Gray skies lied above, pierced by brief spurts of light. And that was indeed the mood; melancholy at the deaths of their brethren, intersperse with joy at the recent victory. The first half of the day would be dedicated to the dead. The men were armed not with arms, but with shovels.

        Aria was about to leave. Rory choose to wave her off.

       "Be safe."

       "Oh," she laughed, "not this again."

       "As for my answer... It will have to wait."

       "Only natural. Just remember—after this, either you or the King must die. There is no going back."

       "Mhm. Fighting a foreign invader is one thing... fighting your own countrymen is another."

       "Indeed. In any case, I should depart. Hope to see you soon."

       "You too. Watch out for Illan."

       "Tykis?"

       "That's the one. There's something... off about him. I don't have time to explain." The Roniceri—their "invisibility". He hadn't the time to investigate, but he knew that Chronos could disable it. The question was: what is it, and how did Illan get his hands on it?

       "Will do. Goodbye."

       He watched her go down the now well-paved roads that led back to the capital before sighing and turning around. He had a grim job, and there already much on his mind. The next stop was the Vyncis abode, up on the hill. He entered unceremoniously, grabbed some money, and was on his way out when heard a voice call him.

       "Where are you going now?"

       "Why do you need to know?" he replied, turning around. It was Rosa.

       "Curiosity."

       "You should watch out, cats have nine lives but you only one."

       "Really, now, where are you going?"

       "Widow pensions."

       "A depressing task. Would you like me to go with?"

       He shook his head. "No, you would brighten up the atmosphere too much."

       She tilted her head in confusion. "Is that not desirable?"

       "They would be happy to see you... but I doubt they wish to be happy. Better to let it out than stay repressed."

       "Good point," she said, placing a finger to her mouth, "well, wish you luck."

       "Thank you," he replied, departing.

       He knocked on the first door, a drab thing made of molding oak wood, filled with pockholes. It opened, and a women no older than forty but no younger than thirty answered him.

       "Oh? You are that new lordling, are you not?"

       Rory tilted his head downwards. "I am sorry, Madame. Your husband has died on the battlefield."

       "Yes, I have... I have already heard."

       "I am sorry."

       "Don't be, it's not... it's not..." She was breaking into tears on the spot.

       "I am sorry," he repeated. He then handed her a small sack, it's contents jingling on the way. "Your first widow pension. 200 gild. I am sorry." He began to turn around, but felt a hand reach out.

       "Thank you. He... he fought for all of us. It is not your responsibility."

       He smiled and shrugged her hand off.

       Some took it much less amiably. When Rory told her what had happened, she froze.

       "He's... he's dead?"

       "Yes. I am sorry."

       "Y-you... you sent for him. Damn nobles, you always... you always do this shit! Fight your damn wars, plays your damn games, who cares about the lives you end."

       "I take full blame. I am sorry."

       "Shut up, you fucking short ass sister fucker—"

       "Here is your first widow pension. 200 gild. It not enough a—"

       She pounced on him, throwing him onto the ground, and began to punch and claw at his face. She got off two clean strikes before what seemed to be her brother, on a visit, pulled her off. He bowed and apologized.

       "I am truly sorry. She is deeply grief stricken, she didn't mean it—"

       "No," Rory said with a wave, "it's fine."

       And yet, the violent ones did not hurt the most; no, the ones with children—the ones that smiled at him yet, the ones that forgave him, all while a son or a daughter called for their father in the back. Those hurt the most. But it wasn't over yet. They would have more warring to do. The Aklan's were the on the back foot now, and no doubt casualties would never be as high as that one day, but casualties there would still be. There was no changing that.

       There was still the matter of the captured Roniceri, but he couldn't do much about it yet. Drive them to Ien; it would be all over there. If he could do it... but until then, there was naught to do but sit and wonder. The Aklan's were in too much disarray to sneak a spy, and there was absolutely no way he would be sending in more Roniceri to investigate.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

       In the evening, he ordered the army to march. They would spend the next few weeks on the road, chasing the Aklan army. He had Aria's Knights go ahead and harass pockets of Aklan soldiers, but kept most of his army in a solid group. They simply didn't have the training for hit-and-run tactics, and he didn't want to send more widow pensions.

       Finally, he had pushed the Aklan's back to Ien. Ien was a medium sized settlement, with walls of its own. It served as a trading hub between Aklan and Adringum, and as such it was, until recently, in many ways more developed than the local capital, Sym. It served as a natural point of retreat—the Vyncis army couldn't well go past it, and with the walls, the Aklan's would have the defensive advantage. They could sit, and stand under siege until reinforcement arrived; at least, that was the plan.

       The army set up their tents, their fires and their supplies. Rory ordered the Artillery men forward.

       "Orders?"

       "Fire three blanks, wait a second, then two, wait another second, then three."

       The orders did not make much sense, but that was none of their concern. They saluted him and set to work.

       With nothing more to do, Rory wandered the camp, greeting the soldiers. Eventually, he ended up with the rest of the Roniceri.

       "Oh, hey!" one of them called.

       He smiled. "Good afternoon."

       "What's with the cannon fire? Are we starting?"

       "No, not now," Rory answered, shaking his head.

       "Then what?"

       Rory chose not to answer, looking into the sky aimlessly. "I tend to lie, you see."

       "Hmm? What do you mean?"

       "You'll see. If you get mad at me, it's fine. I don't blame you." He sighed.

       "We wouldn't get mad at you."

       "Truly? Well, that's good."

       There was silence for a while, before one of them spoke up: "...how do you think Eris is doing?"

       "Truth be told, I don't know."

       "I'll volunteer—"

       "—that's not happening. Not a single one of you is going anywhere near."

       They waited three days after the seemingly pointless cannon barrage. Then, Rory ordered the entire army forwards, in front of the eastern gate. Emi, that one Roniceri girl, appeared behind him.

       "That's not good manners," he lectured.

       "Oh, sorry, I just—" she sputtered.

       He laughed. "No, it's fine. What is it?"

       "Why are we standing here?"

       "How else do we enter the city? Shall we fly atop the walls?"

       She blushed. "No, but, I mean, the gate... they're not going to open by themselves."

       "What are you suggesting?"

       "We could... we could sneak in, and—"

       "Ah, but you are mistaken."

       "Huh?" she said, tilting her head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

       There was a creaking noise, and the great gates in front of them began to lift upwards.

       "The gates will open by themselves. See?"

       "Huh!?"

       Rory sighed. "You were the group I wanted to save. What about the other group?"

       "But, I thought they went back to Illan—"

       "That was a lie. If they wanted to kill so badly, I'll let them. I stuck them in Ien. To be honest, I was worried they might actually run back to Illan. I haven't actually had contact for a few months. But it seems to have paid off." He looked up—the skies were dark and grey. If he listened carefully, he could hear the soft beginnings of thunder.

       "Oh, that was pretty smart!"

       He put a hand on her head. "It's actually terrible."

       "Why?" she asked, confused.

       "I told you I didn't want to order children to kill men. But weeks, months before then, I had already done that. It's hypocrisy. I didn't tell you because it was the way to end the war. Survive the first push, push them back to Ien, and finish them off here. If one of you gets caught, I can't have anyone revealing this. That's why I didn't want to send you into battle—"

       She giggled. "Oh, that's alright. You try to sell yourself as evil far too vigorously. A true villian wouldn't spend time throwing mud at his subordinates," she said, patting him on the back and disappearing.

       "I think I just lost. She's twelve, isn't she?" He looked on and smiled. "Alright, we start the invasion. Column form, four men thick. Use the streets as a bottleneck—guns have the advantage, here."

       Having issued his orders, he went back to his tent, took off his cloak, changed into some clothes a farmer might have, and put on a cap, tucking his hair back. He slipped into the city and started looking—it was time to do something hasty.