Nothelm and Tristan turned at the sound of boots crunching over the rotted ground. It was Salafar and a few of his men. A woman followed behind Salafar with a longbow in her hand.

“It was her shot,” said Salafar, as though he knew what both Tristan and Nothelm were wondering. They were staring at the longbow in her hand.

“Vaya,” said the archer. “Vaya Mora of Brantley.” She held out a hand. Tristan shook it tentatively. His eyes were still focused on Salafar, whose presence was still mystifying.

“You trapped us on the stonebridge at Granite Ford,” said Tristan. Tears formed at the edge of his eyes. “We lost one of our men…Eamon Thorne.”

“Ah yes, the Captain,” said Salafar in an all-too-matter-of-factly voice. “Look, we’re sorry about your man. Truly.”

“Is that why you came?” asked Asherin, who had left Kenton’s side to come see what the group of knights wanted. “To say you’re sorry?”

Salafar chuckled, his red-brown beard glistening underneath the tentative rays of sunlight which were beginning to peek through the clouds. “Good to see you too–Asherin, was it?”

“One of our companions died on the stonebridge, because of her,” stammered Asherin. She pointed a harsh finger at Vaya the archer, who dared not the gaze of the warrior clad in black war gear.

“You wouldn’t have made it all the way back, even if Vaya weren’t blocking the way with her longbow,” said Salafar. “That assassin was the King’s top man in all of Windem.”

“Well you certainly didn’t help. I bet he paid you, too,” said Asherin. She spat at Salafar’s feet.

Tristan put a hand on Asherin’s arm, eager to dispel the tension that had formed. “Look, Salafar, we thank you and your archer, Vaya, for your help here. As you can see, what we told you at Granite Ford was no lie.” Tristan directed his stare at the blackened crops and pitifully trampled wheat field. “The Rot is spreading. Food sources will soon be vanquished entirely. Windem is falling.”

“We, too, have seen that Windem is falling,” said Salafar. “In fact, Sir Blackthorn, Windem has been falling since your father’s post as Lord Commander was taken up by Elric Drakonstone.”

Tristan held up a hand, signaling Salafar to pause. “Wait, how did you know–”

“--wasn’t it obvious, Blackthorn? After the decree had gone around about a young Blackthorn wandering the land and the King’s assassin came for you? I knew it was you the moment you met us at Granite Ford.”

“You intend on holding us captive and taking Tristan to Stormhold’s front gates yourselves, do you?” asked Nothelm suspiciously. His hand squeezed the pommel of his dagger.

Salafar chuckled again, stroking his neatly trimmed beard. “No, no, no, little Brantish man.” Nothlem bristled at being referred to as little. “We plan to go with you, if you would have us, Sir Blackthorn.”

Tristan’s head tilted with uncertainty. “What do you mean? This was our destination–to come here and confront Basidin’s Servants.”

“And did you confront them?” asked Salafar. “Because to me, it seems as though you took out one of Basidin’s Servants. Where are the rest?”

“Likely at Stormhold now, or headed that way if they aren’t already,” said Tristan.

“Correct,” confirmed Salafar. “I have contacts–former knights who fought beside me for years–including battles under the leadership of your father, Gareth. They’ve given me reports of strange men with glowing pendants around their necks. They’ve been travelling to remote villages and towns outside of Windem’s capitol, placing people under their spells of incantations and luring them into King Tarren’s Royal Army–the promise of food and water all too enticing to resist.”

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“So not only has Windem fallen,” began Loren, who had been following the conversation with strong interest, “but the Kingdom has fallen too. Windem’s leadership, King Tarren…it’s all enshrouded in shadow.”

“Indeed it is,” confirmed Salafar.

“My mother was taken by Lord Commander Elric Drakonstone,” said Tristan. “She’s likely being held within Stormhold’s walls now–I can’t even imagine what they’ve done to her…what he’s done to her, that monster…” Tristan trailed off, struggling with the thought of Elric having complete power and control over his mother.

“All the more reason to come with us,” said Salafar.

Tristan furrowed his brow. “Come with us? Where?”

“To Stormhold, or, should I say Castle Rarington.”

Nothelm glanced around at the men who stood with Salafar. He finished counting and frowned. “You plan to storm the walls of Stormhold with ten knights and an archer?”

“That’d be walking into a death trap,” said Asherin. “I’d sooner reunite with the Denderrikans to the south. They’ll have thousands soon. Their army grows.”

“We don’t have thousands,” said Salafar, “but we do have this.” Salafar let off a loud whistle. Tristan and his companions turned to meet his gaze, which was staring east at the top of the foothills that Salafar’s archer had hit the Veracifer from. Slowly but surely, men in battered armor and crimson capes cantered their horses to within view.

Tristan’s mouth opened wide with surprise. Nothelm laughed.

“How many men?” asked Loren.

Salafar smiled. “Over two hundred armed men. All of them are former Knights of Windem. We abandoned our service to the King and disobeyed our sacred vows after it was apparent that the King wasn’t the one in charge anymore. Now, we’ve reunited and we’re ready to fight…for Windem.” Salafar pounded a fist over the sigil on his chest, which was faded and chipped away from years of wear and tear.

“We’re in,” said Tristan. “For Windem!”

“For Windem,” said Nothelm. Loren chimed her agreement.

“You can’t be serious,” said Asherin.

“What?” asked Tristan, incredulously. “We’ve made it this far. Now we’ve got an army. I say we attack now before Basidin’s Servants draw more men to their side.”

“No,” said Asherin. A gloomy look was spread over her face. “We told Dalko we would return to him after we came here. Our mission is done. We need to get back.”

“But–”

“--and you of all people should honor your lord!” shouted Asherin, feral with contempt. “After what Dalko did for you–making you what you are now. If you betray Dalko for these Knights of Windem, you’ve shown us your true colors. Don’t ever come back.”

Tristan looked from Asherin to Salafar, and then to Loren and Nothelm. Kenton was laying on his side on the ground, hardly conscious and full of pain.

“We’re going,” said Tristan. “This is my path–my destiny.”

“Suit yourself,” spat Asherin. “I’ll need two horses for the journey home. Kenton’s coming with me.”

Salafar didn’t dare deny Asherin two horses. After all, he had taken the group’s horses from them in exchange for passage across the stonebridge. He had Vaya identify Asherin and Kenton’s horses and bring them down from the foothills.

“Here–these were yours,” said Salafar gently. Asherin snatched the reins from him and secured Kenton to one of the horses with Nothelm’s help.

Asherin approached Tristan, bringing her face close to his eyes. She stared into his eyes, a look of pure contempt mixed with a fondness that only a long journey of companionship could provide.

“I get why you’re doing this,” said Asherin. “That still doesn’t make it right.”

“I know,” said Tristan. “I have to. I’ve wanted revenge my whole life. This is my chance.”

“Dalko is coming with his army. You should wait,” said Asherin softer now. The anger was fading from her eyes.

“I cannot wait. Besides, these men,” Tristan gestured toward the mounted knights atop the foothills. They fought alongside my father. It just fits.”

Asherin nodded, understanding settling in. “Well I suppose this is goodbye then, Tristan Blackthorn.”

“I guess so,” said Tristan.

The two embraced before Asherin grabbed Tristan by his arms and held him in front of her. “Just know that if you do manage to somehow take down Basidin, Windem isn’t yours. The Denderrikans are coming.” Asherin planted a kiss on Tristan’s cheek, then turned to mount her horse. Then she was gone.