Somehow, Alistair managed to drag himself back to Bredon. The pain and exhaustion from his fight with the dullahan were pushed to the back of his mind. All he could think of was the village, the people he’d been meant to protect. How he’d failed them by abandoning the line, how he took too long in killing the dullahan. Alistair had let the thoughts and fears of failure stew too long, and doubt crept into his heart.

Dogan had fallen in behind him. His own wounds were nothing to scoff at either as he favored one leg on their trek back. Still, the summoner kept his thoughts to himself as they entered the quiet village. Whether or not he shared Alistair’s concerns was impossible to make out.

Above them, the sun had returned to shine upon them in its full glory. Normally, such an omen would have surely signaled total victory. Today, however, it merely heightened the uncomfortable juxtaposition the two paladins found themselves in. There were no children to throw flowers at their feet, pretty maidens to welcome them in open arms, not even a throng of commoners to clap and cheer at their safe return.

Bredon had become eerily silent in their absence.

Alistair made his way to the center of town again. As he did he looked down alleys and side streets for any signs of life. Doors and windows remained closed on most of the homes, and he failed to find any signs of struggle. Not even a speck of blood.

A good sign.

“I’ll check the stables, see if our horses made it,” said Dogan as they arrived at the inn. The building most of the people had been seen barricading inside. “Otherwise it’ll be a struggle making it out of here.”

“Check some of the homes along the way,” Alistair said, his voice quiet. “I’ll check on the villagers.”

“Alistair!” Dogan called out. His harsh tone made Alistair freeze midstep. “Get a hold of yourself. I shouldn’t have to remind you but we did everything we could. Whatever we find here won’t change that.”

The Aegis barely heard him. He’d been too focused on the door of the inn, scratch marks and other signs of damage scattered across its surface. More disconcerting than that, he saw that the door had been left slightly ajar. No sound escaped from the inside, and no one made to react to the paladins outside.

Alistair approached the door as Dogan disappeared into an alley. His size was too large, and he knew he’d need to shift back to his human body. Then the thought of his Wind mantle, something more akin to a normal man, came to mind. For whatever reason, he didn’t want to return to his human body yet. He felt too vulnerable, too exposed.

A moment of blinding light and he stood again in a green suit of armor. He pressed a hand against the door and found a small measure of resistance. Alistair allowed himself to feel a small measure of relief. Perhaps the barricade had held together after all.

“Is anyone there?” he shouted to the door. Alistair couldn’t blame them for staying cautious given the harrowing past few days. “We’ve returned victorious! The dullahan is dead.”

Silence was his answer.

The relief he’d felt soon gave way to dread again. It rose from his gut and shot through him like a lance of pain. His imagination refused to calm itself. Alistair imagined all sorts of horrid scenarios in mere seconds. Tired of this suspense, he put more weight on the door and forced it in.

One step inside and he recognized his mistake. The door had been obstructed by something, but it hadn’t been a proper barricade of chairs and tables. Instead, he’d been blocked out by a body pressed against the door. And as his sight adjusted to the dim interior, he realized there was certainly more than one.

Bodies, bodies everywhere.

Most of the village had sought shelter there from the looks of things. He found it impossible to step further inside without his boots falling onto a corpse. Just piles of them, men and women slaughtered where they stood. All sorts of furniture lay strewn about, some by the door but others near bodies, as if they’d been used in desperation as a weapon or shield. Alistair felt a sense of pure revulsion at the sight of this many dead right in front of him, their still open eyes boring holes into him.

When he finally managed to find a safe path between limbs, he felt the floor slick with congealed blood. The wood of the tavern floor had turned red from how soaked it was. Further ahead, he saw the bodies begin to thin out as if something had been dragging them into piles. He shuddered to imagine what for. The process was incomplete, as the servants of the dullahan must have disintegrated only halfway through their horrifying work.

Alistair found that his voice had died in his throat. He attempted a few times to summon the strength to call out, to see if anyone might still be alive. No matter how hard he tried, nothing but the most pitiful sounds emerged from his mouth. To save himself further shame, he simply stopped trying and walked further through the carnage.

Some of the faces he managed to recognize from the party before. None that he knew the names of, but the effect was still strong. Alistair found it difficult to keep his eyes on any one place for too long. It was all he could do not to shut down completely. Only an inner reservoir of strength kept him upright and walking, and even then, walking was all he could do.

Even if he found a survivor, he wouldn’t know the first way of how to heal them.

Alistair stuffed such thoughts into the back of his mind. The Lady wouldn’t have such a horrid fate take the whole village. Not when he and Dogan had earned their victory, not like this. Surely, someone still lived.

Before too long, he’d made it to the bar. Of the innkeeper, there was no sign. A flash of memory reminded Alistair of the wine cellar. He’d noticed the old man using it during the dragon attack to hide. He felt a sudden spring of hope and he practically leaped over the counter and into the back of the kitchen.

There were still bodies in the back, but they were fewer in number. He saw the rear entrance had been properly busted in. Perhaps the wights had forced their way in from there. He supposed it didn’t matter. Finding the survivors was all that mattered to him now.

Near where he remembered the door sat was a body, lying face down in a pool of its own blood. Alistair realized they were placed over the cellar door, maybe even deliberately. He knelt and rolled them over. It took a bit of work considering the person was on the heavier side. Soon he recognized it as the innkeeper himself. The man was dead from multiple stabs through his abdomen. Blood and some kind of foamy broth rested on his pale blue lips.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Alistair shook his head and had to take a moment to cover the man’s glassy eyes. All he could think about was the last time he’d seen him, still alive and well. It hurt to see someone like him killed this way, so unceremoniously. All thanks to Alistair’s failure.

He took a deep breath and reached for the cellar’s iron handle. Alistair had little idea of the size of the compartment below. Maybe only a few people could fit inside, but a few would be enough. Anything would be better than the alternative.

Beneath the trap door was nothing but darkness. Alistair had to wait a moment for the Sight to adjust and make it easier for him to see. With bated breath he waited at the top, peering hopelessly into the abyss below. Waiting, hoping for something. A miracle from the Lady, from anyone.

What he found instead made him spiral deeper into despair.

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

“Alistair, you won’t believe it!” Dogan rounded the corner with two horses following behind him. He’d returned to his human form, a beaming grin splayed on his lips. “They managed to leave our steeds alone. Not a hair on their heads was touched. At least now we won’t have to walk…” The summoner trailed off when he saw Alistair sitting on the ground, back pressed to the wall, his expression one of vacant shock. “What’s wrong?”

Alistair didn’t bother to look at him. He didn’t manage to say anything either, just pointed at the same door he’d walked out of a short while ago.

Dogan smile faltered a bit as he picked up on his partner’s distress. He let the leads of the horses fall to the ground and cautiously approached the entrance. With some sense of trepidation, he peeked inside, and he kept looking for longer than he had to. When Dogan pulled away, his expression was dour. If he was experiencing any sense of regret or self-loathing like Alistair, he hid it behind a stony expression of indifference.

“I see,” he whispered, cognizant of Alistair’s feelings now.

“Did you see anyone?” Alistair asked, his voice croaking from dryness.

The ensuing silence gave him the unwanted answer. All the boy from Wyrdwood could do was close his eyes and imagine it was all a dream. A dream he’d wake up from sooner or later.

“Alistair—”

“Don’t.” The Aegis user shook his head. His eyes began to hurt again as tears threatened to come. Every thought of his was filled with their faces staring at him. “There’s nothing to say. Nothing to make this worth it.”

The stinging sensation of tears grew too much and he tried to blink them away. Before he knew it, Dogan grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet. A smack rang out in the empty village as the noble slapped his subordinate across the cheek. Alistair felt some strength return to his body as the man attempted to shake the life out of him.

“Get a hold of yourself, man!” His grip grew tighter, hurting Alistair. “People die! It’s a fact of life. We can’t save everyone all the time! You’ll run yourself into the ground if you let this get a hold of you, you know?!”

Rather than absorb the lesson Dogan was offering him, Alistair let his emotions get the better of him. At that moment, he was reminded of his partner’s frivolous behavior the night before. How he’d been more eager to make a fool out of the both of them rather than make a plan of action or ready the town’s defenses. Following that line of thought, Alistair remembered when they’d pursued the dullahan rather than stay behind and defend the people. A thought swept through him, demanding release.

Alistair threw his own hands onto Dogan’s shoulders and pushed him off. In the process, he ripped the flower wreath from his shoulders, the petals already withering. He threw an accusatory finger at the man. “You never gave a damn about these people! This was all for your rewards, your damned renown.” His voice grew low, dangerous even. “Did you purposely lead me away after the dullahan? Figure the village was a lost cause so you’d force me to help you kill the thing and get what you were really after?”

To his credit, Dogan managed to maintain some sense of composure in the face of such an accusation. He carefully smoothed his traveling clothes where they’d been wrinkled by Alistair’s aggressive shove. Still, he maintained a safe distance from the distressed paladin, perhaps fearful of further reprisal.

“No, that’s not what I intended,” he replied, his voice painfully neutral. Dogan was doing everything he could to not further antagonize the situation, but Alistair saw through him. “I take offense to those accusations—”

“You ought to.”

“—And I’d ask you to show me some measure of respect, after what we’ve been through together,” he continued, despite the interruption. “My plan was a sound one. We had no way of knowing how much more the dullahan could have thrown at us. No way to know how long we’d of been able to hold out. Going after it was the best choice.”

“Tell that to them.” Alistair jerked a thumb over his shoulder, toward the dead. “Tell them how your brilliant plan went. I’m sure it’ll make them all feel better to know you got a pretty amulet.”

“And you?” Dogan’s voice now rose an octave. “What of your rewards? Do you think I didn’t see you enjoying your own spoils? What matters is, we tried.” The summoner made his way over to his horse, careful to maintain distance from Alistair. “And we’re still alive, so you and I both will have to take this lesson to heart for the next time.”

“I hope it was worth it for you,” said Alistair. “This ‘lesson’,” He spat through gritted teeth. “Test of mettle be damned, I knew I should never have listened to you. Dammit all…”

“Sorry you feel that way.” Dogan gracefully made it onto the saddle of his steed. He brushed a stray lock of hair from his cheek. “When you manage to mature a bit, maybe you and I can work together again. Until then, I’m not sure I want to fight by your side again. Too emotional, I say. So many of you new ones are.”

“That’s it?” Alistair said, watching him leave. “You’re just going to leave it like this? Leave these people to rot?!”

“I’ll leave it to you!” Dogan shouted over his shoulder, not bothering to look him in the eye. “Since it seems you need another lesson in toughening up.”

If Alistair had the strength, he’d of knocked that man right from the saddle. Rules and traditions be damned. Maybe Dogan had a point, maybe he was too invested in a place and people he barely knew. But drinking from the grail didn’t suddenly make him any less a man, any less human.

These people weren’t ants to be ignored when their home was stepped on. Each one of them had hopes, dreams, and feelings like Alistair and Dogan both. They didn’t ask to be born in a village on the border with Deadwood. As lowborn, they were forced into their lot in life and they did the best they could with what they had. And they’d given the paladins everything before their deaths, so sure that they’d be saved.

And for what? So that bastard Dogan could go gloat to his comrades in the next tourney about the dullahan he’d slayed?

Alistair wasn’t sure how long he stood there, shaking with rage. Long enough that he could no longer see the other paladin on the horizon. The sun was beginning to dip down, and night would approach. His gelding snorted and stomped its feet on the cobblestone ground, anxious from the silence.

With a heavy heart, Alistair returned his focus to the task at hand. He needed to sweep the village to ensure no one was hiding or hurt. Alistair would never forgive himself if he willfully neglected to double and even triple-check, regardless of how horrible the idea of stepping back inside sounded to him.

And after that, he’d need to start a fire. No matter what, the undead wouldn’t be getting their grimy fingers on these people a second time. They had already suffered enough for one lifetime. He said a silent prayer to the Lady for strength.

Without a word, he went about this grim task for the rest of the evening and well into the morning. It was the least he could do for these people. The people that had trusted him with their lives. The people Alistair had failed.

His pocket full of charms felt like lead weights on his soul.