Epilogue - Farewells

Lyost had ceased to be much of a city at all, now that the Dawnward Legion had arrived. At the Holy King's bequest, the city was being girded for war. In the fields north of the city, the last of the autumn crop was being harvested - such as it was - and great stakes were driven into the earth, facing the forests.

It seemed like a dreadful irony that the battered, abused population - a population that had already endured so much tribulation - had to be pressed into service once more. But the walls had to be repaired, new siege engines crafted to replace the old, the granaries restocked with whatever could be gathered.

All knew that their deliverance from the beastmen was merely a reprieve, that the true trial awaited once spring came...Or sooner, if fickle Fortune chose to favor the Shrouded Prophet's Horde, rather than the beleaguered men and women of the Holy Kingdom. 

For the first time in decades, the people prayed for a bitter winter, knowing that it was the only thing that would keep the horde from the gates.

Like ships to a distant beacon, the shattered forces of the Holy Kingdom were beginning to straggle in. Here, a detachment of pikemen; There, a winding column of exhausted, half-dead infantry. Knights from the fortress of Rillun, grim and deeply shamed by their flight - the household guard of the shattered nobility, led by the few scions who had somehow escaped the carnage.

The greatest strengths came from the garrisons of the Great Wall, a ramshackle assortment of professional soldiers and half-trained conscripts, fleeing the disaster than had swept across the kingdom like an avalanche. Like islands in an archipelago of defense, their scattered forts had been overwhelmed one-by-one, by an endless, howling horde of beastmen.

Those who stayed, died.

Only by abandoning their charge could they hope to survive.

The work had begun immediately. From the battlements, one could see acres of tents and pot fires, great assemblies of spears and halberds, musters of horses being led through the gates. Banners and standards, so many banners and standards.

The air smelled of pitch, of molten alloys and shaved stone. Priests swarmed over the battlements, their chants and prayers resounding as stone was shaped to patch the battered masonry, to shore them up against future assault; Vast work-crews of laborers lifted pallets of materials up and over the walls, working with the single-minded intensity of an ant hive.

Lyost, once a city of less than twenty thousand souls, was being refashioned into both a capital and a fortress. Night and day, the work went on: Workers slogged up and down the ramps, carrying sheets of lead and huge panniers of brick and stone. The forges echoed with the roar of the furnaces, the ring of hammer on anvil.

It was fortunate that the city's reserves of grain had been left largely untouched, the warehouses unlooted. The brief, savage occupation by the beastmen had made one thing achingly clear - their first priority had been the scouring of the city, the purge of all life that was not themselves.

A terrible scar had been left on the population's psyche, one made worse when the first of the mass graves was discovered. Half-fleshed forms - Some moaning piteously, others silent as the tomb - had lurched forth from their resting places, driven by their hunger for flesh. The knights had been called in to put them down, but the true horror had come when the implication became clear at last: the city, and possibly the land itself, was cursed.

The existence of the undead, a reliable source had informed me, was an unfortunate fact of life in this world. It was widely believed that the souls residing within the corpses of the deceased had yet to move on to the afterlife, and that only a proper burial (and subsequent decomposition) would allow the soul to be summoned away by the will of the Gods, for final judgement.

Sometimes, driven by regrets or old hatreds, the dead would rise and walk and kill.

But they had never arisen with such alarming regularity, before. Perhaps it was the horrific nature of their deaths or the miasma of suffering that hung over the city, but it was clear that the abomination we had fought in the city's sewers was a symptom, not the cause, of some greater problem.

The priests were at a loss as to why, exactly, this was happening - There had been talk of the souls of the deceased being drawn away for some darker purpose, by some vile beastmen sorcery, before such talk had been quashed.

All of the above, however, paled in comparison to the matter of the ships.

-----------------

As it turned out, Arisa had been right - something, I had come to realize, was a common trend. Count Randrisse had indeed insisted (demanded would have been a better word) to be on the very first seaworthy ship headed south. Therein lay the Kingdom's salvation, if you believed him; He claimed that he would bestir the South, raise an army to ride to the North's defense.

"Do you believe him?" I asked, warming my hands by the flickering fireplace of the Mayor's mansion, now the Holy King's residence. Already, a bitter cold was descending - the gods, against all odds, had answered the prayers of the faithful, and the winter looked to be a long and bleak one.

"What choice do we have?" Arisa said, bluntly. Her level gaze fastened on me, over the rim of her cup of tea. Compared to the rest of the population, we were lucky; the mansion was well-stocked with firewood, the cellars filled with enough provisions to feed the Holy King's retinue for the winter.

As Caius had said, the beastmen preferred their meat fresh.

"The Count is - in his own way - a man of honor. I don't doubt that he'll do his very best. As to whether he'll be successful, however…"

Her voice trailed off, her lips pressing together in a thin line. "We can only hope," she finished, her eyes downcast. "If he fails, we face annihilation." A wintry smile crept across her elegant features; "Quite a thing to consider, isn't it?"

I think Arisa was glad to have someone to confide in. Just having someone to talk to was an immense relief for her, I could tell. After all, it wasn't like she was spoilt for choice.

I saw little of Sabrine, occupied as she was with the realities of the coming conflict; The Grandmaster of the Paladin Order was tireless, driving her subordinates - the long-suffering Leontes, his arm still in a sling, and the saturnine but quietly competent Randall - as hard as she drove herself.

The Holy King had receded into the distance, besieged by the burdens of his office. Suddenly, he needed to be everywhere at once, doing everything; A figure of inspiration, a peacemaker, a holy icon, a stalwart pillar of support. Any one of the above would have crushed anyone else, but he soldiered on regardless.

That, I suppose, was the mark of nobility - Someone who had been born to the manor and crown.

I didn't envy him in the slightest. It was one thing to fear for your own life, quite another to make decisions that could mean the death of thousands. Millions, possibly. The loss of an entire human kingdom to the beastmen, faced as they were with their greatest crisis in centuries.

The fall of the Great Wall must have been like the sun going out.

As for me, my role in this wasn't clear, not yet. I had the freedom of the city, but no duties - In the days that had followed, I had merely rested, and begun to heal.

In both meanings of the word.

-----------------

The great hall of the Merchant's Guild had been converted into a makeshift hospital, now that the city's infirmaries were full. As with every battle, the wounded eclipsed the dead; Most of the priests and paladins were occupied with shoring up the defenses of the city, which meant that they had little energy to spare on the injured. And - as you'd expect - conventional medicine was primitive, at best.

Magic, it seemed, had a limit. There was only so much that could be done, and little time in which to do it. The best I can say was that great pains had been taken to ensure that there were sufficient cots for all, enough food, that the wounded were kept warm. In a land that was rapidly descending into the throes of winter, with an uncertain and terrifying time waiting at the end of it all, there were no sureties.

Even so, you can imagine the stink. The noise. The misery of the people in them, and - above all - the overpowering desire to leave and be among the healthy. Men with bandaged heads and slings, some with limbs off, one or two plainly just waiting to die. It was the stale smell of blood, the wasted faces, the hushed voices, the awful hopeless tiredness, that drove home the true cost of all that had come before. The dank, dark misery of the hospital was something that sapped the spirit.

When I came in, they raised a cheer all the same. Pale faces lit up, those that could struggling upright in bed.

"It's him!" someone called out. "Sir Gabriel, the Hero!”

"Sir Gabriel-"

“We’re honored, Sir Gabriel-”

The ripple ran around the room, the nervous excitement spreading from bed to bed. Faces anxious, expectant - Some wondering, others merely surprised. I could feel the weight of those gazes like a palpable force, beating against me; Against all that, I felt very, very small indeed.

But then I stiffened my shoulders. Drew a deep breath.

"It's all right now," I said, willing it to be true. "-I'm here to help."

-----------------

In truth, there was only so much I could do. It was never quite clear how much power it took to heal the harm that had been done to them; There were limits, even if I didn't know what they were.

On a good day, I could heal perhaps slightly more than ten, at most. On a bad one, significantly less. I was acutely conscious of this as I made my way from bed to bed, remembering what I had done before - One hand at the head, the other at the heart.

Reaching deep into myself, calling forth the strength that surged through me and out of me, in a surge of blue light and the smell of woodsmoke.

Always, there would be a moment of doubt; Would this be the time it failed?

But then the bandages would unravel, flakes of dead skin falling away from whole flesh. The restored would stare, disbelievingly, at the new limb where only a stump had been - Some would lurch awake, like men surfacing from freezing waters, sunk so deep that they never thought to breathe air again.

"A miracle!"

"Praise the Gods!”

Men would embrace comrades they'd given up for dead. Others would totter - unsteadily at first, but with growing confidence - from their sickbeds, wonder in their eyes. As if they couldn't believe the reprieve they had been given, that their lives had been changed again, so viscerally and so totally.

"A cheer for Sir Gabriel!"

"The Holy Flame!"

It was hard not to feel a flush of pride at that. Hard not to feel profoundly humbled, at the same time. I was hugged, men pumping my hand vigorously, cheers and whoops of affirmation. There was laughter, shouting, from the renewed - One man said, with tears in his eyes, that he would name his children after me. That I had changed his life forever.

What can you say to something like that?

"Thank you," I said, over and over again. In the face of that raw outpouring of emotion, I was helpless. "You're the ones we owe. You're the saviors of Lyost, not me. All I'm doing is what I can."

It was the faces full of hope, however, that were the worst. So many of them, those pale faces, waiting their turn, wondering if they would be next.

"I'll come back, I promise," I said. "I'll be back again, tomorrow - Wait for me, just a little longer."

The words stuck in my throat, each time. I knew, and so did they, that not everyone would be here come the morrow.

But at least they had hope, now.

-----------------

Each time I visited, the crowd gathering outside the lamp-lit hall was a little larger. Huddles of citizen militia and adepts, armsmen and civilians. Most of them had vials of holy water, symbols of the Four, votive candles - Some were praying, or burning incense.

All cheered when they saw me.

"Gabriel!"

"The Holy Flame!”

There were a few confused calls of "Captain Belmonte-!" but they were fewer now. Earnest, but still faintly confused.

Many, I noticed with a jolt, wore badges or held placards with the sword-and-sunburst symbol on my armor, the provenance of which I still didn't know.

"What is this?" I asked, turning to one of the guards.

"They were waiting for you, Sir Gabriel," came the answer. "They're praying for a miracle, too."

-----------------

It has to be emphasized: the people of Lyost were neither superstitious nor fools. This world ran on very different principles than the one I had known - Here, herbs and the laying on hands were the main sources of healing.

But both had their limits.

The prayers and invocations of the priests could staunch wounds, cure infection and disease, ease fevers and restore strength to the weakened. Sometimes, scars would remain, but healing could be accomplished with a swiftness and proficiency that eclipsed everything I'd ever known about modern medicine.

When it came to the loss of limbs and organs, maiming and gouging, even divine power could provide no relief. If such magic had existed, it was beyond the reach of most priests, or had been lost a long time ago; there was no true cure for injuries of that magnitude, and cripples remained as such for all the rest of their miserable days.

For someone to do what I had been doing - that was a sign of divine favor, and they reacted accordingly. It wasn't me they were praising, not really, something which I was infinitely relieved to learn; Most were just glad that the Four Gods had seen fit to grant them aid where none had existed before.

It was a comfort, in a dark and frightening time. I couldn't deny them that.

But each time I healed someone, I could feel my unease grow.

I'd seen the priests at their devotions, praying that the Four would give them strength. Seen the masses held at dawn and at sunset, the people flocking to the churches to give thanks for their deliverance from the hateful foe.

But I had no code of conduct, no laws or articles of faith to adhere to. My strength came from within; Unlike Jozan, unlike Sabrine, I merely had to rest before it returned. There was no explanation for these powers, this form, even the sword I carried with me - All of which eclipsed anything that I'd seen so far.

Arisa, I think, had some inkling of this. She had her suspicions, no doubt; Sometimes, I felt like she was handling me with a deliberate care, the kind she would use in examining an unknown type of bomb - One with the power to destroy a city. Maybe a world.

Or a sword, perhaps. One without a hilt.

But a sword without a hilt is still a blade, and a weapon is a fine thing to have when enemies are close and help is distant. If the Holy Kingdom was to be delivered from the shadow of the Shrouded Prophet, she must have been thinking, anything and everything had to be put to use.

Even someone like me.

What she thought I was, I don't know. I believe she no longer thought I was an Executioner, whatever that might have been. But she knew I was not - could not possibly have been - some errant knight, a wanderer from strange and foreign lands...Even though that was exactly what I was.

Just that those lands were stranger and far more foreign than anyone could have imagined.

If I'd been lying, she would surely have caught me out. But I didn't know, and ignorance was my defense. It was a mystery, even to me, and it didn't look like any answers would be forthcoming. I was beginning to realize that I might never know the truth, and - increasingly - it mattered far less than I thought.

In that, I was wrong. Terribly wrong.

But that, and all that came with it, lay in the future.

-----------------

Even in the frenzy of activity, the Holy Kingdom still needed its rituals. We all did - A link to the past, and a hope for the future.

The squires had done more than their fair share of fighting, in the battle of Lyost. When Mpho the Culler had lead her hyena-headed kin in one last attempt to break out - as Sabrine decapitated Luan White Smoke, while I traded blows with a nameless but determined minotaur with a war-mace that wept acid - the Squire Order had swept in to stop them, even as the beastmen hacked and trampled their way through the milling crowd of desperate fighters.

It had been an exceptionally brave move. The squires lacked the gifts and the heavy armor of the Paladins, and were outnumbered and outweighed by the sheer animal mass of the foe. Fully a third of the squires had died in the short, vicious fight that had ensued, smashed down by axes or ripped apart by sharpened iron blades. But they had stiffened the back of the resistance, held them long enough for the wedge of cavalry to reform, pivot, and spear into their flank.

The rest, as they said, was simply violence.

By the Holy King's decree, the survivors were to be elevated to the ranks of the Paladin Order. Immediately, he had specified, and smiled sadly: "I think they've been tested enough, don't you?" Valerius had said to Sabrine. She hadn't liked it, I could tell, but she'd bowed, then saluted stiffly, fist-to-chest.

"It will be done," she had answered, and ordered Leontes to make preparations.

Later, when the chance had presented itself, I'd seized the chance to ask why. He'd been reluctant, at first - I couldn't help but think that Leontes was awed and slightly afraid of me - but, as it turns out, men are generally a lot more grateful once you've healed their constant stomach pains.

Once it's clear you're human, like they are.

"It's not their experience the Commander's concerned with," he'd said, sighing gustily. Around us, the shelves of the late, lamented Lord Mayor's library rose like a fortress. Out of sheer curiosity, I'd examined them, only to find that there were precious few books: Most of them were simply leather book-bindings over wooden frames. Still, it made for a comfortable enough place to chat.

Leontes scratched at his grey-brown goatee, as he poured a shot of whiskey into his tea. "The Four Gods know they've been blooded. Sabrine knows that, never doubt it."

He looked somehow sad, flexing the fingers of his recently-healed hand in his gauntlet. "It's just that...Look, Sir Gabriel. You seem a trustworthy sort. If I tell you this, will you swear not to breathe a word?"

I nodded, curious now.

Leontes drank. Grimaced at the taste of his tea, then poured another shot into it. He looked like a man who needed plenty of fortifying. When he offered me the flask, I waved it away.

I had found out, the hard way, that I couldn't get drunk or even intoxicated. Before, my experience with drinking had been limited to awful corporation-issued gin that tasted of cloves and antifreeze, and malt liquor (which was just poison). Here, I'd polished off an entire bottle of scotch the night after the battle, and it had gone through me like rainwater.

I hadn't even felt a buzz.

"The fact is," he said, looking gloomily into his tea, "-this will be the first cohort to pledge themselves to the Holy King. Before, it was always the Holy Queen, Seraphina Iustarion. The woman the Sisters Radiant swore to serve…"

Leontes's voice trailed off. He looked down into the depths of his cup, as if all the answers lay within.

"Sometimes, it's hard to believe things changed so fast," he admitted. "Less than two months ago, the Great Wall was still standing. Less than two weeks ago, we were rotting in captivity, like sheep waiting for the knife." 

The thought made him shudder - He'd clearly come closer to his own mortality than he was comfortable with. 

"Now, we've taken back Lyost, and it looks like we have a chance...That's more than I expected to see, in one lifetime."

He was a little maudlin now, and I didn't blame him. Not really.

It's a hard thing to have your world so thoroughly upended, after all.

Before he could get going, I decided to pre-empt him. 

"Tell me about the Holy Queen," I said, and he gave me an odd look.

"You've never heard of her? Truly?"

I shrugged. "Enlighten me," I said, and Leontes's brow furrowed as he paused to consider the task ahead. 

"That is...a complex question," he said, at last, a little cautiously. "Perhaps...You're familiar with the Four Blessings, are you not?"

"The Four Blessings?" I'd taken the chance to educate myself. It was hard to forget Jozan's stern, strident voice, echoing from the walls of the cavern as the men of the Twenty prepared to fight and die.

"Kindness of heart, wholeness of form…" I paused, searching my memory for the right turn of phrase. "Keenness of mind and...Strength of spirit?"

"Precisely," Leontes said, breaking into a broad grin. "The Four Blessings that the Gods bestow upon their chosen. There are few who could claim to embody all of them, but - if anyone could…"

"-The Holy Queen did?"

"Exactly!" he said, and thumped the table for emphasis. One of the legs was a little wobbly, the contents of his cup sloshing back and forth. "Even those opposed to her loved her. Do you know what they called her? The Saintess. She ascended the throne when she was fifteen - A full decade ago! And all that time, she lived solely for her nation."

Leontes took a deep gulp from his tea, but it was clear it brought him no enjoyment. He was growing a little misty-eyed, now. "Her wish was-" His voice went a little lower, a little huskier - "'To grant happiness to the smallfolk, and make a country where no-one will cry'. Can you imagine that?"

I couldn't, but I nodded, all the same. "A lofty goal," I said, and he made a low sound of agreement.

"Kindness, beauty, wisdom and spirit," he said. "To hear the Commander, no-one else has been able to match that. Prince Iustarion stepped aside so his sister could ascend the throne; We swore to make her vision a reality."

A gloom stole over him, as he stared into his cup. "It marks...the end of an era, I suppose. The new cohort of paladins will pledge themselves to the Holy King. Swear to uphold his Justice. All that, while no-one knows the fate that befell her."

I remembered Heiter asking whether Queen Seraphina was being held in the city. Remembered the quiet zeal to his voice, as he spoke. I wondered how he would have dealt with the disappointment, and winced at the pang I felt.

As he swirled the remains of his tea - seemingly wondering whether to finish the unappetizing brew, or toss it away - Leontes lifted the cup in a toast. "To the Holy Queen, wherever she may be. May the Gods rest her, for we shall never see her like again!"

Even as he drained the dregs, setting the cup down on the saucer with a faint clink of porcelain, I mulled over his words. "You're wrong, you know," I said, resting my chin on an upturned palm. "I've met a girl like that."

That made Leontes raise an eyebrow. "Really?" he said, curious now. "I mean - Really? That's quite the compliment, you know. Especially to a woman. Who's the…" 

Leontes lowered his voice, a little smile playing about his lips.

"-who's the object of your admiration?"

His expression clouded over, a moment later. "It's...It's not the Commander, is it?"

"No," I said. Leontes - looking distinctly relieved - nodded, and began to pour himself another glass of tea. Sugar was in short supply, as was alcohol; as it turned out, however, one of the warehouses had been filled with crates of tea leaves, so it'd become the drink of necessity.

"-but you were close. It's Lady Arisa."

There was a clink. Leontes let out a low hiss, as boiling tea spattered his surplice - He nearly dropped the teapot, wiping furiously at the stain. 

"If this is a jest, it's in poor taste-"

"I mean it," I said, as his eyes widened with something like slow horror. "Wisdom...That can't be disputed, can it? Beauty, that's obvious, too. Strength of spirit - Well, I've never doubted it. Kindness of heart…"

I remembered the soft hesitation to her voice, the tremor of reluctance, when she'd mentioned that I could leave. She'd been giving me a chance, back then. Even though she knew it was against the Holy Kingdom's best interests. Even though she knew what I could do, now.

How she'd looked at rest, her face stained with tears, the cunning lines of those elegant features softened by slumber.

"-there's a kindness to her, too," I said, almost to myself. "It's there, in the smallest things. In ways you wouldn't expect."

Leontes's face had gone a little waxy, a little grey. He was staring right at me, now - through me, really, as if he'd been struck by a fit of apoplexy.

"That's all four, right? All embodied in a single…She's behind me right now, isn't she?"

"Sir Leontes," Arisa's voice was frosty. Measured, yet somehow colder than winter. "The Commander has requested your presence."

He rose with unseemly speed, the legs of his chair scraping against the marble flooring. 

"I should…" Leontes began, already edging away. "In fact, I definitely need to…" 

When the slats of her fan clacked, he fled.

A long, awkward silence loomed, as Arisa circled the table. She'd flicked her fan open, as if she could hide behind it, but I could see the beginnings of a flush to her cheeks. Her eyes darted to mine, just for a moment, before she looked away, carefully avoiding my gaze.

The scent of her perfume - faintly sweet - hung in the air.

It felt like I really ought to say something, but my mind had been wiped entirely blank.

At last, I cleared my throat. "Lady Arisa," I began-

"I’ve found Roulle’s family," she said, as if I hadn't spoken. 

"-Would you like to meet them?”

-----------------

Through some miracle, Roulle's family had survived. For weeks, they had lain hidden in the cellar of a bakery, sharing the space with at least eight others. They had been lucky; the beastmen had left the place mostly untouched, though they'd torched the buildings on either side.

It had been hellish. Precious little food or water, with no sanitation. The place had stunk like a drain by the end of the first day, but - somehow - they had endured.

When deliverance had arrived, Roulle's father had been one of leaders - if such a term could be used - of the mob of civilians and militia elements that had moved in support of the Dawnward Legion.

He found himself caught up in the bloodiest fighting he'd ever known, former days of soldering as a citizen-soldier included; He had been certain he would perish, but the Four Gods had smiled on him and he'd made it through untouched.

Roulle's mother was sweeping out the back step of their house, when I arrived. It was a modest dwelling, one wall fire-blackened, the windows smashed, but the people were bravely, almost defiantly, going on with their lives. Even from outside, I could smell beans cooking, see the smoke that wafted upwards from the small chimney.

"My Lord," she said, curtseying clumsily in her ragged dress, the broom clutched to her chest. She was a lean, leathery woman with hair like autumn leaves under snow - prematurely aged, but somehow indomitable, from all she'd seen and endured in the past few weeks. I could see the surprise on her weathered face, a surprise that quickly became a kind of trepidation.

"Ma'am," I said, wondering where I would even begin. "Please, I'm no Lord - 'Gabriel' will do." I swallowed, hard - Somehow, I couldn't find the words.

Green eyes searched my face, for a long, long moment. Then-

"-It's about Roulle, isn't it?" she said. When I nodded, the color drained from her face, a hand going to her mouth. It took her a moment to compose herself, her free hand gripping the fringe of her ragged apron so hard it nearly tore.

"...I suppose it'd be best if you came in," she said, at last. "Best to...hear it all at once."

-----------------

I lied.

Of course I did. With his parents sitting across from me at the table, their eyes trying to read answers from my face, I couldn't possibly have told them the truth.

How they'd dragged him down. How they'd stabbed him, again and again, until the sounds of metal punching into flesh had drowned out his last screams. How his frantic gaze had met mine, in the instant before it happened-

"He saved my life," I said, my throat as dry as a desert on fire. "We were fighting shoulder-to-shoulder, and then a spear...It took him in the heart."

It felt like my face was burning, all over again. "It was - very quick," I forced out. "It happened so fast…" I stared down at the cinderblock floor. It was easier than meeting their eyes. "I...I don't think he felt a thing. Not really."

His father pressed a trembling hand to his face. He was a big man, broad-shouldered and with a barrel chest, but he seemed to age a decade before my eyes. "Did he-" he began, low - "Did he...say anything before he-"

"He wasn't afraid," I said. "That's what he wanted me to tell you. That he wasn't afraid."

The words hung in the air, for a long, painful moment. His mother was shaking, her neck and cheeks covered with red blotches. I could see the great, winding disorientation that had seized them both, like the aftermath of a bomb-blast; the ragged absence, the looming void in their lives where a Roulle-shaped hole had been.

Carefully - Carefully, with the utmost respect - I laid the purse on the table, the fabric bulging from the weight of the coins within. I didn't know how much each of the unmarked gold pieces I'd found in Gabriel's pouches were worth, but I'd filled it with as many as it would hold.

"If there's anything I can do for you - Anything I can do to help…"

"No, no," Roulle's father said. "I just need - I just need to tell my girls…"

Distantly, I could smell soap crystals. Hear something that may have been a faint splashing. Children, luxuriating in the simple pleasure of a bath, after weeks spent stinking and afraid.

He rose to stand, swaying slightly as if he'd been pole-axed. His wife drew the purse across the table; Her eyes widened, even through her grief, when she saw the sum inside.

"Thank you, Lord," he said, as his hand gripped mine. His voice was gruff, but full of pain - I saw how his shoulders had slumped, with sorrow and a strange, giddy relief. The worst had happened; now all that remained was to survive it. "You're a good man, Sir Gabriel. Coming all this way to tell us-"

-I'm not, I thought, but it was all I could do to nod.

"Gabriel," Roulle's mother said, more composed now, her eyes sad. "Would you...join us for dinner? We'd - We would be glad to have you. Please."

"I…" I made myself smile. Somehow.

"-I'd like that."

-----------------

It's amazing how time flies when you're busy. I'd thought that without the distractions of work or the screen, each day would slog by with agonizing slowness. Nothing could be further from the truth; between my work at the infirmary and visiting the families of the fallen (those that I could find), the days passed with absurd speed.

The weather grew colder still, the sky greying. Winter was well and truly here, now - the first fat flakes of snow drifting down from above. In addition to the buildup of the defences, the other way to gauge the passage of days was the restoration and supply of the ships; the sooner they were seaworthy, the sooner civilians could be evacuated, the sooner news could be taken south.

The sooner they could leave for Illurean, for one last, desperate throw of the dice.

-----------------

"Any news from the docks?"

"Soon. Tomorrow, most likely - Two days, at most."

A soft sigh purred from Arisa's lips, as she sat at the desk. Paperwork - some of it neatly stacked, some of it unfurled like the petals of a flower - lay scattered around it, like dead leaves from an unseasonable storm.

Every day, I would walk down to the docks to watch the progress on the ships, to receive an apologetic update from the harried harbormaster. The new one, given how the last one had been messily eviscerated at the climax of one of the death-rites conducted by the beastmen’s savage priests.

"It's almost time, then," she murmured, slim fingers pressed to her temples. "-If only that was the end of all our troubles."

I felt a distinct sinking sensation. "That bad?"

"Worse than you think," she said, brushing stray strands of brown hair back from her eyes. "I’ve been in talks with the surviving merchants, the few nobles we have left. Encouraging them to do their patriotic duty, to contribute what they can." 

Arisa canted her head to the side, an ironic note to her voice. 

"Do you know how much they raised?"

I shook my head.

"Fifty thousand gold. In total. Oh, maybe they have some tucked away. We might raise more from the equipment of the fallen, but...We'll be lucky if we can muster eighty thousand. At best."

Another sigh, her gaze going distant. "Truth is, I don't even think they're holding out on us, that much. Our situation is dire, exceedingly so; We hold all of one city. One well-looted city...The beastmen were thorough." 

Arisa's brow furrowed. 

"Almost as if they knew what they were looking for…"

"It's the equipment that troubles me," I said, frankly. I'd seen some of it; Many were crudely-forged but wicked blades, or practical items like maces and armor. But there were others, too - Delicate rings, belts, daggers and swords of exceedingly fine design. Enough that some Paladins wielded them, though their provenance was unknown.

"There's a lot of it, isn't there? I didn't think the beastmen were that well armed…"

"They weren't supposed to be," she said, tapping her fan against her lips. "Some of them look like Dwarven...or even Elven make. Then there are those runes, like nothing I've ever seen…" Her voice trailed off. "It feels wrong, somehow. Where would they even get these?"

I remembered the acid maul the minotaur had clubbed me with, and winced at the memory. It had surged through the maelstrom of combat, roaring as it closed in - Eventually, I'd hacked it down with the Interfector, but it had been well-armored and highly motivated, and I had been exhausted from the sheer frenzy of the battle. The beastman had kept coming, kept bludgeoning me, until I'd speared it through the thigh and decapitated it as it crumpled.

At last, Arisa shook her head. "It feels strange to walk away from all this," she admitted. "A little like running away - But then, I suppose there won't be a Holy Kingdom unless King Orthra can be convinced to lend a hand."

She smiled, a wintry little smile.

"Fifty thousand isn't anywhere enough to entice someone like Gareth Stravanis...Not that his alliance is for sale, at any rate-"

"Perhaps," Prince Valerius said, "-we will not need him."

He must have been in the hall outside, for he entered without fanfare. Arisa rose, immediately, as I turned to salute.

"Your Majesty-"

He waved us down, though his gaze lingered on me for a long moment. "No need to stand on ceremony. Lady Arisa, Sir Gabriel...I trust you bring good news?"

Silence. Valerius took in our expressions, and subsided slightly.

"Ah," he said, some of his exhaustion showing on those well-favored features at last. "Worse than you expected?"

"Fifty thousand," Arisa said, her voice almost a whisper. "Eighty, at most."

The Holy King gave a heavy sigh, then looked down at his hands. He seemed to weigh things for a moment, then began to pull the rings from his fingers. When he'd finally got them all off - Except for the heavy gold signet of the Royal Seal - he placed them on the desk, like markers in a child's game.

Arisa's lips pressed together in a thin line. "Your Majesty, there's no need-"

"There's every need," Valerius said, firmly. "I insist. After all - I can always get more, once the Holy Kingdom has been saved. Besides, they'll do me no good if we fail; the beastmen will just loot them from my corpse, anyway."

He eyed her, for a long moment.

"That was a jest, Lady Arisa. I understand our situation is a dire one."

He unclasped the chain of gold medallions he wore from his neck, adding it to the small pile. "Food, weapons, soldiers....Our needs are many. The least I could do is to offer up a contribution of my own."

She nodded, tight-lipped. The Holy King favored her with a sombre smile, and - with an effort - went on: "When can you leave?"

"In a day's time, at high tide. Two, at latest." Arisa gave me a quick glance, and I nodded in confirmation.

"Mmmm." Valerius walked to the fireplace, his boots hissing against the carpet. He stared into the flames for a long time, before he turned back to us with the air of someone who'd come to a difficult decision.

"Take Sir Gabriel with you," he said, at last.

Arisa's eyes widened. "Your Majesty, I highly advise against that," she said. "If the beastmen attack-"

"If the beastmen attack in force, the rest is academic," the Holy King said, in a tone that brooked no disagreement. "We have little to offer in return for the Kingdom's aid. We should, at least, ensure that we do not fail to impress."

His blue eyes fixed on me. "Sir Gabriel, I entrust you with Lady Arisa's safety, and the success of her mission." he said. "I have a feeling...Call it intuition, if you like. Something tells me that you have an important part to play in all this."

Arisa's gaze flitted to me. "If," she said, slowly, "-If that is what your Majesty wills…"

"-It is," Valerius said. "Take no unnecessary risks, but every necessary one. Do whatever you must, for the enemy most assuredly will. Is that clear?"

I nodded, heart in my mouth. "I...won't let you down, your Majesty."

At that time, I meant it.

But I had no idea what keeping that promise would mean.

-----------------

"You're leaving, then?"

"Was it ever in doubt? I find that the city lacks...a certain charm, now. A dalliance with death does that to a man."

Shujiro, as supremely confident as ever, looked much better. He'd been lucky; Buried under a pile of rubble, only his warrior's training had allowed him to slow his breathing, to sink into a state of near-coma.

Unlike the others, the beastmen hadn't even known he was alive. Rescuers had dug him out in time, before he suffocated - Even so, it'd been a close thing.

His injuries had been many but superficial, the kind that the priests could tend to. It'd taken him less than three days to be upright and walking again, and - the entire time - he'd been pacing, waiting for the boats. I don't think he was particularly keen on my company, but I'd avoided him anyway; It seemed manifestly unfair, somehow, that all the others had died while he'd been left (relatively) whole and untouched.

But that was the way of the world.

We were at the docks, the shouting and bustle coming from all around. It was a shadow of how the city had once been, surely, but it was a start. The sun hung low, casting a bright glare across the bottoms of the gathering grey clouds, as porters hurried back and forth, loading last-minute supplies onto the ships.

We were heading in opposite directions; North to Illurean and East to Dhala respectively. Given how much I disliked the man, I was honestly happy to never see him again. That sentiment, however, wasn't a mutual one - Shujiro had warmed to me considerably, in the few hours we'd been together before the ships were ready to weigh anchor. More than once - when he thought I wasn't looking - I'd seen him casting odd looks in my direction.

He'd heard the stories, of course. How I'd carved my way through the beastmen, the Interfector's blue flames lighting my way. I think he wanted to ask me how I'd managed it, but couldn't find the right way to broach the subject.

Maybe he didn't dare.

Now that would have been funny.

It was far more likely that he thought there was a bond there. We were the only two survivors; that meant something to him. To me, too, as much as I detested him.

As he stood at the Lachryma's gangplank - the dark-sailed merchantman ready to take him as far east as it could go - he offered his calloused hand.

"It was...quite the experience, Sir Gabriel. I did not dislike you."

We shook. Shujiro's grip tightened, and it was rather satisfying to see the faint flicker of surprise on his features, when he saw that I wasn't wincing.

"Perhaps we shall meet again, one day," he said. "You wield that sword well. It was a pity not to see it unleashed."

God, I hope not, I thought, but simply said - "Perhaps," as diplomatically as I could manage. Shujiro looked past me to the Dawnbreaker, the white-hulled ship headed north; Arisa was already onboard, the sails bellying full from the wind.

He leaned in close, his eyes narrowing. "Don't trust them," Shujiro said, his voice low, imparting some last words of wisdom.

"-Who?"

"Women. Kings. Does it matter?" He let go, and clapped me on the shoulder, hard.

"Carve the world to fit you, Sir Gabriel. Let power be your only truth. That is the way of the sword."

He strolled up the gangplank, as I stared. One last wave - A glance back, and Shujiro vanished beneath the deck, as if he'd never been.

Behind me, a horn sounded. The Dawnbreaker was ready to cast off, and I could see Arisa standing at the bow, flanked by guards. As I hurried onboard, the anchor was hauled up, wood creaking as the ship ploughed slowly, majestically forward, a host of seabirds flapping and calling in the grey sky above.

I looked back at the city. At Lyost, and all that I was leaving behind. At the buildings along the waterfront, the smoke rising above the skyline, the constant clamor of frantic activity.

At the war that would await me, as soon as I returned.

I joined Arisa at the bow, my steps slow, measured. Heavy footfalls, one after another, as the ship took me inexorably closer to all that lay ahead.

"And now?" I asked, looking to the horizon.

"Illurean," she said. "The Kingdom awaits."

TO BE CONTINUED