All the bells in the city rang out to mark the passing of Gareth Aldrimar. Henric rode along side of his father’s casket clad his finest blacks and the same cloak as the day he’d first walked in Death, black with a white roaring lion sown in. Zak had worked with Lucan and the Watch to clear out the streets early in the morning, but the people had still turned out in droves to mourn the loss of their Lord Regent. And to welcome home the soldiers, their husbands and brothers who had fought for and with Henric’s father. Henric would have traded places with any of them right now. Their day would be one of joy and reunion, while his would be one of somber and rigorous ceremony.

Henric was surrounded by an honor guard of his father's six finest knights in their armor, and his uncle Samael who had just returned from the Unarium at Lullus. Like Henric, he was dressed in blacks to mourn the passing of his eldest brother, a man almost twice his age. Sam was staring off into crowds ahead, absently letting his horse lead him. Now was as good a time as any.

Henric was about to open his mouth when someone else spoke behind him.

"My lords," said Thomias, the portly mayor of the city. He must have spurred his poor old steed out of his assigned place in the procession to catch up to them. Henric had seen far too much of the big man in the past few weeks for his tastes. Thomias had a good heart, and was a capable representative of the people, but he was always eating and talking so loudly he drowned out any conversations that were not his own. "My condolences for your loss. Gareth Aldrimar will be missed"

That seemed to bring Samael back from whatever occupied his mind. "Thank you, Mayor Thomias."

"Yes, thank you" said Henric, keeping his answer short in hopes the mayor's interruption would be an uncharacteristically brief one.

"Your father was a great man, Lord Henric," continued Thomias. "I have commissioned a statue in his honor for the fountain in the West Market."

"How good of you," said Henric. "I would like to see it when it has been completed."

"Oh of course! And you shall!" said Thomias. Clearly he had no intention of leaving them alone. "We have many matters to discuss before then. Take for instance the goods flowing into the city. People are finding their own stolen goods in our markets."

"I..." said Henric.

"And then there is the matter in Altea," continued Thomias. Henric shot his uncle a desperate glance.

"Now is not the time for these discussions Thomias," said Samael. "Let us first bury my brother and let my nephew rest. These matters can wait till later in the week, no?"

The fat man shook his head, wobbling both his chins. "These are pressing matters and should not be delayed."

"And they won't," broke in Henric. "I will send for you to join us atop the hill within the week, once my father's matters are settled."

His assurance seemed to placate the man, and he soon returned to his designated place in the line. Looking up, Henric was able to see they had almost come under the shadow of their destination, the castle on its high hill. Their procession moved slowly, winding its way through the broader streets of the city, and at this rate they would not reach the castle until midday. He was glad Samael had been the one to meet Gareth's corpse along the road, mostly for what his quiet uncle left unsaid expecting nothing of him. It felt like a bit of a break.

"Sam," said Henric, keeping his voice low. "Sam!"

"Yes Henric?"

“How did it go at the Unarium?”

Samael shook his head and sighed. “I’m not sure. When I got there, I took tests for two days and gathered my things. I didn’t stay long enough to even hear my results.”

“I’m just glad you made it back on time,” said Henric.

“Barely,” said Samael. “I was lucky to meet Arnult and the precession when I did.”

Henric looked around, and then urged his horse into step alongside Samael’s. "I've been meaning to ask what did you do? In Death?" The past week had been busy for Henric, and with Samael back at the Unarium to finish out his term and gather his things, the two of them had not had much time to discuss his initiation and the denizen's attack.

"I told you already, Henric, it was a banishing," said Samael.

"Yeah, but you didn’t explain anything uncle," said Henric. He remembered the brilliant violet-white blast surging through the fog. He remembered the horrible shriek the denizen let out as the blast hit it. He had dreamed about it almost every night and thought after it every free moment he had. He had even asked Zak, who was just as mystified as he was. “And I read the Journal. It didn’t say anything about a ball of violet light.”

Samael blushed. “Was pretty sure I did it wrong.”

“Oh?” Henric almost laughed. “It still saved me.”

“I suppose so,” Samael grinned.

“Well?” asked Henric. “Are you doing it wrong?”

“Not anymore,” Samael said. “I’d found a book at the Unarium and tried something from it. That day in the river was the only time it ever worked.”

"What book? Do you still have it?" asked Henric. "I would love a look at it."

Samael shook his head, whipping his braided hair behind him. "Brother Davit caught me practicing and confiscated it from me. It is forbidden literature for all but the Ordained. I no longer have it."

"Oh," said Henric, and nothing else. He had never known Samael to be careless with anything before, which only made him want to see this book more. Perhaps he would be able to find a copy when he attended at the Unarium himself. “Did you find anything else?”

“About what?”

“The denizen,” said Henric. “We still have to do something about it, but Zak and I didn’t want to make a move without you.”

The first thing they had did that night after Samael had left was dig through the old Journal. The last time a denizen had come so close to Life was more than a century ago, during the time of the first Henric Aldrimar. There was a famine that year, and the small town of Carthel, high in the eastern mountains was starving. Reports from the town said the dying screamed out in horrible agony, as if they were being eaten from the inside, a sure sign of a denizen preying on their souls. Lord Aldrimar crossed over and banished the creature deep down river, and maybe that would work for them...

“Henric,” said Samael. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about. That was a very remote area, I can’t see how it would have crossed over. It would need a necromancer.”

They had come to the Lord's Square, the grand marketplace at the foot of the Aldrimar's Hill beyond the the open gate. “I guess you’re right,” said Henric.

The whole square was packed with crowds mourning for his father. It was here that the hundred assembled trumpeters began to play out fanfare. Henric didn’t need to turn around to see the proud grin on Thomias’ face, but did anyway. As they went, both he and Samael were showered with condolences, and could only respond with endless "thank you"s. A sea of people reached out to touch him, screamed his name, and he was grateful for the armed men between the rabble and himself.

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"Aeeeee!“ a shrill scream, the trumpets stopped and Henric's guards had their swords in hand. All around them, the crowd broke into chaos, people running every which way, mothers dragging crying children by death gripping their hands. Henric’s horse spooked, and bucked him off of its back.

He hit the cobbled streets hard with a grunt, jolts of pain rolling up and down his back. Are we under attack? And who would? Something kicked him in the side, and a young man tripped and stumbled over him, only to keep running. Henric rolled back onto his feet and all he could see was the surging sea of people, but he could hear the sounds of swords somewhere around. Ceremony had dictated he did was not allowed to carry a sword during the procession, but he took some comfort when his hand felt the dagger he had hidden away in his boot.

He almost screamed and drew the dagger when he felt someone grab his shoulder. "My lord! Are you alright?" asked one of the knights, a man named Rorgan. Henric nodded. "Keep sharp and stay close to me. Avner, Kardin, with me. The rest of you protect Lord Samael."

The knights reigned up their horses, and formed a circle around their deceased commander and his son and half-brother. They formed a hard wall to the confused citizens running at them, knocking them back without the use of their weapons, showing immense restraint.

An arrow stuck with a thud and a twang in the wooden casket beside Henric. He followed the angle of it back over his shoulder and saw a figure on the rooftop slip away down the other side. He pointed, "Up there! I saw someone on the rooftops!"

Almost as suddenly as the chaos had begun, a way opened before them, and they were able to charge through the square to the gate beyond. A line of guardsmen had rushed out to form a line and protect the gate, and only broke at the sight of the procession.

"Close the gates!" Samael shouted at the guards once they were through. Then he turned to Henric, "Are you hurt?"

Henric shook his head. He could hear his heart pumping hard in his chest. “What happened out there?”

“It was a scuffle,” announced the gate captain from the top of the stairs. Each wooden step let out a hollow thud as he descended. “I saw it from atop the gate. It looked like some toughs started up a fight. One drew a sword and then it was like a malagreth had appeared down there.” The gates came closed with a screeching halt by the time the old man finally reached them.

There were no more crowds beyond the gate, and much of the procession had dispersed behind them as they had passed through the city, and lost more during the panic. The few that remained were honored knights and the clergy attending the Archan. Henric was glad to see that Mayor Thomais seemed to have made it . They were on castle grounds now, though there were still two gates and a long climb between them and home.

“Work with the Watch captain and round up the men who started the fight. I have a few questions for them,” said Henric to the captain. He handed over the arrow he had pulled from the casket, and added, “Someone was on the rooftops. I am lucky they missed.” I have to make sure those responsible are punished, he thought. The gate captain turned and started barking out orders, had Henric presented with a new horse, and the procession proceeded.

When the sun hung high in the sky, the funeral procession finally crested the hill and arrived at the high courtyard of Zaksburg. The entire castle had assembled in the courtyard to receive the beloved son of their duke. Stable hands rushed up to take their horses, and both Henric and Samael rushed up to greet their waiting mothers.

Lady Kris, Henric’s mother, was a tall, fair skinned woman. Her long chestnut hair was done up in a single braid that hung down to her waist. Her mourning gown was long and modest, in the traditions of her homeland. “Henri’” she said as she wrapped him up in her arms. “We had heard zer was a ummotion below? Are you alright?”

“Yes mother,” Henric said. “I am just fine. I had father’s best knights around me, I was well protected.”

Beside them, Ekloda embraced her son Samael. Though Henric had known her as ‘grandmother’ all his life, that was only because she was married to his grandfather. The duke’s second wife was only a few years older than Henric’s mother. Like her daughter in law, Ekloda was a foreigner to Erazel, and the two women had become close friends over their years together as outsiders. The duke’s wife was dressed in a overlarge, warm, but less than flattering dress. She had never grown used to the cold of Erazi winters.

“Good,” said Kris. She smoothed out the cloak on Henric’s shoulders. “You look too handsome, it would be a shame to have ruined that.”

“You do have a handsome son, Kris,” said Ekloda. “Perhaps when he grows up he may be as handsome as one of mine.”

“Thanks, mother,” said Samael. His brother Zak was considered by the serving girls the more handsome of the two brothers, a fact Samael was not ignorant of.

“He should be so lucky!” said Kris. That made Adelin, Henric’s younger sister, giggle at him. He shot her a glare but soon the others were laughing too. He brushed away his mother’s fussing hands from his hair, he was embarrassed enough. He looked around at the assembled crowd. His uncles, Zak and Samael stood beside their mother, the duke’s wife. To his left were his mother and his older sisters, Alixandra, Eldabeth, and to his right was his little sister Adelin.

Elsewhere in the courtyard he spied Mayor Thomias chattering and waving his hands with the captain of the guards. The four clergymen assembled included Father Ulan, who would preside over the ceremony today, were talking amongst themselves. Henric saw a group of barons and knights from the countryside, a few elected officials including the Mayor of Waylese, and the duke’s brother the Half-Zak. There was only one person Henric did not see, the duke of Zaksburg himself. But he had not been seen in Zaksburg for eight years, not since his surrender to the old king at the end of the rebellion.

“Father Ulan!” Henric shouted across the yard. The old priest looked up, at the sound of his name. “I think it is time we started.”

The old man looked up. His long brown beard was tucked into the collar of his robe, making a comical sight as he craned his neck to squint at the sun. “I... I do think so too,” said the old man. “Come on now everyone! Let us begin the Rites!”

All of the guests assembled filed into the small chapel and took their seats. Though he was never duke, Gareth Aldrimar would be afforded all the dignities of burial as one. He had been named Lord Regent upon his father’s surrender, and ruled through the duke’s incarceration for the past eight years. Gareth had done his part in maintaining the tenuous peace in Erazel, working hard to reunite the divided nation after three generations of civil war and the extinction of the old royal family. In the weeks since his father’s death, people had looked to Henric to fill those impossible shoes.

Light filled the chapel through the glass panels in the roof. At the altar, Father Ulan and his attendants produced the seven oils from the large wooden chest they carried with him. Gareth Aldrimar’s casket was placed at an angle and opened facing the assembly. He looked peaceful, though Henric knew that was the priests doing. His father had died several weeks ago of a plague that had swept through his war camp during the new king’s campaign in Azrinel.

The old priest began to chant, and the others soon joined him. He led the ceremony, anointing the body of Gareth Aldrimar with the oils, one after the other. When he had finished with the sixth oil, Father Ulan motioned to the congregation to rise and for Henric to approach. He took the few steps to the raised platform, as the priest produced the seventh oil, and held it up for all to see. “As we say goodbye to Gareth Aldrimar, we ask the Lords Above to bless us his son, Henric, with all his father’s wisdom and benevolence.”

“Amen,” the congregation said in unison. The priest tilted his hand, and the final oil poured out and burst into a lavender flame when made contact with his father’s forehead. The priest and the boy made eye contact, and both began to recite the ancient words. As they did, the flames whipped up and around, and Henric found himself concentrating deeply on the flame. He felt a drop of the oil on his forehead, and the flame leapt from Gauthier’s forehead to his son’s, and Henric felt a strange sensation of warmth come over him. The flames soon dispersed, Henric no worse for wear, and he rose to close the lid on Gareth Aldrimar’s casket.

Father Ulan went on to say much on the nature of Death. As Henric sat back down in his seat, he looked at the faces of those assembled, and allowed himself a bit of pride. He had done well. For a few moments, he listened to the old man.

“His works among us done,” warbled the man. “The Lords Above have allowed him to join with them in Death Eternal, no longer shall he suffer the troubles of Life.”

When he was younger, it had been hard for Henric to reconcile what the Faith and what the Book said about what happens when you die. He’d asked his father one day which one was correct.

“Zakaran is,” said Gareth. “You’ll see for yourself one day, like I have.”

“So if the priests are wrong, why do we even bother with them?” asked Henric.

He knew he had said something wrong by the look his father gave him. “The priests are not wrong, Henric. What Zakaran talks about in his book would be heresy to any other. We are not supposed to see it. To travel in the River of Souls is a fate the Faith seeks to prevent for it’s followers. Those who earn the gods’ favor are brought straight to them once their souls leave their bodies.”

“I don’t understand,” he remembered saying. He had seen Death now though, and he envied those souls.

His father crouched down to look him in the eye. “What Zakaran did, what we can do, serves the gods in a different way than the priests and the Faith can. Even in Death the sinners and the Faithless can wreak havoc, and the Lady chose us to keep her peace.”

But why us? wondered Henric. Are we really the only ones? Does anyone know? Is that why I was attacked today? He wondered whether or not the men who had started the commotion this morning had been found yet. No, it had only been a few hours and would be unfair of him to expect results so soon. Someone tried to kill me today. That cannot go unpunished. He wondered who had been on the rooftop, and if they had anything to do with the chaos in the plaza. He had a lot of work to do.