“Jonas, promise me you’ll never do that again!” said Florencia, out of breath and wiped her lips dry.

“I can’t.”

“I know, but tell me anyway.”

“I promise I’ll never do that again!” I said and kissed her hand.

She closed her eyes and gripped my arm against her chest.

“Flo, I fought their leader. It was only a host. Vranik was not—”

“Shh,” she interrupted, her voice quiet and distant. “Don’t speak about that right now. I don’t care. Just stay silent for a little while longer, before the others come. Here, I brought you your cloak.”

She presented the woolen blanket that I had cast down before, and I willed my demon-bone armor to dissolve away like a pleasant dream. With a soft, whispering exhale, my body jerked and I was now standing beside Flo wearing only my drenched long pajamas. She skillfully wrapped the blanket around me, her touch gentle and caring, and tucked the corner in snugly. I was warm again.

“I don’t look very presentable to the others,” I said. “I should’ve kept the armor on.”

“Jonas, nobody will care what you look like after a victorious battle. Everybody saw your strength, and they won’t dare to insult or question you again. You must understand that we can’t keep your abilities a secret anymore, not when thousands of soldiers saw what you did. Especially the nobles, they love a good rumor, and what you did here will go with you everywhere you go. I don’t know how we can do Pitties’ work from the shadows anymore.”

That thought had been gnawing at me as well—my mere presence drew attention, whether good or ill. Rumors would begin to spread.

Soon Jace and Iskander reached us. Both were out of breath, their faces slick from sweat and dirt, and Jace had a nasty bruise on the left side of his face. Iskander, on the other hand, seemed surprisingly composed, and he brought with him an aura of peace. He wore a faint smile on his face, and his wild black hair was tucked neatly behind his ears.

“I’m alright,” said Jace and rubbed his bruise. “I felt the touch of Hanuk upon my shoulder, urging me to give my all. I got too confident because of it, and got humbled immediately.” He looked up at the sun and closed his eyes. His chestnut brown hair was all messy and sticky from sweat. I’d never seen him this disheveled.

“Jonas! You were as the Avater of Hadrus himself! I hardly have the words to describe how you fought.”

“I’m sorry, Jace, but I didn’t feel any blessing of the Gods, or any divine whisperings. It was only me, my maul, and my armor.”

“Their grace is sublime, Jonas,” said Jace much too casually, and ignored what I had said. He wiped his face clean into the sleeve of his borrowed gambeson that fitted him ill.

Iskander was beside him and cleaned his greatsword against the rags of a fallen savage. “Very well fought. I wanted to keep up with your pace, but I wouldn’t have lasted too long at your side.” His eyes had a meaningful look, and his smirk lingered. There was a strange warmth there.

I addressed all three. “I saw how you fought. You kept all the volunteers encouraged and in high spirits. Because of you and Master Rosalda, our front lines held better than the rest.”

“There was only one reason why so few dared to attack our ranks,” said Jace confidently. “It was because none dared to face the champion of Hadrus in combat. To do so would’ve been futile. All understood it. And you should have seen how the Knights of Hanuk took courage from you, Jonas. If you only knew.”

“Thank you, Jace.”

Not too long after, all commanders who had been in the war council the previous day began making their way towards us. But it was captain Orsin who reached us first, astride his mighty war horse that nearly dwarfed my Velluta. With a graceful dismount, he removed his plumed helmet and extended a firm, enthusiastic handshake, bowing his head in respect.

“That was a masterful display of war! I could hardly believe my eyes over what powerful sorcery you conjured around yourself, Mr. Espian. When my men observed you from the forest’s edge, some even mistook you for the enemy, and their courage almost faltered before our fateful charge. As for the enemy captain, who so effortlessly felled five of my honor guards, you dispatched just as easily. I dare not think how we could have defeated that monster without you. You have my deepest gratitude, as well as that of my men.”

To this heartfelt gratitude, I had to respond in kind, and I bowed my own head. “And your cavalry charge was nothing short of awe-inspiring, captain. The way you and your men routed the enemy, sent a chill to my spine. I now understand what you said back in Lottie when we first met.”

“It is no small thing to stand against a cavalry charge, Mr. Espian,” said captain Orsin. He bowed again for a short moment, but I saw underneath his hardened, bearlike countenance, he was jittery and jumpy from strained nerves. His eye kept twitching, and his fingers trembled. “I would not mind having you alongside us at the next battle. And I hope it will be a long time from now.”

Next, my attention was drawn to Master Rosalda Fiorlunta, who knelt beside some of her fallen knights. Her white tabard was now ripped and brown, and with a sweep of her hand, she summoned healers to her side. It looked like she was weeping as some of her knights were taken away on stretchers, while quite a few stayed lying down on the muddy field, not moving. They were dead.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

“They pressed forward too confidently,” said Jace, watching Rosalda. “And they got caught out by a brute and its horde. They fought bravely, but many fell before they felled the brute.”

“I did tell them to fall back in line,” said Iskander calmly, without a hint of spite. “But they succumbed to the lust of battle, against their better judgment.”

“It is a painful lesson for them,” said Jace, looking at how the Knights of Hanuk were taken away. His own medallion still hung from his neck, now stained with a single drop of blood that glistened on the iris.

It was colonel Piasno and his captains that reached us next, followed by many commanders of the volunteer army—some barons and knights, and a few captains. Some were lightly injured, but most seemed relatively unharmed. All had the visible toll of battle etched across their faces and armor—scrapes here and there, bruises, their faces drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. As they all gathered around us, many took a seat, eager to share their stories and exchange experiences.

Finally, marshall de-Vilgario himself came from the tallest point on the ridge, flanked by his loyal bodyguards and aides. He dramatically threw his fur-lined cloak and helmet to his aide-de-camp.

“What a magnificent victory we’ve had, men!” he exclaimed and clapped his hands, walking and hugging his commanders joyously. “Our plan worked perfectly and with minimal casualties, save for the brave and heroic Stotor volunteers. I do think many of them have earned their citizenship within our realm.”

He now turned to me and looked into my eyes with confidence but also a furtive humility.

“And you, Mr. Espian, what a magnificent sight you were. Both you and your brave company, of course. You held the lines most admirably. I must shamefully admit that I gravely misjudged you and your company. But please understand my reasons—I do not appreciate secrecy as that is how our enemies operate. When you came to Fascamonta’s office cloaked in your secrecy, that immediately roused my suspicions. Now I fear what you understand about this Enemy. Please keep your secrets and tell me only that which I need to do my duty to the Crown.”

Further off in the distance, the smoldering corpse of a brute lay around a dozen dead Lienor soldiers.

“I should have listened to your assessment about those terrible monsters who captained the enemy army. And because of my haste, many brave heroes are dead. I apologize for so casually dismissing your counsel.”

He looked around the field, wiping his forehead with a dark green handkerchief, and addressed all who bothered to listen.

“Ah, it is hard to calculate how useful are battle mages. Why more don’t come for military service is beyond me. Their skills and strengths complement those of soldiery most well. We would make such victories… But today was a great and mighty victory for the Crown and for our City.”

“I believe it was captain Orsin’s charge that ultimately secured our victory,” I said, hoping to divert some glory to others.

“Such is the duty of the Lottie Corisseri, Mr. Espian. It is to deliver the deathstroke in a well-timed charge. You have not been in many battles, I take it?”

“Not that I can remember.” Florencia kicked my heel, and Orsin’s interest was piqued.

After a round of casual conversation, or rather, as casual as one could have after such a battle, and where generous compliments were thrown around very generously, I saw an older lord approach us. His war attire was pristine, and even his boots only had the faintest specks of dirt on them. It was clear he had not been in the battle at all.

“What have you done to my lands!” the man cried before the marshall, lowering his head. “I insist on being compensated for my losses. Look at those fields! My peasants won’t be able to cultivate crops for years on this trampled and broken soil.”

“Your sacrifice,” the marshall said with a barely hidden venom, but a diplomatically polite tone, “will be greatly compensated, lord of Vaecce. Many of the spoils of this battle will go straight into your coffers.”

“Spoils? All I see are lifeless bodies and… tattered remains. A most generous compensation, indeed!” said the lord of the estate, with a disdainful look.

“Worry not, baron, the Crown will make up for your loss if you choose another sort of compensation.” Marshall de-Vilgario commanded his anger well enough, but all could see the disgust in his eyes.

Baron of Vaecce bowed again, wearing a polite but bitter smile. He departed, accompanied by his retinue, who were, by the looks of it, also not partaken in the fight.

“Petty lords everywhere,” said marshall de-Vilgario with as much spite.

In this moment of quiet, I approached the marshall.

“My lord, there is something I must discuss with you in private.”

We moved away from the gathering of commanders and nobles, standing alone under the watchful eyes of his subordinates. Only Orsin’s honor guard stood close by.

“The victory was not as great as you think,” I said, hoping to soften the blow with a gentle tone. “The man we came to find in Lottie—Grasd Vranik—was not the one leading the enemy army. I can’t say for certain, but this might have been a test of our strength or the beginning of a long war.”

“Nonsense!” said the marshall much too quickly. He caught himself, lowered his voice, and looked into my eyes. “I counted their strength to be close to eight thousand, such are great numbers, Mr. Espian! We’ve not faced such an army in many years. Not even during the Border Wars with Castieltoch did they have such numbers. And even if this battle was only to test our strength, then our resounding victory will sting bitterly. What by the God’s gave you such worrying thoughts?”

“Grasd Vranik is a dark sorcerer of terrible power. The commander of this army was not. It was only his lieutenant, and while formidable, was only strengthened by some bloody ritual, but it was not Vranik himself. I find it difficult to believe that he would not lead his strongest force into battle. The more I think about it, the more I feel a dread overcome me.”

“This Vranik did not lead this army because he is a coward!” said the marshall, but with a gentle, fatherly tone this time. It took me aback. “Evil men are invariably cowards, Mr. Espian. You would do well to understand that fact of life. In times of comfort, they appear before their subjects powerful and mighty. Yet they never willingly place themselves in true danger. The man you suspect is their supreme commander, is probably licking his wounds somewhere far from us, in Robl or Oade. And with this great defeat, many of these captains and lieutenants are already looking to backstab him for his failures. Such is the way evil men make war.”

“But Vranik is not merely an evil man,” I thought.

De-Vilgario made a throat-cutting gesture. “Sever the head of the general, and their armies descend into infighting. Do you understand the reason I believe this was their primary army? It is because the Vatrel Valley and the mountainous peninsula of Stotor cannot sustain a large population. The ground is very rocky, with poor earth and thin soil. Contrary to your doubts, I am confident that we have made a great victory—”

But the marshall’s speech, undoubtedly a well-reasoned one, backed by a wealth of experience and hard facts, was abruptly cut short by the arrival of two scouts.

We returned to where everyone else was standing and questioning the newcomers, though they said they had word only for the supreme commander himself.

“Well, what is it? Speak quickly!” said marshall de-Vilgario.

“My Lords,” began the first scout, a young man clad in a tattered dark green cloak, his sword scabbard empty. He was tall and lithe and did not even wear armor. “I bring terrible news! It’s…”

He needed a moment to catch his breath.

“Out with it!” demanded de-Vilgario.

“We have been flanked—”