The hairs on the back of Daine's neck were suddenly standing to attention, and she whirled to face the imminent threat. On instinct, she had drawn her greatsword, sweeping it with both hands in a wide arc to the guard position.

The sight of a Knight of the Road preparing for combat had a suitably chilling impact on the others milling around the Keep's courtyard. In a blind panic, the various squires, merchants and armourers fled the area, shouting their displeasure at being so unceremoniously displaced.

"Is there something wrong, Lady Darkhelm?"

Daine's eyes met Donal's and then swept past him to take in the three imposing figures arrayed behind him. For sure, they were intimidating enough in a squat, brutish way, but not at all concerning enough to have elicited such a primaeval response from her. Indeed, now she looked at them properly, there was something profoundly cowed about them.

No, these three were not the source of her . . . well, “fear” was probably the only word for it. It was the aura of some terrifying predator that had so raised her hackles; she cast around for where it may be lurking.

And her gaze returned to Donal.

"Ah. I worried this might happen. Could I have a moment to explain before the hacking begins?"

She took a step forward, seeking to bring it — whatever it was that had taken Donal's form — within her sword's reach.

He stumbled back, the three bruisers slipping past him to stand between them. "Lady Darkhelm. Daine. If we could just take a beat so that I might explain things?"

Daine flat-batted the largest of the three out of the way with her sword before closing on the erstwhile Secretary and lifting him off the ground with one hand. "What are you? What have you done with my friend?"

What happened next was something of a surprise to all concerned.

Donal, sensing an inevitable escalation in the Knight's fury, brought both fists down on the forearm attached to the hand suspending him aloft. Daine's eyes widened at the colossal impact, the effect being she let the thing that looked like the old man drop to the floor. However, rather than fall to the ground in a heap, Donal fell into his shadow and then entirely vanished.

There was a pause, and then the two remaining brutes threw themselves in a fury on Daine.

That, at least, worked out exactly as could have been expected, and within moments, all of them, with fewer limbs attached to them than previously, were lying in a pile on the ground.

Donal's voice came from behind Daine. "Apologies. That is on me. I should have found a way to lay some groundwork and introduce my transformation. Do you think I could go get Taelsin, and we could try all that again? Don't mind my minions. They'll pull themselves back together in no time."

*

"You can change Class at will?"

"Well, not quite 'at will.' It is much more complicated than that and requires me to have achieved all sorts of preconditions and feats of amazing derring-do and . . ." Donal's voice trailed off under Daine's blank stare. "At will. Pretty much, yes."

"And you knew about this?"

Taelsin shrunk back as Daine turned to him. She had yet to put up her sword, and waves of suppressed tension rolled off her. "I have always been aware that Donal had capabilities far beyond the average Secretary, but it was only after the attempt on his life by the Order of Iskent that he began sharing more of his history."

Daine regarded him silently for a moment before turning to look at the three “minions” that were stood guarding the door. As Donal has said, their arms had reattached. Her mind flashed back to her encounter with Soulless during her first Tour in Droughton. The similarity in the stance and vacant look was unmistakable.

"Who were they?"

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Donal smiled broadly. "Oh, just thugs some of the Nobles sent to kill me. I acted entirely in self-defence, I promise you. I even, and I think you will appreciate this, gave them a chance to back out of it once they realised they were outmatched."

"So why are they still . . . moving?"

"Well, their appearance rather tipped my hand. I had been preparing to move my Class into Great Marshal."

"Yes. I distinctly remember that being the plan," Taelsin added, his voice wry. "In fact, I could have sworn we specifically discarded your desire to move into Dark Warlord, as it was so manifestly evil. Someone very wise even said the words,'I imagine the Lady Darkhelm will have a hard time reconciling herself to the presence of a Dark Warlord.' I wonder which good-looking, eminently sensible Mayor thought that?"

"Needs must when the demon drives, my boy. There I was, frail and alone, confronting my imminent demise. Who knows what these three could have achieved should I not, in a moment of terror, have chosen a Class with more . . . claws."

"Please answer my question." Daine's voice was low, but Donal felt the undertone. "Why are they still moving?"

"Ah, yes. Well, one of the minor talents of which a Dark Warlord can make use is the ability to, briefly, reanimate those who fall in battle. Depending on the Willpower of the individual — and, as you may expect, I have quite a lot of that — the effect can be quite wide-range and can last for some time."

Taelsin, watching Daine tighten her grip on her sword, hastily spoke up. "Donal, I think what the Lady Darkhelm would like to clarify is that your, erm, minions are not suffering."

"Oh, Goddess, no. They're dead as can be. Necks broken and euthanised quite appropriately. In many ways, it may be considered true that, having moved them on from this vale of tears, I have released them from their mortal suffering. I've implanted a few motor functions in the cores, but there's nothing cognitive firing there. Think of them as mobile furniture."

"No. I don't think I will." Daine finally sheathed her sword and took a deep breath. "Master Secretary . . . apologies, how should I address you?"

"I've always quite fancied being known as Oh High Eldritch One."

"Donal, do you think you could try to take this a little more seriously? Lady Darkhelm is a crucial ally in the struggle to come. I would hesitate to choose between the two of you, but should that necessity come to pass, I will very much not be on the side of the person keeping animated corpses around to play with and . . . are you wearing a cape?"

Finally, Taelsin's words made an impact, and Donal appeared to pull himself together with a visible effort. "My apologies, both. A side effect of this particular Class is that my impulse control is not quite as sharp as I would like. I will work particularly on restraining my more . . . baroque inclinations."

"Sir, I will ask you this once, and then we will draw a line." Daine's voice was quiet. "Can I still trust you?"

Donal opened his mouth to speak, paused, and then closed it. He looked over to his minions, and they fell to the floor as if they were marionettes whose strings had been cut.

"Lady Darkhelm, I am sorry about how this has been brought to you. I tell you in truth that should I have been able to stay within the Secretary Class, that would have been my preference. You both know I am exceptionally long-lived and, during the years, I have rarely existed within a Class that gave me such honest pleasure. It is thus with deep regret that I needed to move once again into this form." He held his hands towards her, palms forward. "These are not the hands of a good man, my Lady. I have washed more blood off them than you could possibly comprehend — both literally and figuratively. And, of course, each drop left a stain. Should I have believed there was any path remaining for us that did not require me to wade anew into crimson rivers, I would most heartily have taken it." Daine flinched at those words. Eliud had said something similar when she had petitioned him for help against the Trellecs.

Donal continued. "But we all know the powers ranged against us. And I would not have you fall in the strife to come. My soul can bear the weight of this Class and not break; it has done so countless times before. Things that you may baulk at will need to be done in the coming strife, and I would ask that you let me spare you the strain. Can you trust me, Lady Darkhelm? You can trust me to do what needs to be done in your best interests."

Daine looked at Taelsin. "You're comfortable with this?"

"Goddess, no." The Mayor was shaking his head, "Given my druthers, I'd have him back as my Secretary immediately. But we have days, maybe only hours, before we are at war. If Donal thinks this Class will give us an edge, I'm willing to take it. I trust him, my Lady."

Daine closed her eyes and reached for the Goddess. She had been a distant presence of late. Daine’s questing produced mild distaste from her patron towards the form Donal had assumed, but nothing more than that; as if he were a child who brought something particularly foul-smelling in from the fields.

"So be it, Donal. No more needs to be said save, sir, I swear that should you let our cause down, I will remove your head from its shoulders, burn your corpse to ash and fling you to the four corners of the world in a storm."

"It is just that sort of careful, nay obsessive, attention to detail that makes you such a valuable ally, my dear. Proper belt and braces stuff there. Decapitation, immolation and a scattering. Never let it be said you do not do a thorough job, my dear. Now, whilst tempers are running just a little cooler, can I check our position on blood sacrifices? For example, is there a line to be drawn between using the blood of innocents — 'clear no-no' — and the blood of people we don't care that much about — 'take as much as you like'?"

Daine closed her eyes and sighed. She sensed she was in for a long night.