Draconian’s pale body lay wrapped upon a wagon of hay, clinging to life. Maneesh kneeled, hunched in pray position next to his former mentor’s side, asking the gods for one last miracle.

To their rear arrived a messenger baring news of what they already knew. ‘They are here, Master Maneesh.’

‘How many?’ Maneesh asked.

‘A few hundred,’ replied the messenger. ‘It’s Castell’s banner. And they’ve brought the girl.’

Maneesh nodded as he watched Draconian attempt to make words from soft exhaled breath. His Grand Master’s final instructions before death’s rattle, placed Pragian’s hopes squarely on Maneesh’s shoulders. The weight of which came thick and fast as horns of war brought mixed desperation among the remaining pagan leadership.

‘We can hold them. We’ve done more with less,’ said Howzenberger, a stocky figure, more brawn than brain.

‘No, Draconian made his sacrifice, so we may live today, and I must make mine, so you shall live tomorrow.’

His words were refuted by another senior among his ranks. ‘And who’ll be left to sacrifice when there is not a wizard worth their salt?’

‘Nothing lasts forever, but we are far from the end. Now, have his body placed visible in front of the town hall.’

‘They’ll take his head as a trophy,’ said Howzenberger.

‘They will take what they need … while you will honor Draconian’s legacy and lead our people to safety. I am the law, and you shall abide,’ said Maneesh, taking the small carry sack from Draconian’s side and mounting his horse. He then rode off without acknowledgement or goodbyes, to face the enemy alone.

Not far off, a family of musicians sung hymns about those born of dark days becoming the strongest of men and resilient of women. Their melodies emphasizing a bright future ended abruptly to the sound of collapsing walls and dust plumes bellowing up from the distant street sides. The rush of urgency brought about hurried panic through the crowd as they rushed their way to the hidden passage.

The casualties of the assault were nil, as they left the Pragian walls unguarded. Only the open gates were manned, to the extent they needed closing on short notice.

Sir Bradfrey smelt trickery as his knights remained mounted and spread wide, watching as Anneliese conjured her distorted orbs of destruction. Each orb imploded holes through the town’s fortifications until critical mass rendered them unable to hold their own weight. The removed sections made suitable fill for the overflowing moat where water was quickly being displaced by rubble.

‘Shall we make another?’ said Amos.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

‘Give it time. We’re just waking them up,’ said Sir Bradfrey.

They needed only a few minutes before the sole-hooded horseman appeared from the town gates. With the white flag drawn, Maneesh approached with no great urgency. He had to bide time, for his people to retreat.

Having sighted the lone horseman, Sir Bradfrey’s sent forward his own men to intersect the lone rider. To harass him with spearheads and rough handling until Maneesh’s identification came clear. Whereupon they lassoed and restrained the wizard against the soggy wet ground, rendering him incapable of causing havoc once they brought him before Sir Bradfrey.

‘Is this how you treat friends?’ said Maneesh.

‘It’s hard to tell friend from foe these days,’ admitted Sir Bradfrey, cold and unforgiving.

Maneesh spat clean the muddy residue from his ordeal and looked up to Sir Bradfrey. ‘Couldn’t agree more.’

‘You have friends, don’t you? A friend named Kulum?’

‘He has been banished, as well as Verivix, Bjarke, and many others. But I guess it’s not enough to disassociate yourself. You must be actively trying to capture them.’

‘I wish to talk terms with Draconian, and Draconian alone.’

‘He is by the town hall. Awaiting your arrival.’

‘Then you will fetch him.’

‘I will do no such thing. I’m here to offer terms or be your hostage, nothing more?’ Maneesh said.

‘What are his terms?’

‘Do you trust me?’ said Maneesh.

Sir Bradfrey frowned. ‘That will depend on the terms.’

‘The terms are contingent on you releasing me.’

‘So be it,’ said Sir Bradfrey, waving his order to release Maneesh from his constraints.

It allowed Maneesh to take possession of his carry sack, which he held outright like a magician to an audience before unravelling it inside out to access the magically concealed carrying capacity, where upon he pulled out a smaller, empty version of it.

The lack of obvious cause drove suspicion from Amos. ‘If these are the terms, then we’ll consider it an insult.’

‘I was not offering them to you or Sir Bradfrey. It is a parting gift and an apology to Anneliese. The terms of Draconian’s surrender being her forgiveness,’ said Maneesh as he handed off the item to the highly skeptical Amos.

Under further inspection, Amos pulled and shook the carry sack, expecting something devious at play. ‘Is this a joke?’

‘No,’ said Sir Bradfrey, familiar with the specific shape and color of the item in question; the course residue of Coble’s enchanted sands that no longer made up its contents. It brought about fond memories of his old wizard friend, and better times. When he was a welcomed friend of Pragian, instead of this adversary that the growing demands of duty had made of him. His sympathetic heart overruled careful consideration as he took possession of the carry sack, passing the sentimental gift to Anneliese, who showed hesitation in accepting it.

The mere notion of forgiveness felt like a betrayal on all levels. Her pagan past was one of loss and abandonment, while her present was precariously built on an image of cross-bearing purity. The dissolution of which risked labelling her a heretic and subject to the prejudice of the church.

‘I understand,’ said Sir Bradfrey, keeping the carry sack upon his person. ‘Sometimes we need our pound of flesh. Other times, we look at what’s expected of us and see past our emotions.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Anneliese before taking a deep gulp of courage that brought her to look down upon Maneesh without the vengeful intent. ‘Send Draconian my forgiveness. There is no need for violence, if we can work together.’

‘Of course,’ said Maneesh. ‘But Draconian is dead. You’ll find his body by the town hall. Congratulations, Pragian is yours.’

‘Nonsense,’ Amos said to Sir Bradfrey, before mounting his horse to sally forth, alone. Through fortified gates he rode, unopposed, only to find empty streets and the markets deserted except for sounds of roaming livestock. All the while, ghostly winds whipped up the trail of flower petals, which led him to the abandoned wagon of funeral decorations and the dormant body of one former Grand Master Wizard.