Lars marched his roughly 3000 troops on the side of the White Ridge, the mountain chain that Mavozshidog was in. Their pace was slow for him, but he would leave his troops behind if he went any faster.
The White Ridge was painfully slopped, and it had a thick layer of snow on it. To avoid this path they would have to go up a channel where the defenders could be pelting them with arrows long before they reached the city walls, so straight across the mountains it was.
Whirling through Lars's head were stories from his youth, stories of heroes who had power, and did mighty deeds. He saw the characters in those stories with him, performing their deeds in front of him as he walked, and hearing their voices clearly through the snow.
His relationship was different to those stories now. At the time he'd admired both their heroism, and the power they had to achieve heroic things. Now his power far exceeded theirs, though he couldn't say he was doing anything heroic.
He had to wonder, which was more important? Doing what Moxey had instructed him was the source of his great power, so perhaps that was just how it had to be. With a certain amount of power, as seen with Trots, you seem to rise above any level of self-doubt or unsurety.
He felt a tap on the shoulder, and turned to look at Moxey.
"Lars, I've been calling you. There's some discord among the troops."
Lars looked back. Through the crisp and clear air he could see a large swath of Haverdash holding back while the others marched around them. The groups were roughly split in half, and whatever the disagreement was wasn't causing them to be vocally bitter with one another.
He and Moxey marched back to where they were in front of the halted group, and Lars asked, "What's the problem? Why have you stopped?"
There was some grumbling among them, and they pushed forward one among them who had seen a vision before to speak for them. "We want to choose another leader now, before we get to the city. Haverdash should not be governed by humans."
"This again?" Lars exclaimed. "Sure that may have made sense two years ago, but now? I have seen more visions than all of you, my skin is gray, and wine is thinner than water to me, I am superior to you in most respects and like you in others!"
The Haverdash who were disobeying snarled at this, but they did not lash out.
"Your companions know better." He addressed someone in the group that had continued to march before he stopped for this dispute, "Why do you feel differently?"
"We have all worked with you in the past. Some of us were at Hathor when you were first given charge by Glorious Trots, and we know how powerful you are. We know you feel strong feelings like a powerful Haverdash and not a human. Though, I for one don't know what you are."
The speaker for the opposition replied, "A bear may overpower a human, and even a Haverdash, but this does not make it anything more than an animal. The hierarchy of the world is built first on the kind of being, and within each kind power is relevant."
"What makes a Haverdash then? If you are so confident that I am not one, define it!" Lars commanded.
The speaker was hesitant, and the eyes of those who'd chosen him hounded him to answer with something excellent. He looked Lars firmly in the eyes and answered, "I don't know if I can define it. It is a hard thing you ask, but this idea that someone could become a Haverdash is a strange and unique idea from your handler. If someone were to become a Haverdash, it would have to be someone who worshiped Haverdash.”
A wave of consensus rose up from those who had disobeyed and those who had remained obedient, then Moxey gave his answer. “That is reasonable, but don’t take it too far! He may not be Haverdash, but he isn’t human, and being Haverdash is within reach for him!”
“That’s not good enough, Moxey. We have no qualms fighting alongside him, which itself is an amazing thing, but he should not be a leader of us.”
One of those who’d kept marching yelled, “We don’t fight beside him, we fight behind him! Hundreds of feet behind him, he’s that powerful!”
“Again, that’s not enough! He has to be Haverdash!”
Lars was about to speak, but then Moxey spoke first, “And is it enough that Trots chose him to lead? Or did you forget that?”
The boldness of the group wavered, but the speaker declared more boldly than ever, “Glorious Trots isn’t necessarily always right.”
A shadow fell over the soldiers, a scent of hostility was quickly hallucinated by all. “What I mean to say,” he clarified, “Is that he has opinions like all of us. Case in point, he likes you,” He pointed at Moxey, “Mad man Moxey.”
The scent of hostility faded, and it was as if the eyes of everyone had just been opened. Trots could indeed be wrong, in his opinions at least.
Lars laughed raucously, “You are a master of rhetoric, what’s your name?”
The speaker watched him uneasily, “I am Myaltac.”
“Myaltac, would you have said that in front of Trots?”
“No, I admit I would not, but you must use his title. Moxey’s irreverence is enough for us to bear.”
“Then there is a level of obedience you have to him that does not correlate with thinking he is right, and that is what I’m going to have you do for me. We have wasted enough time for the sake of disobedience.”
“We will not march under you, we have decided!”
Then Lars shouted in a voice too deep for human or Haverdash ears at a volume that shook the mountain and stunned the Haverdash so that they crumpled where they stood. He turned to continue walking and barked, “March under me or not at all!”
Then another roaring filled their ears, coming from higher up on the mountain. Moxey regained his senses quickly enough to say, “That’s an avalanche, Lars!”
Lars was then able to notice the shifting wave of snow that had blended in at first. It picked up speed rapidly, and threatened to wipe out the whole attack force. Lars saw the falling snow as clouds, and they drifted off the mountain above them.
Moxey got to his feet and whispered in Lars’s ear, “Their goals are not aligned with ours. We don’t need them.”
Lars agreed, and he saw the clouds condense into a sudden and instant rain. In that rain was a bolt of lightning, and tons of highly charged water struck the Haverdash that had rebelled and reduced them to sludge.
Moxey then addressed the Haverdash who had continued to march, “Because of excess pride their goal was no longer to glorify Haverdash. This pride came from a true principle, that Haverdash is above all. Watch yourself that you do not twist what is glorious because you were focused on something too small.”
Moxey and Lars began walking toward Mavozshidog again, and the remaining Haverdash followed after them.
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They reached the walls of the city, and Lars gave the command for them to set up the gas bombs. "Winds change frequently, just have them ready. Nobody move in yet, hold yourselves back until I give the signal. There are too few of you already, because of that rebellion on the mountain side, we can't lose any more or we risk not being able to occupy the city."
Waiting was antithetical to the way Haverdash lived, so it was a hard command. "What are we waiting for? What will you be doing?"
Lars drew his sword, which shined so brightly the actual blade couldn't be seen. "I'm going to break down the walls and scatter the defenders. It shouldn't take more than ten minutes, give yourselves more scars or something to pass the time."
He left them there out of bow shot from the city walls. They would be annoyed at first, of course but he had so few of them left that this was definitely the best course of action. The Glorious actually did this quite often, leaving their troops behind until they'd prepared the city to be invaded.
They were only annoyed at Lars because he wasn't one of the Glorious. They'd find something to do anyway, Haverdash didn't stay idle. They'd probably end up sacrificing one of their members in some kind of pre-battle ritual, but he could spare at least one of them.
Lars ran into range undaunted. The archers immediately loosed arrows at him, but the arrows would disappear while still in the air. When they would disappear didn't depend on distance, all of them would be wiped from the sky at once each time. Lars was blinking, losing all awareness of the arrows, and so perceiving them to not be there. They were small and easily affected things, so he was erasing them.
He reached the gate, and he saw duplicate doors offset from them as if they were a finger being held too closely to his eyes. The duplicate tried to take up space that the gates and wall already filled, and so the duplicate gate and what was already there exploded as both tried to shove themselves into that position.
He had intended just to visualize the gates swinging open like smaller doors, but even Trots couldn't fully decide how he hallucinated. Lars had learned to go with whatever worked, because anything could happen, so he was happy with the sudden explosion.
The defenders rushed out boldly to him, but with a swing of his sword he sent a wave that passed through and disturbed the paths their massless particles took, cutting them all in half.
He entered the city, looking around to see if he ought to do anything else before letting the troops in. A young boy ran from behind the corner of a house and grabbed the spear of a fallen defender. He rushed Lars with the spear raised, making some kind of war cry.
Time slowed for Lars as he watched the boy approach. He was perhaps eleven years old, and was displaying intense courage. There wasn't a sign of fear on his face, but that didn't mean he wasn't feeling any.
Equally surprisingly, there wasn't any sign of rage. He appeared to be acting purely out of knowing what needed to be done.
He felt deeply familiar with the boy, like that was him. That's exactly how he remembered behaving before Moxey, and he was actually really proud of how he was living at the time. He wasn’t so sure of himself now, but how quickly he’d increased in power at least suggested he was making the best choices, probably.
The boy lunged forward to stab Lars in the belly, but Lars casually stuck the flat of his sword in front of the spear point to block it.
The spear slid in the boy's hands, and a two inch splinter slipped under his skin. The boy grimaced, but didn't let up his hold on the spear. He pulled it back slightly to stab again…
Lars was standing on the beach below the cliff his house was on. Andal was just behind him on his butt, and the teenager Brayd was facing Lars. Lars still had his sword, but Andal and Brayd didn't seem to be able to see it.
He remembered this, Andal had been given a lovely new fishing rod by his dad, and Brayd was jealous. Andal was on the ground… because Brayd had just pushed him. That’s right, Lars made Brayd go away!
He clenched his fists and puffed his chest out, “Back off Brayd! That’s Andal’s fishing rod, and you can’t have it!”
“Oh, big tough Lars is going to save Andal, what’s the matter Andal? Ca-”
“That’s enough, Brayd! Go home!”
Brayd wasn’t quite willing to put his fists up, so his arms were hanging awkwardly by his sides. “Don’t tell me what to do, Lars. You’re just a kid, I tell you what to do.”
“You’re a slightly older kid, who's in the wrong! Go home, Brayd!”
Brayd turned red, and for a second it looked like he was going to walk away, but then he threw a right hook and punched Lars across the face!
Lars stepped out and kept his balance. He took a deep breath, then looked Brayd in the face. He raised his fists, “I’m not backing down, Brayd.”
Brayd was annoyed by that, but emboldened by his good hit, so he went to shove Lars.
Lars ducked and punched him in the stomach, and as Brayd grabbed him Lars punched him two more times. Brayd tried throwing him to the side, but Lars grabbed hold of Brayd’s shirt and flopped on the ground while still keeping his grip.
Brayd grabbed Lars’s hands to pull them off his clothes, then Lars used his grip to pull himself up and then jump head first into Brayd’s mouth. Brayd’s head went back, then a spear emerged from Brayd’s stomach aimed at Lars’s head.
That wasn’t quite how Lars remembered it. He remembered Brayd asking to stop and going home. But, he did remember that he was currently being attacked by someone with a spear!
He tried to dodge but was too late. The spear went under his right collarbone and kept going until it hit his shoulder blade. He grabbed the spear and yanked it out.
That was the first time he'd been really injured in his whole life, but the pain was less than Haverdash wine caused. He had no trouble operating normally, but he had to do something about the blood loss if he was going to live.
He cut the head off the spear and backed away. He wanted to hallucinate his wound away, but he couldn't stop seeing the scene at the beach.
A ball of flame appeared out of the sky and rocketed toward him, which he barely deflected. His sword took the blow easily enough, but he was thrown back several feet.
There was probably a wizard of some sort on the roof of a nearby building, but he couldn't see any of the surrounding buildings. A sword came out of nowhere, which he barely parried, then another, and a spear, then another spear! The hectic attacks brought him back to the city, where he could then see that he was surrounded by soldiers of Mavozshidog.
There was a whole army that had moved in to block the breach, and there were magic users making a variety of enchantments on the area that were unknown to Lars.
He held his hand on his wound to stop the bleeding, but it oozed around his fingers freely. It was surprisingly hot, especially contrasted with the freezing air around him. With each beat of his heart he felt the blood slightly accelerate out of his wound. The spears and swords around him started to reach him; he couldn't block them all.
Then with a beat of his heart rivers of blood shot out of every wound he'd been given, soaking the soldiers and coating the streets. That blood burned hotter than most fires, dissolving the people it touched. Then it evaporated, and the wave of heat went up to kill all the archers and magic users who had been trying to safely stay above any potential combat.
Lars looked through the breach in the walls to where the Haverdash were waiting, and intended to go there. Suddenly he was there, lying in the snow. The cold of it contrasted with the hot blood that was flowing out of him, forming a distinct boundary. The wound sealed up, and he regained full mental faculty.
The Haverdash around him were startled, but then seeing it was Lars began to shout, "That's the sign!"
They rushed the city, and Moxey meant to go with them, but Lars grabbed onto his arm before he could go.
Moxey stopped and looked at him with concern. Lars didn't say anything at first, so Moxey asked, "What is it? Is something wrong?"
Lars pulled himself up by Moxey's arm. "I have a question, but let me think of how to phrase it first."
Moxey noticed the tears in his clothes where the wounds hand been, "Looks like you got in some trouble."
"Yea, I got caught in an unhelpful hallucination. This sword saved me." Lars's eyes wandered as he found the phrasing he wanted, "How do you ultimately decide what's right? Ultimately as in, I may say 'I don't like that,' or 'I want to pursue this', but those are based off my feelings.
"We can direct our feelings in different ways, and make ourselves feel different things, so that seems like a pretty nonsensical way to make major decisions. You want me to take part in Haverdash worship, well if I'm going to choose to do that or choose not to I have to be able to make sense of things, and not feel like I'm being swept along. So, how do I make sense of the world?"
Moxey took a fresh swig of wine to help him think. "I should tell you something Trots told me while we were on the ships returning from across the sea. He told me, and I remember it word for word, 'Nothing makes sense locally, only in the light of Haverdash.'
"Then he explained what that meant. 'At the strictest, local level, you have your family. But where did your family come from? It doesn't make sense. Then if we expand the field to the town where you live and the history of the town that starts to make sense. Then someone visits the town, and they make sense until you ask where they came from. Then you need more towns to explain where they came from, and more histories.
"Continually you must expand your field of view to explain what you know, to make sense of things, but you end up caught in an infinite repetition. The solution is to not look at the world through a local level at all, but to view the world through the lens of something all encompassing that could explain anything new you come across, something that makes sense of all of history and its trajectory.
"That is Haverdash. When we start this war we will leave many confused. Many will ask themselves and others, "Why is this happening to us?" But we will know, because this is an inevitable part of Haverdash being over all things.'"
Lars nodded thoughtfully, "Yea, that's good. That helps."