XERTA

The world changed the moment we left the shadow of the Neoth Range.
The crisp, clean air of the mountains gave way to a thick, oppressive heat that shimmered off the cracked, ochre-coloured earth.
We had entered the great plains that served as the threshold to the Irene Desert, a vast, arid expanse under a merciless, white-hot sun.
No more mountains to climb, but that was replaced by the ever loving and ever cheerful soul-crushing leagues of flat, unforgiving land.

Behind us, a day's march away, was the vanguard of the First Company, and it looked like a river from where we were.
Their banners and faint steel glint flowed from the mountains.
The mood was one of quiet, grim resolve, and justifiably so.
We understood that now, more than ever, every step forward was a step closer to the end of the world.

My own thoughts were a constant prayer for my children, whom I had left behind in the capital of the Imperium.
Thial, with her awe-inspiring cheer and will, was the best guardian I could have asked for, but the distance weighed heavily on my soul.

Every demonic footprint we passed in the dust, every distant, unnatural screech on the wind, was a reminder of the world of horrors I had willingly brought them into.

"You feel it, don't you?" Usasha said.

It was lovely having her back.

"The weight of their lives. It is a terrible and beautiful burden. It has tempered the fire of your rage into something greater. You are not just a hero any more, Arda. You are a king, fighting for your kingdom. Don't tell Tulote I said that last part teehee."

A gruffer voice joined hers.

"A king is useless if he can't swing a sword properly. You've learned to listen to the Gladius, boy. You feel the flow of Order through it. That's good. But you still fight like a mage who happens to be holding a blade. Order is your soul, but the sword is your hand. You must learn to make them one. Your final battle will not be won by will alone."

"Be gentle my love," Usasha chided. "He has the heart of a protector, not a conqueror."

" And Dietha will tear that heart from his chest if he is not ready, " Silus retorted. " Her champions are gone, but she remains. You must be more than a restorer, Arda. You must be an end."

Their voices faded, leaving me with their familiar mixture of encouragement and stark warning.
They were right.
I had relied on the raw, conceptual power of Order way too much, but in the end, I would need the cold, hard reality of steel.

The demoness' presence was still an unsettling comfort.
She remained silent at our rear most times.
Tulote and Cassandra walked together, two scions of a lost age (oldies), their conversations quiet and filled with whatever their history was.
I found myself walking beside Xerta most times, for as much as it was a joy to be around those two, it was feeling hard to relate and speak with them on simple matters as before.
PTSD I'd reason.

Xerta, I understood.
Her distrust of Tulote and Cassandra were still there sadly.
She built her walls high.

The moment to finally understand why came on our third night in the plains.
We had made camp in the lee of a great rock formation that offered some scant protection from the ceaseless wind.
The fire crackled.

Cassandra offered Xerta a silver flask.

"Elven wine, it helps with the chill."

Xerta merely grunted, pulling out her own waterskin and taking a long drink.

"I'm fine."

"Why?" Cassandra finally asked.

Her patience had waned thin.

"Why do you hold us at such a distance? After all we have fought through together, do you still believe we would betray you?"

Xerta finally looked up from the fire, her steel-grey eyes reflecting the flames.

"Sometimes it's a piece of paper. A signature. A pretty smile and a lie that gets good people killed."

Tulote, who had been listening silently, set down the stone he was polishing.

"If a noble of the Imperium has wronged you, Xerta, you have my word as Lord Regent that I will see justice done."

Xerta let out a short laugh.
But it was bitter and held no humour.

"Justice? Your justice is a ghost in a gilded hall, my lord. I saw it die with my own eyes."

She had a story to tell.

And you're sure to hell (Birmingham) and back, that we listened.

"I' not from a grand city like your Elevetih or a mountain-hold like the dwarven kings. I was born in a place called Stonehearth. A small, independent mining clan deep in the northern spurs of the Neoth Range. We weren't rich, but we were proud. Our mountain gave us everything we need. Iron, coal, and the best Terracane ore on the continent. We kept to ourselves, traded fairly, and paid our tithes to the Imperium. We were loyal."

She paused, her gaze distant.

"But our wealth didn't go unnoticed. A human baron, Lord Valerius, whose lands bordered our mountain, grew greedy. He wanted our mine. He couldn't take it by force, for a dwarf in their mountain is worth ten men on the plains. So he used your laws. Your politics."

She looked coldly at Tulote.

"He went to the capital with forged ledgers and false testimonies. He claimed Stonehearth was hoarding Terracane, that we were traitors selling to the Imperium's enemies. UNDER YOUR LEADERSHIP, he used his noble title, his influence, to secure an Imperial decree. One that granted him governorship over our lands to 'ensure their resources were properly allocated for the good of the realm.'"

"It was a lie," she said.

Her voice cracked for the first time.

"My father, the clan elder, had every ledger, every trade receipt to prove it. When Valerius arrived, he didn't bring an army. He brought a dozen of your Imperial soldiers — good men just following orders — and two hundred of his own private mercenaries. He used the IMPERIAL BANNER as a shield for his greed."

"My father met him at the gates. He wasn't hostile. He was a proud man who believed in the Imperium's justice. So, he brought out our records, ready to prove our loyalty. I was just a girl, watching from the battlements."

Her hands clenched into fists.

"The moment my father unrolled the first scroll, Valerius gave the signal. He declared my father was 'resisting Imperial authority'. His mercenaries attacked.
They slaughtered my father, violated and killed my mother, murdered all our elders, right there in the shadow of the Imperial flag the soldiers were holding."

Tears now streamed freely down her soot-stained cheeks.

"The Imperial soldiers were horrified, but they were outnumbered and confused. By the time they realized what had happened, it was over. Valerius had his mine. My people were either dead or scattered. I was orphaned, hidden by a smith who smuggled me out. I survived. But I learned a lesson that day. It wasn't demons who destroyed my home. It was a noble. An ugly ugly man with a title, a pretty smile, and the power to twist the very laws of YOUR land Tulote, into a weapon."

She finally looked at Tulote and Cassandra, tears there just the same.

"So you ask me why I don't trust you? Because in my 36 years of living, I have seen what your world does to people like mine. Many times. Your titles and your power storm in on people like me and we get trampled beneath it."

The silence that followed was heavy.

Tulote's face was cold.

The injustice done to her clan was a stain upon the honour of his family, a pervasion of everything his parents had died for.

"That man," he said, his voice went dangerously quiet, "that Vermin Valerius. When this is done, when Dietha is dust, I will personally lead the legion that brings him to justice. I will see his lands seized, his titles stripped, and his name ERASED from the memory of this world. This I swear on the soul of my father."

Cassandra said nothing.
But she rose, walked over to Xerta, and hugged her dearly.

I felt my own heartache for her.

I saw in her, an orphaned child fuelled by righteous anger for what had happened so long ago.
I moved to sit next to her, placing my hand over hers.

"You're not alone anymore, Xerta," I said softly.

-

As we broke camp the next morning, I took the Gladius Nobellus and practiced my swordplay.
I moved through the forms Silus had burned into my mind, though admittedly, the motions felt clumsy and disconnected.

"You're thinking too much," Xerta's voice rumbled from being me.

"You're being rash with it. Think of it like this, you're trying to tell the sword what to do. A weapon isn't a servant. It's a partner."

"SIlus said something similar," I admitted, pausing.

"Of course he would, you'd expect the old ghost to know a thing or two about that. Here. Spar with me. No magic. No fancy lights. Just steel and muscle."

What followed was a profound ass beating.

But I think I'll skip over the details of that, for it still is pretty embarrassing.

It was a lesson, though.
Her style was all power and grounding, her hammer a force that I had to flow around, not meet head on.
My precise, almost dance-like movements were of stark contrast to her powerful blows.

She was really forcing me to stop thinking of Order and to start thinking about balance, footwork, and the blade in my hand.

"Feel the balance," she said as my block barely held against one of her swings. "Don't just see your opponent. See the ground they stand on. See the air they breathe. It's all one fight."

We sparred until sweat poured from us, until my muscles burned.
As we finished, I was able to greater appreciate her for the fighter that she was.

We continued our march.
We were as family, the four of us. Not quite sure about the demoness yet, but she could stick around for the ride.