do?”
We need to get a message to Grandmaster Lycaon. He must know what happened here,” Raymond said. “And then we must wait. We cannot retreat back to Nyhem. I can’t imagine Lycaon would be very happy if we were to do that without his permission.”
“No, probably not,” Captain Simone-Simon said. “Still, it is a shame. I was hoping that this would be an easy mission. Why do you think that they attacked us? Does it have something to do with the heretics?”
“There could be no other reason,” Raymond said. “Perhaps they ran into some money. Or perhaps they stole some. Regardless, they must have managed to pay the Grim Company somehow.
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.”
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.
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.
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 had arrived at the party with little fanfare. Then again, he would not have preferred to have had it any other way. There were times when he was prepared to make a grand entrance, but Lycaon felt he had already made enough of an impact here in Nyhem already that there was scarcely any reason for him to make himself more noticeable. He was not the sort to be so garish. He entered the party in his suit of plate armor, for in general he did not look as imposing without it.
As time passed as the guests celebrated Lycaon simply waited and bided his time. It was a more raucous affair than he was expecting, considering the high stature of the drinks. For his part Lycaon dared not take a sip of wine, for he did not want his judgement to be impaired in the slightest. In fact, he felt more vulnerable right now than he ever did in his entire life. As he waited, he watched Alasdair declare himself emperor of Formaroth. Lycaon’s expression did not change, but this declaration worried him. This was an incredibly grandiose statement on his part, to declare himself as an equal of the Elven slaver-despot of the east. Likely, he would claim to every land that the Remonnets had ever controlled. It was a worrying development, but for now Lycaon would focus on the task at hand. He had to make sure that everything he had tried to build had not been undone. Lana was here, and Lycaon had tried his best to ally with her. She was, for him, the most eminent of mages in the sphere in politics and the best individual in which he could attempt to create amiable relations between the Church and mages, traditional rivals and enemies.
“It seems we have been given the chance to meet once again, Lady Dionisia,” Lycaon said. “Though much has changed since we last met. Yet that is all the more reason for us to appreciate what remains. When we last met we made an agreement. Though the times have been difficult and tumultuous, we are more committed than ever.” Lana eyed Lycaon carefully. When last they had talked, she had viewed him as a convenient pawn at best. She had not seen the lengths he was willing to go to in putting down the heretical rebellion. But that was no reason not to be polite...
"Well met Sir Lycaon." She replied. "Indeed. My people are in more danger now than ever before. Our continued friendship means a great deal to me." Her tone was sincere, even if she was wary of what an alliance with Lycaon meant now.
Putting on the appropriate tone and expression for what followed, she continued. "My condolences for the loss of Sir Hansen. He died valiantly defending my house. when I discover who it was that broke in and slew him and Lord Thale, I will be sure to visit justice upon them." He did not know – could not know – what it was that Lanaya was thinking. However, whatever she may think of him, she was the closest link he had to the Circle, and all his contact with them came through her. He did not expect her to believe that he would be a dependable, just as he did not believe she would be good a dependable ally. He listened to her words carefully. She gave him no important information, and so he would continue.
“Your words do him honor, Lady Dionisa. He was a brave warrior, and his loss bereaves me. I will remember our agreement, and send another knight to guard you.” Yet this was not what Lycaon wished to discuss with Lanaya. “Let us hope his death, and the unnecessary deaths of many other good men and women, was not in vain. The Church has been too long separated from the mages of Formaroth. I aim to bring the two in harmony again. The Church has its own centers of learning, but, unfortunately, they have no place for the magical arts. I am to change that. There are challenges ahead, but making the institutional changes will be simple enough. No one important within the Church would oppose it now. I thought that you would like to know, for after all this is simply an extension of our agreement.” Lana listened as the pleasantries were exchanged, nodding were appropriate. She was pleased to find that Lycaon planned to continue honoring their original agreement, though she did not feel the need for an armored knight in her home anymore. Since the riot, it had been a simple task to justify growing the size of her house guard.
Lycaon's next suggestion, however, took her by surprise. Mages being taught the arts in churches? It was such an unexpected idea that it broke her normally perfect composure, leaving a brief flicker of bewilderment to cross her face. It disappeared as quickly as it arrived however, as her mind raced to consider the implications.
"I am always happy to discuss the establishment of hubs of magical learning..." Lana began cautiously. "Yet I cannot help but wonder how the curriculum in a Church run school would look. I know the church has many learned men, but can you find the specialists needed to foster a new generation of skilled mages?" Lycaon wondered if Lanaya would really be happy to have more hubs of magic establish. He did not believe that the Circle wished for mages to extend beyond themselves. Nonetheless, here objection was true. It would be the great problem for any attempt to create a program for mages within the Church. The Church could probably never matched the Circle, no matter how many years past.
“I cannot deny this problem,” Lycaon said. “It will be many years before a workable program within the Church could be made for the training of mages. It will be one of the Church’s great challenges, and it shall take many years of hard work. There will not be an immediate change. However, there are those within the Church, who are part of us in one sense or another, who shall be glad to see this through. We will not try to replace the Circle, only create places of magical learning outside of it." "I admire your dedication to the idea." Lana began, sounding sincere but still not entirely convinced.
"But I am afraid that I am not the one you must convince of this plan. Without the permission of the Circle, such a widespread endeavor could never flourish. I will send word of your request to them, but I suggest you send an advocate to the Summer Isles to convince them personally."
It was rare for Lana to pass agency on to anyone else, but in this case it was still every bit as selfish a move as ever. The Circle could still mandate her replacement as Advisor to the King - now Emperor - if they thought she was overstepping her bounds.
"Yet, I am willing to trial the concept here in Nyhem." She continued tentatively. "As long as I have significant oversight for the curriculum and selection of teachers, I will give you my blessing to start a school in the City." A keen eye would have viewed a look of alarm on Lycaon's face. It was gone in a split-second. The Church actually knew very little about the Circle. There was very little knowledge of the inside, and “Church Mages” educated within the Circle were not at all keen to spy on the place they considered to be their second home, and were in general not particular close to the authorities in the Church anyhow. Still, Lycaon knew one thing. If there was to be a program for mages within the Church, it would never be under the control of the Circle. The Church would be extinguished before it would allow such a thing to pass. Lycaon certainly would not
“I will certainly inform you when the proper measures have been taken to take the next step,” Lycaon said. “I thank you for your goodwill. This conversation has been most fruitful. I shall take my leave of you, for I’m sure you have better things to do than to talk to me. After all, this is a party in celebration of our new emperor.” "Indeed it is... Long may he rule our lands." Lana acknowledged in a tone that suggested she might not be as happy about the idea of an Emperor as she was supposed to be. "I thank you for your continued support of my kind Sir Lycaon. We do not forget our friends." Lana stated seriously, before smiling politely and turning away. Lycaon was making things more complicated as usual, but as long as he continued to do so in her favor she didn't mind.