Lars was waiting outside what had once been his house. Moxey was in there just finalizing the detail work on his sword with the smith. In the meantime, Lars had been watching something transpire just below the cliff his house was on. A Haverdash had come out of another house with an expression of urgency and excitement, then he started to address everyone who could hear him.

He started by bringing up the battle that was going to happen today, "Brothers and sisters! We should make peace with the humans instead of taking their cities and killing them in war!"

Those around him gave him weird looks, wondering if he was being serious or sarcastic. He continued, "We have gone too far, loving bloodlust, and forgetting who we were! Even being ashamed of it! But Haverdash, who guided us, wants to draw us back! We should cease our self-harm, which hurts Haverdash to see, and replace it with praising him!"

It was an unusual thing to say, for a Haverdash. While they did worship what they would call "Haverdash", and sought to bring glory to "Haverdash" in all they did, they would never refer to it as "he". He also seemed to be arguing for less glory? The Haverdash often utilized self-harm in hallucinogenic states to induce even stronger feelings, and the war had a myriad of glorious purposes. One that was particularly motivating for the Haverdash was putting the world into a proper order, with Haverdash, the most glorious god, being placed above all other gods. Then also, the Haverdash people being placed above all people.

The other Haverdash were enraged by this one who had started preaching at them. They pounced on him, many with rocks in hand, and started grinding the skin off his bones with them.

Moxey opened the door of the smith's, "It is done, Lars. Come inside."

Lars pulled himself away from the curious development below the cliff and entered the smith's. He was holding up something that Lars would not have guessed was a sword. He would have guessed it was a spine. The bumps of the spine were sharpened and blended together, creating a similarity to a serrated edge. The hollow column that would have fit the brainstem was clearly filled, as the spine had the proper weight of a sword. There was also a dream-like quality to it, which was hard to identify.

Moxey explained, "You may add to this weapon in hallucinations, but never take away from it. In that way it is a constant, reliable tool. You are one of just a select few to have such a weapon."

"Well I'm honored. Though I’ve been prepared for combat for quite some time, now I have a real weapon. When will I actually fight?"

Moxey put his hand on Lars's back and led him out of the smith's, "Today, my perfect soldier. I hurried along the production of your sword so that it could be ready this very morning."

Lars looked off the side of the cliff when they stepped outside. A metal pole had been stuck in the side of the cliff, and a rope was looped around it and the neck of the preaching Haverdash. He was completely flayed of skin, and they were swinging him through the air so that he would slam against the side of the cliff occasionally. They had a game of trying to hit him mid-swing by throwing rocks.

Lars asked Moxey, "Could you explain what happened down there? That Haverdash started saying funny things about 'no war' and how people should worship, then those other Haverdash killed him."

"Those troublemakers appear sometimes. They've always been, longer than I've been alive. If you were to ask me why they do what they do, what causes them, I would say they are the opposite of you. They are weak willed, and when they are confronted with the idea of increased glory, when they are pushed to be more glorious, they break. They become fearful in a way that does not push them towards a greater intensity of feelings, but flee from it. Because of their fear they want everyone else to behave in that weak willed way, happy the way they are and with no desire to increase in glory.

"We are not this way, we are going to increase in glory. And the glorious among us inspire those who see them to attain the glory they have already attained. That's why while I exterminate troublesome knights who have been fighting us in small villages, you will join with Trots and capture the City of Grace."

Lars cocked his head and gave Moxey a funny look, "Aren't you forgetting that there's already a battle happening today? Everyone within the thirty mile radius is supposed to go."

"Ah, but we won't go, because we can do what we want." Moxey looked down at Lars's bewildered expression and laughed. "Come on. I need to go soon if I'm going to reach my target today, and we'll have to travel fast as it is. I'm going to leave you with Trots. You should feel honored, not many have actually met him."

"You sure seem to treat him like a king despite that we have a council. Could he tell the council what to do?"

"Actually, he is on the Council of Six. But yes, I wager he could tell the council what to do. He is the most glorious among them."

"Well they might not feel that way, you're biased, you're his best friend."

"Oh, they know. I'm not stating my opinion, I'm talking about a new class of Haverdash. We've grown rapidly since coming back, changed for the better. We call these new Haverdash, who exist on a different tier from the rest of us, Glorious Haverdash. You can tell when you see them. You'll know what I mean momentarily."

Moxey pushed open a door that led under a hill. "Go ahead."

Lars stepped into the darkness. The Haverdash had a tendency to put the doorway behind a corner so that opening the door doesn't add too much light in case they're in the middle of something that requires darkness. While Lars couldn't see anything yet because of this, the scent of wine was overwhelming.

He rounded that corner and stopped, confronted with an entrancing light. Taking up most of this room was a pool of Haverdash wine. Judging by the man standing waist deep in it, it was three feet deep. He could only see that man's bare back; he was mostly the typical Haverdash gray, but had an image of a starry sky shining off of the top half of his back and his neck. Most remarkable of all, he was glowing. That entrancing light emanated several feet out from him, reflecting off the surface of the wine to make it shine.

Moxey stepped up to stand beside Lars, and Lars asked him, "How is he glowing?"

"That's the common trait of the glorious Haverdash, visible glory." He then addressed Trots, "Good morning! I'm leaving Lars in your care."

Tots turned. His eyes were like deep, shining wells. It was possibly the light he eninanted reflecting off the back of his eyes, but it had a captivating, piercing effect. "Good morning, Moxey! So this is your prodigy then."

Moxey walked back out, "I really must go now to be timely, have fun taking the city!"

"And you with those knights!" Trots shouted back as Moxey exited the door. He stepped up and out of his pool and slipped on some pants, then he grabbed his sword and held it up in front of Lars. "I'm told Moxey gave you one that was identical. Hold it up to mine so I can see."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Lars held up his sword. Not only were they of the same kind, the notches in the spine and the engravings were in the exact same positions.

"Wow," uttered Lars involuntarily.

"Indeed. Though I noticed you don't have a sheath. I was told that was being prepared for you too. Moxey must have felt too rushed by the day. The sheath should be the same as mine as well, so I can send someone where it would be. Perhaps you'll receive it tomorrow.”

There was a passing of darkness over the light from his eyes, like a bird flying in front of the moon. “The men we’ll be leading should be already assembled. Take my hands.”

Lars put his hands in Trots’s. Trots held them tightly, and jumped. They went up through the top of the hill, passing through the dirt as if it wasn’t even there. Lars gaped in surprise. Trots saw his expression, “You saw the dirt above us, I didn’t.”

They landed on the top of the hill and Trots let go of Lars’s hands, grabbing his waist. “Use those wings of yours and fly between those two hills where the gully is.”

He tossed Lars off the hill. Instead of falling to the ground, Lars kept going through the air. He didn’t move linearly though, he moved up in pulses as if he were flapping large wings. He looked back at Trots, who jumped off the hill and floated after him. It wasn't as if he was beating wings though, and Lars had to wonder if Trots was hallucinating that or if he could naturally fly.

They soared off to the gully. There was a force of soldiers waiting there, over ten thousand, with a general standing at their head. When they noticed Trots in the skies they all fell to their knees and bowed their heads to the ground. Trots landed by the general, and Lars by him.

Trots spoke with the same volume he spoke to Lars under the hill, "All rise." To Lars's surprise, even the Haverdash in the very back of the columns heard him and rose to their feet. “In my meditation I saw a vision, we will overcome the City of Grace this very day, and take it fully! We will take its governor and cut his throat, and I will personally reduce the cathedral of Nishir to powder!”

The columns were positively giddy with excitement, some jumping up and down where they were. They restrained themselves from making noise though, as it could interrupt Trots.

He put his hand on the general's shoulder. "Your expert leadership won't be necessary from here, we won't be needing a strategy for this attack."

The general stood straight and proud when Trots put his hand on his shoulder, somehow perfectly content to not be needed.

Trots looked out at the columns of soldiers, "Is everyone here?"

“The white river is flooded due to excessive rain in the East, none of the towns on the other side have delivered their soldiers. At minimum they’ll be delayed for hours.”

“Then it wasn’t meant to be. Any other issues I should know about?”

“The men are ready to go on your order!”

“Thank you, general. I’ll see you after our victory. Lars, stay by my side as we go.”

A myriad of eyes that had been distastefully avoiding looking at him targeted Lars. This past year had done nothing to diminish the disgust the Haverdash had for Lars, if anything it had increased. They often referred to him as “Moxey’s human”, which doubly showed their increasing distaste for Moxey.

Despite that, they continued to obey Moxey dutifully. They didn’t even take into consideration that Moxey had sent a couple hundred Haverdash to their deaths against Lars. That was the simple result of knowing Trots personally. How offended they must have been, seeing Trots call Lars to his side over them.

Trots barked one last order, “Run!” and took off. Lars bolted after him, and the columns shook the ground under them.

Half an hour in, Lars looked back at the columns. It was a sixty mile run to the City of Grace, far too great a distance for even a Haverdash if they hadn’t trained for that purpose.

They hadn’t touched their wine, which invigorated them through passion, despite normally drinking it before serious events. Even while running their eyes were fixed on Trots, who’s luminescence could be seen clearly by all. The presence of a Glorious Haverdash, it seemed, was more than enough.

*

Andal rushed down to the ground floor, "They've climbed the walls and are searching for us!"

Smaru asked, "Cautiously or uncautiously?"

"They're just kind of running everywhere."

Smaru looked at Pyok, who was peeking through the door. "If you can let one or two know where we are without alerting all of them, do it. We can use the fact that they're scattered and reckless to fight just a couple at a time."

Izac nodded approvingly. "No point in waiting. Shields up."

"What about the window?" Andal blurted.

They hadn't considered that they could get attacked through there. It was barred, but it was a definite weak point that they could break through. Savador ran over to it. He had the best control over magic, and had the range to make a shield that high up. "I can block the window. I'll just hold it."

Pyok asked them, "Should I call yet?"

Smaru held his hand out, "Not yet." He looked at Savador. "I don't think you should. If we block them out too much they'll start digging to get to us. We should leave that as a second opening so that we can control where they come through. Block it only if they start to come through too much. They'll definitely handle that fall, but thirty feet is still thirty feet, and we may be able to strike them hard and fast when they land."

Izac pointed at Pyok, "Good plan, call a couple if you can, Pyok!"

Pyok looked out and locked eyes with a Haverdash. He wasn't sure what to say, if anything, so he just waved him over. Pyok leaned back inside, and yelling could be heard outside, "Yep, they're coming."

Raifel asked, "Are we getting just a couple at first?"

"Two or three are right on top of us!"

Izac shouted quickly, "Open the door and let them in!"

Pyok threw open the door and stepped to the side, and three Haverdash rushed in impatiently. The Templars surrounded and finished them off, then Smaru rushed to the door to hold the rest back from getting in alongside Pyok. Riafel had all the templars bunch together behind Smaru and Pyok, "Swords or light when Smaru and Pyok step away from the door. Savador, your stunning rays. Smaru and Pyok! Step aside on three, two, one!"

He swung his arm down. Smaru and Pyok stepped aside, and a volley of weaponized light filled the doorway. Smaru and Pyok made shields in front of the doorway for a second and the other templars took a moment to get ready again. "Three, two, one!" Another volley.

They repeated this as often as they could. They weren't killing many, as this time the Haverdash had actually brought shields, but it was repeatable and safe. The Haverdash weren't just trying to get through that door though, Andal could hear them clambering around the building.

He looked up and saw them, "They're at the window!"

Riafel turned to Savador, "You've got that?"

He nodded and ran over, flinging ranged attacks to disrupt them as they tried to pry the bars away. Andal asked the group, "How many have we killed?"

Nombur answered, "10 to 15, we can do this! We just need to keep them at the choke points!"

Izac tapped his shoulder, "I think you should switch with Pyok, he'll tire first."

"Good thinking!" He went up and switched, allowing Pyok to come back to do ranged attacks.

Izac asked Pyok, "How's Smaru doing?"

"He's looking strong! Leave him up there another ten minutes at least! How's Savador doing?"

"He's the only one with the range to shoot through that window accurately, but when they finish prying through the bars we can have him back off and take an easier role."

"Three!" Andal yelled happily. He'd started counting each Haverdash that died after he'd asked Nombur how many.

Pyok asked Izac, "And what if we all tire out, retreat to the cellar? Or out the back?

"There's a back? Andal asked.

"Not so loud Andal, you don't want a Haverdash to hear. It's hidden, but where we retreat will depend on how many Haverdash are left, so keep counting."

That he was happy to do. He saw another Haverdash fall to a volley of swords, but just before he could call it out, a metal rod flew past the other Haverdash so fast Smaru could barely react by putting up a shield of aegis in front of his face. Andal saw that it wasn't falling, but Smaru assumed that once he'd blocked the projectile it was harmless, so he dropped the shield to be able to put it elsewhere. The metal rod regained all its speed and buried itself in his forehead.

Smaru fell as a voice that was burned into Andal's memory from over a year ago cheekily called out, "One."