Epilogue

I woke up in a small cave, next to a fire. Annabel and Spiridon were with me.

Annabel was one of the few survivors among Manean wizards. Her right arm and face were in bandages. She was badly burnt. Eventually, she would manage to recover the damaged skin via magical treatment, but would never regain the use of her right eye.

Spiridon was in a medical tent as the battle was being lost, and managed to mount a hadrosaur in spite of his injury, getting to safety before our camp got raided. While escaping, he noticed the horribly injured sorceress stumbling blindly around the battlefield and picked her up. Later, they linked up with other survivors and discovered this hiding place. These remnants were mostly infantrymen – remaining light cavalry was long gone, thanks to their mobility, and artillery and the knights were slaughtered nearly to a man. I was discovered on the shore of Nishava, still unconscious. The Twice-Enchanted Blade was not with me.

Three days had passed since the battle. Most of the more lightly injured soldiers had by this point moved on, leaving the three of us to fend for ourselves, with as many supplies they had scrounged from the surrounding area as they could spare. Nobody wanted to linger in one place, in a large group, longer than necessary.

As soon as my pain was diminished enough to allow for clear thought, I began asking questions about our situation.

“Word is, Shina and the Sorcerous League are allies again”, said Spiridon, “Though they are equal partners this time. Apparently, they are calling this new regime the ‘Twin Empire’, led by Arthacyros and Porphis. Not all the sorcerer-kings will be pleased by this new arrangement, I reckon, but they will fall in line before long”.

This deal, likely made some time before the assassination attempt in Hieropolis took place, would soon lead to military success, to which the League of old had aspired, but never quite achieved. And we found ourselves trapped in the heart of this new and powerful enemy.

“What should we do next?” I wondered.

Spiridon was pouring us some local alcoholic beverage into wooden cups, pondering my question. “For now, we survive and recover. Try to link up with other survivors, Nageibanite militias, and any anti-Arthacyros factions we can. Find what happened to Sword of Orion, if possible. Return to Manea. Regroup. Crush the necromancer”.

“That is some plan”, I snickered, “Remembering what happened the last few times I bit more than I could chew, I would advise against such unwise ambitions”.

“There is a difference between hubris and ambition. You thought you could stroll into a demon’s house and still its knowledge, and you paid the price. His Majesty thought Arthacyros was cornered and had no choice but to face him in battle and die, and he paid the price. We know how badly outgunned we are, and as long as we don’t forget what kind of power we are facing, we have a chance. It may be slim – optimistically, I expect this to end in a glorious death – but I would rather work towards such a goal than hide in a hole until someone outs me as a Manean soldier”.

“You call it ambition”, remarked Annabel, “A lesser man might call it madness”.

“True enough”, admitted Spiridon, “But I never took you two for ‘lesser’, first few weeks of our acquaintance notwithstanding”.

“How can I say no when you flatter me so?” the sorceress laughed, “Besides, I would loathe to leave Mistress Claudia’s death unanswered for. I’ll join you on this desperate errand. What about you, Clossar?”

I thought about it for a moment. The tragedy at Adahuya and the defeat at Nishawa made me wary of aiming high, and staying unremarkably in the background as I did in my previous life became appealing again. Spiridon’s words made sense, but I was unsure I would be able to control my human nature. If things began to go too well, I could grow complacent once again.

But then I remembered the twenty-eight poor souls who perished so that I could live again. It felt distasteful to hide in the mountains, living in fear of Arthacyros’s agents, after so much suffering had been inflicted in order to give me another shot at life. The necromancer was due some poetic justice, and while I was far from guaranteed to be able to dish it out, the least I could do was die trying.

That last bit, so frightfully easy to forget, I knew I had to keep in mind at all times. Thousands of years before I was originally born, triumphant generals returning from war would have a slave whisper in their ear, “Remember that you will die”. I would own no slaves, so I would have to do this duty myself. As long as I kept myself in check like that, I could go along with Nixon’s outrageous plan with a clear heart.

“I’m in”, I simply said.

“Great!” Annabel’s mood seemed to instantly improve once we found ourselves a purpose. “We should have a toast to celebrate the beginning of this new quest. The Twin Empire shall tremble before the Three-Headed Vagrant!”

“I agree”, nodded Spiridon, “Clossar, will you do the honors?”

After pondering what to say for a few seconds, I raised my cup. “To our madness and our glories!” I exclaimed. My companions followed suit, and we downed the cheap hooch, the foul liquid burning my throat.

In that moment, we set in motion events that would affect the burgeoning Twin Empire more dramatically than we dared imagine in our wildest dreams. But that, as well as the winding path that led us there, is a story for another time.