Chapter 49

Rotten apple

Union Cities State Alliance

Antilene tightened her garb, dark as the deepest night, adjusting the foulard she wore around her neck: the only note of white in that penetrating uniformity.

The cloudless sky, in which the feeble sun's rays were free to descend upon the battered earth by the coming winter, was the only view that could be considered worthy of admiration. The never-ending wind had shed its shyness, and blew with the confidence of a lord in his own castle, moving through the air, carrying its cold touch wherever it passed, withering leaves and causing the green to lose its dominance.

"We will soon arrive in Veneria, my lady," Dionegis' voice was ringing and high-pitched, piercing in its confidence. Opening the carriage window, only his chest covered in that silver that defied the stars in brilliance managed to be the focus of Antilene and Eleina's attention. "Please grit your teeth a little longer, my lady, unless you intend to stop for a rest. In that case, I will arrange for the convoy to halt immediately."

The road they were traveling on was unexpectedly well-maintained, but the stony ground covered with the first snows and hailstones of winter was still an unpleasant hindrance to the wheels of their convoy, at best. At worst, a great way to have their heads presented to the ceiling, in a fashion that completely lacked gallantry.

"You have nothing to worry about, my dear knight," said the halfling, melodious voice as exquisite as the Sunday bells. "I could never be a nuisance to those who do so much for me. Bearing it is not burdensome at all." How graceful Elaina was when she lied. The future princess's skin was not as impenetrable as Antilene's, nor could it withstand the blows and jolts of the journey with as little effort. Still, the half-elf was ready to swear that between the two of them, the girl least felt the discomfort of the voyage. "Rather, make sure that our servants are in excellent condition, and that they are not suffering the fatigue of the journey. Have they been well fed? Have they had something to drink? Of what to cover themselves from the cold?These are the questions you should be raising."

"They will endure what they must endure," replied the knight, firmly. Compassion was the relinquishment of his knighthood order, one might have ventured. "They live to serve, first and foremost. To serve you and House Orestes."

"They live to survive. Everyone has a role, but they must be given the opportunity to exercise it to the best of their ability, don't you think so?" Small but firm, Elaina's voice could have belonged to a giant in a blind man's ears. "I implore you, my good knight. Do as I have asked."

"As my lady wishes." The swan knight moved away, at his mistress's command. The trot of his horse an echo that soon became distant.

Antilene could hear impish questions of apprehension, from inside the cabin. Imperious, and so delightfully out of place. Like a rooster among dragons. But a morning song provided no flames.

"Fast, the swan knight," she commented, facing the halfling. "Having someone hanging on your every word must be pleasant, I imagine. If you were to ask such a heap of self-denial to slit his own throat, he would beg you to specify the depth to be cut." In the Theocracy there were many like him. Swords who lived to be of use and to perish following commands. A rare and fading quality, and therefore worthy of admiration and respect when one was the object of such a spirit of sacrifice. It could also be very irritating when observed from afar, that had to be said.

"My faithful Dionegis is as devoted as he is, alas, harsh. With others, very. With himself, immeasurably so." And here the girl who was to become princess, and perhaps queen, clutched at the blanket that wrapped around her shoulders. The feathers that warmed the neck belonged to majestic griffins, in a not so distant past, and the patterns that drew emblems of royalty on the fabric enhanced the value of the garment.

One of her attendants, shadows moving with her every breath, and augurs of the future to sear her desires, handed Eleina a steaming thermos, from which boiling coffee warmed the bones with its aroma alone. "I thank you." The halfling lost herself in that soothing heat, and in the scent that delighted the nose and mind. "My swan knight, always at my side. Dionegis was an orphan, Lady Fouche. Skilled with the blade, only the crest of a lost lineage as heirloom, left to rot in the slums of a distant land. He was found by a friend of my honorable father, and sold for a small sum. A chick covered in pitch and mud. But my beloved father's intuition was right. In a little while, the chick matured and the swan who was birthed made a name for himself in the tournaments held in the arenas of Franklin, and should have competed in the national competitions as well, had the war not broken out in full before he could realize his dream." Sharing the pain and regrets helped in part to understand others, but it also left room for unnecessary sentiment. Elaina excelled in both those bad habits.

"All he will have to do is wait, and he will be able to prove himself," Antilene thought back to Sir Niles and his band of champions. To the immense bodies of the demi-humans who had competed and won the cheers of the crowds in the arena, with the blood and glory that had bathed their bodies, molded their features. Would the crystal swan bathe its wings in red, or would it shatter into a thousand pieces as the crystal on his chest? "When the war is over, the competitions will soon begin again. Conflict is abhorred when carried out by strangers, just as it is adored when organized in the household. Your knight and his lance will be smashed on the texts of your enemies, sooner or later. Then, you will truly know his worth."

"Do you really believe the war will end soon, Lady Fouche?" There were great expectations, in that child. For such she was when compared to the half-elf. "Even before it broke out, I remember the apprehension towards our borders, towards our future. Ever since I can remember it, my caretakers used to warn me to prepare myself, for peace is never lasting, but something to be earned day by day."

Antilene found herself with pleading, hopeful eyes staring at her. Eyes calling for answers, which she could not give, only suggest. And Antilene felt old, as never before she had been.

"This marriage will bring stability, and the Union will be able to rise again, after tasting defeat. If you are wise, humiliation and loss will guide you for the future. If not, you will be doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past. The Equestrian King is weak, now more than ever. Prince Alexander will reclaim the Union and his allies, and will fight as long as he has breath in the body. I will ensure that there are no obstacles to triumph."

"Then I will be able to calm my heart knowing that you are there to defend me," Elaina's laugh was weak, but sincere. She did not encompass everything with her roar, nor did she dictate all attention with her fervor, but shared the good humor with everyone, as if it were an experience that knew no solitude. "You have met Prince Alexander, have you not? My groom-to-be... Forgive the effrontery, but could you describe him to me? I would like to... I wish I knew as much as I could about him. To make a good impression, and prevent him from having second thoughts."

"He won't have any, rest assured." Of certainties, there were few in the world. But if the prince wanted to win, the compromise was a must. 'She is just a child,' Antilene considered. 'I cannot say for certain about the body, but the spirit is still that of spring.' "The prince will find you lovely, my dear Elaina. And if he does not... it will be his loss, certainly not yours."

Elaina's head tilted slowly, lightly stroking her shoulder. "You are a fantastic flatterer, Lady Fouche." She reciprocated the kindness received with a sweet smile, as good manners dictated. "I admit I am a little bit excited, you must have been able to tell."

"It is hardly noticeable." An erupting volcano, that face. With frost starting to descend, almost a natural shield. "Is there any particular reason that causes you turmoil?" Antilene complimented herself, as her ability to make conversation was getting better and better. Indulging in one's disappointments had a beneficial effect, from time to time.

Of the two attendants, one peered at the half-elf. She was a woman with reddish hair adorned by orange streaks, bewitching as the descending dawn, encased in a modest cap. "Prince Alexander has always been an enigmatic personality. My lady is partly fascinated, partly afraid of him. No wonder that her emotions are in upheaval."

"Quiet, Kilmestra," interrupted the other one. Raven-haired and a plump face, with hands that always tended to caress and console their mistress. They bore a vague resemblance to Nazaire's, although they lacked decision and firmness. Elaina accepted their caresses, finding comfort in them. "We cannot speak for and on behalf of Lady Orestes. Remember your place."

"You are right, Thekla," Kilmestra's eyes, also red, shone for a second. "I ask forgiveness from both of you. I have been foolish."

"No need to apologize," reassured the half-elf, rubbing her cheek with the right hand. The glove she wore caressed her skin, giving her the sensation of being tickled by soft silk.

The halfling also comforted the woman, placing the little forehead on her chest. It was an intimate gesture, hinting at a bond that overlooked rank. "How could I ever bear a grudge against the one who raised and educated me?" She let Kilmestra smooth her hair, and fix her unruly ringlets. "I have been fortunate, for I have had many mothers, Lady Fouche. My attendant speaks the truth. From as long as I can remember, my honorable father made me aware of my destiny. To reinforce the proclamations of the Orestes family, and unite in marriage with a great family, to bring prosperity to our legacy. My siblings and I were raised for this. To become princes and princesses."

'Nothing binds more than blood,' Philo Orestes had proclaimed. But that was not entirely accurate. Gratitude could go so far, the deeper it went. If not more.

"I thought your father had no children beyond you," said the half-elf. "Or perhaps I was mistaken?"

"My honorable father had no natural children. But perhaps because of this very deficiency he was generous enough to adopt numerous orphans like me. Eleven, we were in all. All of different races and kinds, in the spirit of the Union. Of these, three contracted marriage to powerful Franklin families, two were sent in marriage to noble families of East and West Gait, one currently serves on the war council of General Chazos..." the voice became faint, and ethereal. "...The others died during the war."

"I grieve for the tragedy."

"It's alright," the halfling tried to brace herself. Antilene saw her attendants huddle closer to their mistress, obscuring her with their figures. "I was the youngest, and the last one left. But the time has also come for me to leave the nest. Though I never imagined I would marry the very heir of Karnasus. The fear of such a task is overcome, I feel a little ashamed to admit, by the sheer pride of such a privilege."

The perfect image of the girl lost in romantic tales and bardly fantasies, where sighs of love were songs and kisses of passion words, which made her no different to many other maidens of every standing not only in the Union, but in the whole world. Yet the trembling of her lips did not disappear, but became more and more pronounced, each time they opened to show that perceived happiness.

"Your servant said that Prince Alexander was a difficult personality to scrutinize. May I ask why?" The one she had met was certainly a man shrouded in secrets, but at least his mask was covered in candor and valor, manufactured or unvarnished.

"Those were just rumors," the dark-haired attendant, Thekla, nodded at her mistress' answer. Kilmestra began peeling an apple as yellow as gold, cutting it into many small pieces. "When I was still an infant, the prince seldom left his abode. His father was said to be a just man, but also ruthless, carrying the blood of the ancient dynasty that once ruled the Union and entangled in blasphemous rituals. Or so his opponents proclaimed. They would swear that he had betrayed his queen, to lie with a demon, the last remnant of the infernal king who brought so much devastation to these lands. From that union was born an aberrant and deformed son."

"Prince Alexander!" Antilene let out a mocking laugh, thinking back to the proud young man with sea-coloured hair, and the scent of saltiness emanating from each of his heroic deeds. "Forgive me, but except for too much air in his body, I don't think your future groom has any physical problems. And for sure no demon blood runs in his veins."

Elaina tasted the fruit that was offered to her by Kilmestra, offering a wedge to the half-elf, who accepted with good taste. "I am glad," she said, after calmly savoring the rich sweetness of the apple. "When he went down to war to oppose the Equestrian King, every evil tongue had to put away its venom. A hero, who replicated the deeds of the first men. So I was told. I shall have to endeavor, to remain worthy to stand by his side."

"It's not about being worthy," said Antilene. "It's more... difficult to explain. I am not an expert in matrimonial matters, but in the country I come from it is traditional for couples to take an oath together, so that they can stand as equals before the Gods. Husband and wife are two sides of the same coin, one incomplete without the other." A pact to be respected, to be celebrated. If there was anything sacred in that world, it was that.

"Thank you very much for the words of comfort, Lady Fouche," the freckles on her face twitched, along with the lips that unfolded to her sparkling eyes. "I hope that one day our positions will be reversed, and I will be the one to repay that debt by offering sage advice."

"There is nothing to repay. And I doubt I will marry in the near future."

"Did no gentleman ask for your hand? I find that hard to believe."

"Someone has..." Jircniv Rune Farlord El-Nix was the most recent example, but there had been many daredevils in the Black Scriptures over the years, convinced that they were different from those who had preceded them. "But I made a pact with myself. I will only unite with the one who can beat me."

"The paladins of the Roble kingdom make oaths to hold their principles firm and increase their magical abilities, as far as I have heard," Elaina's curiosity was unexpectedly overwhelming, embellished by that childish adoration for the bearers of justice. Of her attendants, Kilmestra restrained herself to maintain dignity, Thekla sighed, partly defeated, partly amused. "Is this perhaps the secret of your strength? The higher the price you pay, the more fantastic the results you achieve."

"I'm afraid those are just baseless stories," Antilene found herself forced to cut those reveries short. While there was truth in the sacred oaths, and of the rituals that accompanied the ascent to the rank of paladin, the spirit of sacrifice and martyrdom opened at most one door. To continue down the steps, training and talent were the only tyrant masters. "There are no secrets in my strength. Nor is it something special. Your swan knight would be able to unseat me with no problem, should we compete in a friendly contest."

The art of persuasion, unfortunately, had not bestowed its gifts on the half-elf, who could see how poor the results of her arguments had been. To not be taken lightly could also prove to be a curse, and an inconvenience .

"Oh, what a pity." The halfling rubbed her hands, beaten by restless shivers. The temperature was beginning to drop, and each breath became more consistent, more visible. Was it the soul asking to come out? A foolish consideration.

Kilmestra handed a pair of dark blue gloves to her lady. "Don't you have anything to protect you from the cold?" Elaina asked the attendant, after thanking her.

"Where I come from, weather like this is ordinary," she replied, adjusting her lady's cape that was starting to stick out slightly. "I'll be able to endure it without any trouble."

"Oh… I didn't know this…"

The other lady-in-waiting, on the other hand, was of the opposite opinion, and after making sure her mistress was well protected, she began to pull scarves and hats, all strictly knitted, out of one of the luggage with which to strenuously cope with the season that was becoming more and more relentless.

"It's good not to catch a cold, in this weather you never know." Antilene, too, found her head covered in wool. She could have explained that there was no problem for her, but keeping silent was deemed preferable in such a situation.

There were two people in the world whom Antilene was sure she would never be able to overpower, or win a discussion against. And Thekla, at that moment, looked tremendously like one of them. Nostalgia could be remarkably merciless, the half-elf had to consider.

Eventually, even the snow began to fall. The flakes, which all resembled each other, at least made the view outside the window less monotonous. It continued for a few minutes before there was an abrupt stop. Antilene, who was beginning to be distracted and lulled by the quiet, took a few fractions of a second to process what was happening.

Her first instinctive reaction was to check that Elaina and the two ladies were safe. "Are you all right?" To maintain calm in others, it was imperative to maintain it with oneself. A few shouts could be heard outside the cabin. Devilish imprecations and snarls, which if to the ears of a veteran of a thousand battles sounded like home, to those of helpless maidens could only be compared to the blissful monstrosities of the gloomiest hell.

"All is well," the halfling was visibly shaken, but tried to appear in control of the situation. The grip with which she was leaning on Kilmestra and Thekla might have been betrayed otherwise, but in that situation Antilene did not see it as an expression of weakness, but more as a natural reaction. "What happened?"

Kilmestra tried to get the helmsman's attention, but there was no response. Only silence.

"Stay here," Antilene intimated. Charon's Guidance had already been unsheathed, and the cabin was open. A sudden mist had descended, hiding the surroundings from view. The half-elf stepped forward, not moving away from the carriage. The boot sank into the snow, causing some to slip between Antilene's feet.

The shouting had ceased, but that was not necessarily a good sign. Something could be discerned amidst all that white. Antilene reached out, touching that indistinct heap. It was cold.

'A corpse… They attacked us.' She could not recognise him. It was hard to tell, partly covered in snow, partly with his face eaten off, who he was. It was certainly not Dionegis, as his emblem was not stamped on the chain mail. 'An enemy, or a friend?'

From the open cabin, Elaina looked around. Perhaps thinking she could spot something that might help.

"There's nothing to worry about," Antilene tried to reassure her by waving her arm, convincing herself that she had succeeded. "It's just a bit of fog. If there are enemies, they hide because they know they can't do anything else."

Elaina nodded. Then her mouth opened, almost to utter a shriek, except that nothing came out.

The wind, placid and quiet until then, gusted in a whirlwind. Something took shape from Antilene's shadow, and cold and stinging, it was the silver that caressed her throat.

"The demon's head announces a new dawn," someone whispered in her ear. The blade was sweet and gentle in its carving, and found in breaking its predetermined end.

A sweet sound, made of shattered expectations.

The half-elf's throat remained diaphanous, and her head turned to meet the demonic mask of her assailant. Two sharp bull-like horns, metallic eyes, and a leering mouth, that was the appearance of the assassin. Covered entirely in white, like a demon of winter, he tried to break free from a grip that was now firm.

Antilene spun him around with calm gentless, and laid him with opposing ferocity on the snowy ground. The assassin tried to rise, but her foot was already firmly on his chest, blocking all movement. Further wriggling was soon established useless on both sides.

"Who are you?" She asked.

"...The owl failed."

But the query was lost in the vacuum. The breathing was lost.

The half-elf pulled off his mask, finding a determined face taunting her, one eye missing. "A poison capsule." Such determination required relentless training. Of all things, it was the promptness with which that difficult decision had been made that was worthy of praise.

"Lady Fouche, are you all right?" Elaina was a bundle of nerves, now exposed, attached to her two escorts with such eagerness and trembling, in an image that brought to mind a misconception. "That blade that touched your neck... I couldn't see clearly, but it didn't get you?"

Antilene ran the finger of her right hand over where she had been struck. "No wound, as you can see. Rather, I am concerned for your safety." Charon's Guidance had not yet proclaimed first blood, but the Spartiate could have established a defensive perimeter in no time. The reluctance to summon the undead was of little consequence compared to the girl's security.

As she was about to begin the summoning, the half-elf heard someone approaching.

"My lady, are you all right?" Dionegis ran like a madman as the fog finally began to recede. He was on horseback, but the poor beast brayed in pain, and overtook his master in wounds. "I rode as fast as I could... Lady Fouche, did they attack you?"

The assassin's corpse was still lying there, as if it had been resting in place.

"Give yourself peace, knight. Your lady is well. For the moment."

Dionegis took a second, but really just a second, to regain his composure. The helmet had been partly broken, and he jolted indifferently from the saddle to which it had been attached. His white hair imitated the same thing it was now descending upon them, with scarlet streaks littering his curls. The purple eyes, previously piercing, strained to remain alert. The crystal swan, his emblem, had known impurity, staining its feathers with fetid entrails, giving the impression that the graceful creature had turned into a rancid beast.

"Gods be thanked," he dismounted from the saddle, still breathing heavily, the steed trudging just to stay upright. He knelt before the carriage, sinking into the white compact. "My lady, forgive your servant for endangering you."

The halfling, as if awakened from a foul nightmare, leaned out far enough to rest a hand on the faithful knight's shoulder, but also far enough to remain firmly on the carriage seat. "Don't worry about me," the hesitation betrayed what she wanted to express. Politeness and good manners were a shield that did not let fear show. "The important thing is that we're both safe. Tell me," the voice attempted to be firm and confident, but sounded only pleading and seeking comfort, "what happened?"

Meanwhile, Antilene had approached the horse, whose flank was furrowed with numerous wounds, bites mostly. Her healing abilities could ease the suffering of the body, but an animal, like a human, also knew the wounds in the soul. By the time the view was restored, the remaining members of the escort were finally able to gather in the presence of the one they were supposed to protect.

If when they had left the half-elf had counted more than two dozen guards, attendants and adventurers keeping watch over that convoy, now not even less than half could be counted in that grim count.

The swan knight noticed them, but continued to focus his attention on his mistress. "Beasts on par with wolves barred our way, but their faces were not of this world, with tusks that butchered armor and meat with exaggerated ease, while their breath was ice freezing mind and body. They were larger and more ferocious than normal, and drove the horses mad, sparking the clash just as quickly," this, at least, explained the bites. "They forced us to stop. The blood began to flow and the dead to pile up."

"You had no news of attacks by such creatures?" It was customary, and right modus operandi, to back-check the routes to be pursued before a journey, so that one could be prepared for any attack, and not be taken by surprise. Or such was the way of thinking in the Theocracy. That it was different in that part of the world, however, could hardly be called probable, in the opinion of the half-elf. "Snow wolves are usually found in the mountain range of Azerlisia, but in these altitudes it could have been some wild dog breed, perhaps hardened and mutated by the cold." Having a sample to study and examine might have proved easy to narrow down, but even then luck did not seem to help. Only their now-dead companions in the assault still left some scattered traces in the surroundings. Which meant...

"They were not dogs or wolves," the knight hastened to correct her. Dionegis had pulled out his sword, a splendid work of steel with threads of pure, brilliant blue orichalc, still smeared with the blood of beasts... and something else, in all likelihood. "When I sliced the creatures, they disappeared, dissolving in the snow. I had studied the latest travelogs of the merchants and guides traveling from Franklin to Veneria with a fine-tooth comb, and at best it would have been fair to expect an ambush by snow goblins or some tribe of lynx-men infesting the mountains nearby. There were, far rarer, reports of giant caribous and white-mane tigers, but never a whole pack like in this case. The other adventurers can bear witness to what I say."

Of the survivors, some of them confirmed what Dionegis had said. None of them was lying, of this Antilene was certain.

"Sir Dionegis is right," one of them hastened to say. From the silver medal he wore on his chest, it was easy to guess his occupation. "But it wasn't just the beasts that were the problem. In the middle of the fight some assassins came out of the shadows and started attacking us. If it wasn't for the swan knight, prompt and precise to regroup and give orders, we'd all be dead by now."

There were a few wounded, many in serious condition. The prospect of what would have happened if things had gone differently loomed like a dark cloud over every head.

"You didn't use scrying?" There were a few magic casters among the survivors. Again Antilene found herself wondering if it was incompetence or lack of skill that was the problem to be addressed.

"Yes," another adventurer, holding the dying body of a companion in her arms.A female dogman, with a muzzle full of smears. This time a gold medallion glimpsed between the folds of her belt. "I took care of it myself. Every ten minutes we took turns to check the area. But, well... it was useless." And, judging by the dejected way she embraced the lifeless body, the task would soon become more onerous.

"Tier?"

"Second."

"I see."

Of all the Black Scriptures, Astrologer was the one she missed the most. Divination was not among Antilene's arts, and the more time passed, the more the half-elf became aware that, occasionally, brute force was not enough. Stabbing one's own problems was not always a good solution, unfortunately.

The half-elf waited until the count of the fallen could be finished, and then asked the swan knight: "How far is it to Veneria?" If things got complicated, she would be forced to take a central role in the expedition.

"Half a day," Dionegis replied, wiping the blood from his hair. The dirt was gone only in appearance, but the liquid continued to soak into the skin, making his face dirty and more hardened than it really was. "Do you think they might attack us again?"

"Hard to say, but they know we're ready now. And they too have suffered their losses." The assassin sent towards Elaina was almost certainly the most skilled of the troop. Antilene approached the corpse again, pulling off the mask that still rested on half of his face. "Do you recognise it?"

"I don't think so," and like the swan knight, so too followed the other survivors. "It must be Ijaniya. The other assailants also wore similar disguises, resembling grotesque demons. Who else could it have been?"

"...Once we're in the city I'll get in touch with some of my contacts," if anyone could identify the cult's killers, it was certainly the archivists of the Theocracy's cathedrals. "But if any of you should have noticed anything unusual, please say so now."

The silence was not unexpected, but no less of a disappointment nevertheless.

"Lady Fouche, is there anything I can do to help?" Elaina had gotten out of the carriage, and was moving circumspectly, getting too close for the half-elf's liking. "This standing still while others risk their lives for me drives me mad."

"My lady..." Kilmestra was careful to check every shadow that stirred. The sun was back high in the sky, and seemed almost to taunt them with its renewed light. "...Perhaps we should get back on the road as soon as possible. We don't know what might still await us on the way out."

Antilene peered at the halfling, without uttering a sound. In stressful situations, individuals showed their true natures, and the curiosity to find out what lurked inside the future princess was quite tantalizing.

''...I know,'' Elaina's conviction was less predictable than it might have appeared. Covered as she was, only a keen eye could have discerned the body still moving in spasms of terror, and not the wool being moved by the wind. "But I want to make sure the rest of the escorting staff can continue."

"They have been paid to take you as far as Karnasus, and they will do so as long as they have breath in their bodies," Dionegis retorted. The knight always tried to address his mistress with a certain gentleness, but this time the tone that came out of his mouth was filled with contempt. More towards himself than towards others, Antilene surmised. "We will bury the dead, and move on."

"Dionegis, you serve me, right?"

The knight, taken aback by that question, could not find the strength to answer.

"Then you will do as I say." Repetitions were not allowed. Even the two ladies-in-waiting could say no more.

"A leader must take care of his subordinates. It's only natural," Antilene smiled in approval. "Do what you must do, Lady Orestes. I will take care of your protection." The seal of that proclamation was imposed by the half-elf, who challenged someone to question her. Predictably, no one dared. Not even the swan knight.

Elaina then approached the rest of those who had fought for her. Of the wounded there were many, both among the animals and the men, and of those who could still continue to move with ease many fewer.

Of casters capable of providing healing support there were only a couple, but at least of potions they seemed well stocked. On the other hand, injuries could be alleviated very little with the meager means at their disposal. Commendable was the total lack of gasps of pain, for the most part.

"Is there anything I can do for you? Do you still require rest?" Elaina wandered around the small camp that had been improvised on the roadside at the moment. If she couldn't offer any concrete means of help, her presence was at least a good morale boost.

"No, my lady." Every negative answer, no matter how absurd it was to witness, was more of a pain for her than for the others.

Dionegis continued, impatiently drumming with his leg on the now increasingly red snow, continuing to look around.

The more useless he became, the more his frustration grew, the more the sheath of his sword swung, begging to be wielded once more. To have something to prove, under all circumstances... What a miserable fate.

"...Perhaps it would be appropriate to..." more than once Antilene heard him mutter some suggestion that died back where it had started, leaving the swan knight sullen, and perhaps resentful. "To hell with it..." He began to help finish the pits and assist the only priest there with them to anoint and bless the bodies, lest they might return as lifeless.

To the surprise of the half-elf, Dionegis had a chain around his neck to which was attached a small bottle from where tiny drops of water were sprayed, evidently blessed.

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'He really was ready for anything.' Yet it had not been enough. Whether that lesson would be used as treasure was now for him alone to decide.

"Their condition is critical, my lady." The adventuress from before, the one in charge of divination, had shown Elaina two male companions clinging tenaciously to a stretched out throng to lay them down. They emitted broken, hushed sounds, which but for the tomblike silence would have been lost in the breeze. Their eyes continued to remain open, because they were aware that to close them again would have taken too high a price to pay. "Miron had part of his arm devoured by one of the creatures, and his hand severed by the knife of one of the killers. Still, compared to Illias he fared much better."

Indeed, while the former still managed to retain semblance of a whole that distinguished him as a living being, the latter could not boast as much luck.

Part of his face had been bitten off, leaving bones exposed. An arm had been removed up to the elbow, with remnants of flesh still dangling inert and attached by some sort of miracle. Still better than the second, which had been completely severed, and lay stripped bare next to him. There were also numerous scars on his chest.

Potions were smeared over the two, but they managed to stem the damage, and the pain, only briefly, before the wounds began to open again.

Antilene did not acknowledge them as worthy of pity.

"We fear it is a curse," one of the adventurers explained. "Or a poison. The weapons of those cursed killers must have been enchanted to make the wounds harder to heal."

Antilene felt her neck, sensing nothing unusual.

"Is there any chance of them being saved?" The halfling kept her gaze fixed on the two, eyes forcing themselves to remain open. "What have you tried to keep them alive?"

"Not many," the female adventurer stepped forward, impassive, or so she wanted to show herself. "And even if they were to succeed, every attempt to heal them just results in nothing... Perhaps we could keep them alive until we arrive at the city, and find someone better equipped. But I doubt they could continue the journey... or resume their profession."

"What is your name?" Elaina asked her.

"Filio," the adventurer's eyes, a simple hazel brown, moistened, but remained steady. "They were my comrades... sorry to get emotional. I am aware that it is unprofessional."

Antilene took a step. Although the doubt of being able to do anything concrete, and the unwillingness to actually provide for the salvation of impurity, were discouraging arguments to act. Astonishment found her face, finding that Elaina did not give her the opportunity.

"I'm afraid we must leave them here, Filio."

It was easy to get a feel for people, even after knowing them for a short time. A fragile idea, which could break with just as much fragility, as had happened at that moment.

The future princess maintained the simple soft expression, but there was an impassivity and coldness that took even the half elf by surprise.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm afraid we should leave them here, Filo." The second time, the inflection did not become more severe nor did it increase in pitch. It continued to be simple, with a hint of regret that gave the impression that the halfling's heart was recoiling at those words. Yet she continued undaunted. "Look at them, even if they were saved, what life could they possibly have? Lady Fouche, you are more experienced than me... could they be saved?"

Feeling called into question, the half elf replied, "Perhaps with a fourth tier magic it might be possible. But the curse there might provoke undesirable effects if that issue is not resolved first. And a failed attempt… could do more harm than good. Also, there is the risk of it spreading." Were they in the Theocracy, this problem would not have been impossible to solve. But the Union was not the Theocracy.

"Did you hear Lady Fouche's words?" The halfling had placed a hand on the adventuress' shoulder, but the difference in height was so abysmal that it forced her to stand up on her toes, with more comical rather than reassuring results. "Leave them here. They would slow us down too much. Tell me, did they have families?"

Filio hesitated, her lips beginning to be covered in spit. "...Miron had a younger brother, as I recall. Illias' parents are very old, and they needed his assistance."

"My father can be generous to those who have served well. The brother and parents will survive, at least. But if my loving father were to learn that they caused us delay, it would make him furious and unforgiving. What remains of a soldier if he can no longer fight? A shell, which has lost its purpose in the world." Eleina sought the gaze of Thekla, and then of Kilmestra. But it was in Dionegis approaching, that she found comfort. "Tell me, my trusty knight. Will the families of these two be rewarded for their services?"

"As much as their sacrifice has demanded. But should they place a halt to our duty, for whatever reason, the contract would be considered terminated, at which point what becomes of them would be for fate alone to decide. They would only receive part of the payment, at best. If they manage to survive..." The swan rider placed a wet cloth on their foreheads, undaunted by the fur that was beginning to soil him. As if in trance, he recited a few words of comfort that no one, except perhaps the derelicts, could hear. "Filio, you may stay and take care of them, if you so wish, or decide to take charge of their transport to the nearest population center," and, amazingly, there was no judgment in Dionegis. Pity, neither. Only regretful sincerity. "In that case, as commander-in-chief, it is my duty to report to you that the payment will be canceled."

They would gain more from death than they would in life. Filio breathed faintly, taking just enough time to reflect, and then began to move, very gently, the bodies that were growing quieter and quieter. She recited some sort of prayer in their ears, and laid them down in some trees a few meters away from the main road. From the distance, one could almost have thought they were sleeping.

She returned without looking back, bending down in front of Elaina. "The time for mourning the fallen is over..." The female beastwoman got to her feet. "Their families will get their due, of that I will make sure... my lady."

"They will get their due," Elaina said. "As will everyone."

After that, it did not take them long to resume their journey. When they were in the privacy of the cabin, Antilene asked the halfling. "Are you sure of the choice made?" The half-elf could not be certain they would be beyond saving, and in other conditions, she would have done her best to at least make sure their trepanning was as peaceful as possible. Mercy, however, was a limited commodity... one that had to be administered very cautiously, among friend and foe alike. "Excuse my frankness... but I didn't think you were so..."

"Ruthless?" Elaina finished for her.

"...Pragmatic."

The future princess shifted her head towards her, hugging herself in the blue coat. A few griffon feathers warming the collar gently caressed her chin. "My father taught me from an early age that the paths that open to you are endless, but that once you take one, changing becomes almost impossible. A child can become a knight, a priest, or a merchant. But once that destiny has been followed, he cannot decide to become a blacksmith, or a poet. In pursuit of everything, one runs the risk of becoming nothing. We are so limited..."

Infinite possibilities, but only one vocation. Only one dream to fulfill, with the hope that it would be the right one. Antilene, in different terms, grasped that familiar concept. "So someone who has been deprived of the means to sustain himself should be abandoned?"

"It is indeed very sad. But a society stands on the tasks each of us takes on. Only then are we able to help each other. Those two adventurers have fulfilled their obligations... and now the weakest can be safeguarded through their sacrifice. To survive... only to find yourself after a thousand pains to be useless. What a jest. If I were all-powerful, I would have saved them from their pain and suffering, elevating them to something more. But I am just a foolish little girl. I do what I can... and I carry the burden."

There was no reason to doubt what she claimed. Of curiosity, Antilene had only one to satisfy. "And so what is your task, dear Elaina?"

There was no need to think, for the girl. "To serve my father, the man who raised me from poverty, and who bestowed upon me a name and an identity..." Her smile was warm and generous, devoid of even remotely negative feelings. Gratitude, rather, was plenty. "To do that, I will have to perfectly rise to my task of being the perfect bride for Prince Alexander or whoever my father deems worthy. That is my role as Orestes."

"And should you fail to do so?"

"In that case, I will have no choice but to give up my inheritance, and perish without causing any more trouble."

Thekla followed her mistress, not giving comfort, but approval; arms locked in a golden embrace that so closely replicated the bars of a wall-less prison.

Kilmestra continued to comb her hair, putting back in order those gilded strands that so much seemed not to submit, reviving a diamond devoid of light.

"Elaina... is not a name from these parts," to Antilene, the word slipped on her tongue with familiar remembrance. "It sounds like a variation of a name much in vogue in the Theocracy. Did your father give it to you?"

"No," the maiden said, nostalgia struggling to leave a face that could know no regret. "It was my mother's name, my birth mother I mean. When she sold me to my father, it was the only thing she asked to keep. The family that fathered me had its roots west of here, in an age now lost, in the desolate plains that meet at the crossroads in the great human nations, but that time too has passed. The halflings have renounced their rights, and abandoned these places."

"Is it so then?" The half-elf found no astonishment in herself at hearing that statement. "I suppose, as much as we like to pretend otherwise, our origins affect us in as many ways as possible, without even making us aware of it."

"What do you mean by that?"

Antilene smiled, for anything else to do was unknown to her. "No matter how much you shake the tree, the apple will never fall far from it." She did not continue any further, enjoying the doubt that fell on her traveling companion.

As Elaina was an Orestes, so was Antilene a Fouche... and a Hougan. Whether that meant anything, only time would tell.

Draconic Kingdom

Gazef let the scent of sweat run down his body. After hard training, it almost had a balmy effect, and, for those few minutes when his mind was still focused on the sword, he could almost see everything around him slow down, taking their rightful place in the surroundings.

"You can rest now," the members of his unit were far more fatigued than he was. Three to one, a fight that some would have called unequal. For whom, hard to establish. "Tomorrow morning, Gods be willing, we will do it again." In the training room, the spasms of fatigue were covered by the laughter of camaraderie. It was a pleasant, relaxed atmosphere that gave no impression of the pressure they were under.

Outside the fortress, however, such ceremonies would certainly not have been the norm. Concentration always had to be brought to bear not on the enemy in front, but on the one who might strike from behind... or from above. Either Gazef would learn to poke his eyes out from behind his back, or he would soon have to learn to live with a body even more battered by cuts and scars.

"Good training, Captain." Iovino offered him a cloth to dry off in. The warrior felt the rough contact with his skin as his second in command gave orders to the other soldiers, who were eagerly waiting for a chance to test themselves. "Are you sure you don't want to rest? We have our meeting with General Aderbaal in more or less an hour."

Gazef considered how long it would take him to take a shower. No more than ten minutes, if he took the time he needed to be alone and with his thoughts. A luxury that seemed to be granted to him more and more rarely. Once taken off the time to put on more appropriate clothes, remained an opportunity for just another confrontation.

"Send five this time. And let one of them be a magic caster. The other four must specialize in different weapons. Well coordinated, possibly part of the same sub-unit." The muscles throbbed, a delightfully intoxicating sensation. All his men... his soldiers looked at him halfway between admiring and bewildered. "And change my sword. This one has undergone too many enchantments. I want one that's less blunt."

There was too much difference in strength with his comrades, as hard as it was to admit. Trying to close that gap was a key priority for the moment.

His second whistled in disbelief. "Why not take off the armor as well, Captain? Running the risk of being over-protected, don't you think?"

Gazef was on the verge of agreeing, before he realized the not too veiled irony. "No, that will do. We must be ready, Iovino. Last time we managed to win... but next time we might not be so lucky. We have to train the body to take the pain, to fight disadvantaged, to use every little trick we can to gain that inch of advantage." If the wall could not be climbed any further, it would have to be circumvented. And if the arms could not hit harder, the legs would have to make up the difference.

Months had passed, but the siege of Gelone's fortress was still vivid, painted in the air and sky, replicated in every sound he heard and every scent that caressed him. Gazef savored every moment of calm, so that the blazing inferno would not catch him unprepared when it would sparkle again.

For angels would not descend from heaven this time. And salvation was a miracle to be conquered.

"If you say so, Captain." Iovino agreed with him, it was obvious. But Gazef also understood that it took someone to counterbalance his seriousness, to ease the troop's nerves in the most difficult moments. If a captain's job was to inspire greatness, the deputy's was to ensure that they never forgot who they really were. "Did you hear that? Five in a row for Captain Stronoff. Hurry, that we don't have all day ahead of us!"

Gazef closed his eyes, to let the darkness envelop him... and then let the morning light flood him.

----------------------------------------

"Well, that went well." They were walking through the hall of the fortress of Biblo, Gazef and Iovino, each step an echo that made the walls tremble. "This time they almost managed to get you in trouble. Next time they might even manage to triumph."

Gazef looked at the man, wondering if the weariness leaking from that no-longer-young face was the same as the one he now felt gripping his heart. "Not enough, I'm afraid." Adjusting the buttons of his jacket, he could run his fingers along the wrist that wielded a hilt only minutes before, feeling the cold metal still part of him. "Next time they'll have to do more. We will intensify our training, if we have the time."

When he was still a mercenary, such a proposal would have been met with disapproval, but in the Theocracy such a notion was unheard of. On one hand, it was reassuring to know how much he could count on his men, a thought not always taken for granted when one put the sword up for sale. On the other, it was legitimate to wonder how far one could go before they broke... a prospect that caused much concern, especially when the end was not in sight any soon.

"Whatever you say, Captain," Iovino muttered between his teeth. There was worry slithering across his tongue as something slimy stuck in his throat, begging to be allowed out of the mouth. "I hope the meeting with the general goes smoothly... I'm starting to get impatient. Stupid, I'm aware of that. But the more time we spend locked in this place, the more I miss the battlefield and imposing the will of the Gods."

An easy sentiment to share. They had reached the fortress city not long ago, a couple of weeks at most. But only then had they been received. Why, Gazef could only guess.

"We are still a foreign force, officially without external affiliations. General Aderbaal wants to test us, to see what our intentions are." When he was still serving in the south, a prince had used the same tactic, leaving his company outside the walls for days. A method to test their composure and adherence to the cause. "Lack of discipline, not following orders, insufficient trust in superiors are all cracks that could prove to be chasms in the moment of engagement. Having to use external troops is not easy, and a test of our character is natural and wise," Gazef rested a hand on his second's shoulder, trying to appear as confident as possible. "We will prove to General Aderbaal that he needs our support, just as we proved it to General Barca. Have faith."

Iovino ran a hand over his forehead, adjusting the hair that fell over it. "That never fails, Captain." The pendant engraved with the Fire Goddess' crest was brought to his lips, and a chaste kiss of devotion sealed its value. "What is missing is hope. We have been here for months now, and home seems only a distant memory."

Unexpected, for Gazef would never have imagined that such desires were brooding from his second. Had he overlooked, or taken for granted, that what he felt was also shared by others?

"We'll be back soon. I promise. Back home..." That word sounded wrong as it was repeated by him. "We'll just have to beat these demi-humans, and we can consider our work done." In that instant he realized that he had never asked Iovino, or anyone else in his unit for that matter, where he came from.

The Theocracy was not a monolithic space, but a nation encapsulating different territories and areas with their own customs and history. Perhaps not with many differences from each other, but present. Yet, in his mind, it had been unique and indivisible.

His deputy laughed. A soft, and almost bitter, laugh. "Home... Unfortunately, Captain, our watch never ends. The only home we know is the battlefield, not the Theocracy. And that was what I was referring to. Only once we are back there can I finally feel at peace. I only feel the presence of the Gods when I am one with my mission."

Gazef tried to share his laughter, but could only utter a gasp that appeared to be a gesture of mockery. "I see..." Was it the same for him? Champion was the epithet of the Gods, and he had accepted it. Hero was what they had called him in the Draconic Kingdom, and he had accepted it. Captain was what his men called him, and he had accepted it. "We will draw our swords against evil, then. Once more. Together..."

Gazef Stronoff had accepted many things, and rejected very few. Gazef Stronoff was a man who forged his future with conviction, forgetting the past he never had. The man who was Gazef Stronoff could not always recognise himself in the names by which he was called.

"...Together!" Said Iovino.

Whether it was the Theocracy, with hymns reaching to the heavens and bells ringing eternal glory, or the Draconic Kingdom, with chants rhyming with fear and men fighting before they even learned of courage, their history had not yet been written, and perhaps never would be. This did not make it any less worthy of being remembered.

'Our watch has no end.' And that thought gave comfort.

They arrived in the command room. General Aderbaal was waiting for them, frowning out of the window, his view sweeping over the inner part of the fortress. Beside him, two figures covered in scarlet robes whispered something indiscernible. The difference in height, one short and curved, the other slender and almost touching the sky, was the first detail that jumped out at him.

"Welcome," Aderbaal was a reddish-haired, dull-eyed man. He wore military dress, with just a few chest frills to emphasize his rank. "You must be the famous Sir Stronoff, champion of Gelone's fortress. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." The bearded face, covered in wrinkles, did not reveal the slightest weakness or any other clue that would make it easy to understand what he was thinking. "I regret not being able to welcome you at a more auspicious time. The night is long, and we are far from seeing the light of dawn."

A sturdy arm stretched out to give the welcome. Gazef returned the squeeze, feeling firm fingers tighten. Military life was a constant confrontation, and that was the man's way of telling him that he placed him as -if not his equal- at least worthy of consideration.

"We are glad you sent for us," the captain said, looking around. Apart from the reports that rested on endless maps, books on overflowing shelves and unlit candles, the window was a jumble of plants, with pink and red camellias towering above them all. Only upon seeing the watering can placed on the floor did Gazef realize what the general was occupied with before receiving them. "Tell me, how is the situation?"

"Serious, very serious." General Aderbaal seated them in a pair of armchairs on either side of the room, offering them tobacco and crystal clear water. "But when is the news not serious, here at the front? It would have been worrying otherwise, wouldn't it?"

Gazef arched his lips in a kind of smile, trying to place himself on the same wavelength as the man. Tobacco was difficult for him to digest, but he gladly accepted the water. "The demi-humans showed up, then?"

"No, and that is the worst of it, Sir Stronoff." Finally one of the two hooded figures spoke, the smaller of the two. The voice was familiar to Gazef; a remembrance of a lost and distant sound, rumbling with dark foreboding. "A champion of your stature can well understand what this means."

Now that he was so close, Gazef could recognise him. The name escaped his memory, but it was the same necromancer who had helped them during the siege at Gelone. The same small, dark eyes, the same elongated face with skin so pale that could have been mistaken for rotten, attached to clearly visible bones. And the medallion with the symbol of the Six Gods that broke the red shades of his attire.

"They are preparing for something big."

"Yes," Aderbaal nodded. "The countryside on the border is empty now, and we are full of refugees. The marquises of Zama and Tiro also came here, smelling the danger. At least they brought their troops with them. We fear that the situation that happened to Gelone may happen again, but on a far greater scale this time."

The first time they had managed to wrest a victory with countless sacrifices, and many more resources. "In the worst case scenario, the Draconic Kingdom could find itself deprived of the territories it so painstakingly regained."

"And with part of the population gutted and the rest of the army routed," Iovino concluded for him. His second squared off with the general without losing sight of him for a single second. "And, at that point, the situation would become untenable. You are better informed about the current situation of the garrison here than we are, General. Do you think there is any hope of resistance?"

"No," a dry tone that left no room for doubt. "Currently, even considering the reinforcements we may receive from the Empire and the Theocracy, and using the number of enemies present in Gelone as a basis for comparison, which is a rather optimistic valuation, I believe we would have no chance of victory. Not even with a hero like you, Sir Stronoff."

It was not an insult, but a simple statement. Of this Gazef was aware, but nevertheless a feeling akin to anger was unavoidable. At his worthlessness, more than anything else. 'Can you be a hero only in certain circumstances? Or must you always be one?' The answer to that question was a source of constant uncertainty.

"What are you going to do?" They both knew that surrendering was out of the question. "Wait... or act?"

The general did not change his expression, but Gazef had the distinct feeling that he was smiling. "Khajiit will explain to you the plan we have worked out."

The little man moved even closer, and an intolerable stench hit the noses of the two Theocracy soldiers. A well-known one, which Gazef had had the displeasure of smelling more than once. That of a corpse.

He touched Gazef's hand, and he got the sensation that it was cold and dead. "Captain Luin is currently on a reconnaissance mission, and a short while ago he got us something very... interesting. Do you know anything about magic, Sir Stronoff?"

"I have a general smattering of it, but I can hardly deem myself an expert." As an expert warrior, he had known many spells, during his battles, and recognising their effects was akin to an instinct honed by experience. Discussing the inherent mechanisms, however, was unfeasible for him. "If you were to ask me which ones to use in the course of a confrontation, and the countermeasures to take for the most common ones before a reconnaissance, I could venture something concrete. In other cases, I'm afraid guilty ignorance will be all you get."

"It is more than one would have expected, Sir Stronoff." The second figure spoke. A woman. Again the voice was familiar, and at the same time it was not. "You will forgive us if we leave aside the more theoretical explanations. What counts, in the end, are the results." It was as if a melody that had accompanied him all his life had after a long time been rediscovered, whose lyrics, timbre, tonality he only then recalled. A sweet reminiscence full of lingering yearning, but with the crispness of an autumn wind blowing at the end of a long summer.

A dream in which an entire life had been lived in a single night. In the morning, awakening had faded the image, leaving only fragments and ethereal forms floating in the recondite secrets of remembrance, never leaving the heart. And now that it returned, it seemed as real in the waking world as it did in the oneiric realm.

"I am listening..." Said Gazef. The hood covered most of the woman's features, to which only part of the mouth was clearly visible. Everything about her was white. Pure. The diaphanous skin and thin lips knew no other hue. It was not the white of winter, cold and pitiless. It was not the white of light, warm and welcoming. It was the white that stood at the origin, the one from which the many descended. Primordial and radiant, the one absolute certainty. That which adorned the soul of sanctity.

"Order requires a price, and even sacrifice becomes acceptable compared to an extraordinary result," Gazef realized he was a lake, and the woman's words were the drops that filled him. The shining half-moon that traced her hands in the air, the reflection of a truth that was being unveiled to him at that very moment. "The spiral of death must turn, to reach equilibrium. We need it, you see? Negative energy, born of resentment and regret, to reach the truth."

'Freedom only comes with death.' That sentence was as if whispered directly into his soul. Gazef looked around, to see if he was the only one who had heard it.

Iovino was as bewildered as he was, but General Aderbaal looked at the woman and Khajiit, and finally granted a smile.

"You want to use the undead," when Gazef understood, it was as if the world had been shrouded in a shadow, yet never so clear. Never so simple. "As you did at Gelone's fortress. Use the enemy dead, then turn them against their own comrades." The ethics of that decision were shaky, but in war rules were made to be broken. And, hard to admit, during the siege the undead had been key to the final victory.

If there was honor, in that world, Gazef Stronoff wanted to be its defender. If there was honor, in him, Gazef Stronoff wondered every day what it meant, and what was the right way to pay tribute to it.

"Do not those beasts use our dead as food, our civilians as supplies and our lands as hunting grounds?" The general's question was the kind that did not wait for an answer, already implied in the speech. "Let us use their dead, and their flesh, I say. Let us sacrifice them to our altars and bathe in their blood. Until they can no longer reach out to us, as long as it is the stories of us that keep their children awake in the middle of the night. Until they learn to fear humans, and their arts." The weariness of someone who had stopped dreaming, and who in the waking world had lost all illusion. "We could drive them back, as you did, Sir Stronoff. We could defeat them, using everything at our disposal. But then a year will pass, or two, or three. And they will return. A single one of those creatures can devour an entire defenseless village when it reaches adulthood. Without any special training. Without any need to coat itself in steel or metal. Do you know what I call this thing?"

Gazef did not have an answer.

"Injustice," Iovino, however, did. "Men cannot rebel against a fate that has placed them last. They can suffer and lament their condition, or they can rebel."

It had never occurred to him, in the end, that the Theocracy was the home of that rebellion. The Gods had originally granted mankind the means to repudiate that unhappy fate. Suffering and martyrdom were their cries of rage; war and death, the blades of revolution.

In the midst of those centuries of blood and tears, the story of a mercenary convert was but a tiny footnote of little importance. But that note could have filled the page, had the right decisions been made.

"What do you want us to do?"

Khajiit moistened his lips with satisfaction. "What every good soldier must do," he muttered. "Kill." From his sleeve he slipped out a round, spherical object. A purple ball that pulsed with malevolent energy. He placed it in Gazef's hands, and the captain could feel himself being touched by something formless and wrong. "These orbs capture the very source of negative energy. We have more, many more. Once at least a couple are filled with your efforts, we can begin the actual plan."

Like finely crafted glass, Gazef could see his reflection in that item that exuded power. Eyes that were his own stared back at him, wondering if he was doing the right thing.

Both he and the man in the mirror knew the answer. No less simple, it made it. It was never simple.

"It is not only the death of our enemies you want to make use of," Gazef's temples twitched, leaving room for endless worry. "Our soldiers will also swell the numbers of your new ranks."

"This will give their end a purpose," the general retorted. "Broadly speaking, it takes three well-trained humans to be able to take on one of those beasts. You are more aware of that than I am. This will be one way we can restore balance."

"What does the queen think of all this?" In the end, it was up to her to make the final decision.

Aderbaal hesitated, just for a moment. "She will accept it," the man turned back to his tulips, letting the stems slip through his callous hands. "Do you know the story of the founding of this kingdom, Sir Stronoff?"

"The Rainbow Dragon established it after the Evil Deities were unleashed."

"Correct. Since then, dragon blood has been running through the veins of the royal family. In that of our beloved sovereign, thicker than any before her."

"What do you mean?" At least in appearance, Draudillon Oriculus retained a feminine appearance, and save for some special magical abilities, nothing suggested that any secrets lurked within her.

A dragon could transform and assume any form, some legends recounted, but it was hard to believe that Draudillon Oriculus was capable of such wonders.

And if she was, she was also very good at hiding it.

"It is the ancestral blood, Captain." Iovino turned towards him, with extreme seriousness. His wavy hair partly concealed the fixed gaze, which, however, leaked out with even more intensity. "That of the first dragons who gathered at the Court of the Dragon Emperor. Not like the diluted one of the current dragon lords, no. They are the ancient and remote secrets of the old masters of the world. The magic that shaped the world, and rewrote the laws of the universe. The oldest form of power."

"You mean..."

"The Queen is a more unique example than rare." It was the woman who was white who uttered what sounded like a sentence, a judgment of the utmost assessment. "She was instructed by the Rainbow Dragon, as you called him, or the Brightness Dragon Lord, as most refer to him. His ancient name, I fear, has been lost among the plagues of history. But what is important is that she could use her power to end this war."

"Then why doesn't she?" Gazef felt assailed by doubts. Everything he was hearing was starting to make sense, but something had been kept from him. A crucial piece, one that would give the picture a full meaning. "If she has such powers, why doesn't she end the war herself? Why does she not take to the battlefield, and proclaim victory?" There were many words to define Draudillon Oriculus but, in the short time the warrior had been acquainted with her, coward was not the one he would have used to describe the queen.

"Rules," explained the white woman. "There are rules to be followed. Ancestral magic is an imposition, first of all. As such, it can be celebrated by offerings, or enforced by violence. A good harvest requires good sowing. The queen has inherited the art and vocation, but it is incomplete. A distant replica, lacking in form. She doesn't have obvious qualities that her ancestors possessed and possess. Some of them are obvious, as you can well see. Others are more difficult to discern. In the time of the Dragon Emperor, the use of magic was connected to much more complex mechanisms than those of today... mechanisms that are in part lost."

Gazef thought back to the queen, and to the woman who leaned on him in doubt, and in frailty, but who at the same time imposed herself with grace and dignity in the face of grief. "I am not sure I understand this well, but if it were true, it would mean that there are very clear reasons why Queen Oriculus cannot descend to the battlefield herself." His limited imagination manufactured the woman in battle dress, with an unusually large weapon for her size, like perhaps a great ax or a great sword, wielded to the rhythm of arcane secrets. 'Silly thoughts.' "But if she could manage it..."

"Then the war would be over. Forever." General Aderbaal concluded. A spark of perverse exhilaration ran through his entire body, and beneath that human appearance could be drawn the aura of a fiend. "Sir Stronoff, our queen is capable of great wonders, of which we are not even aware. But to do that, there are only two ways. The first would be for each of the inhabitants of this cursed nation to offer themselves as a sacrifice, to feed her power. A tragic end, don't you think? To escape their torments, men are left to do nothing more than give up not only their lives, but what defines them, placed in the hard choice between horror and oblivion."

"That would be the offering part," and in that case, it was easy to understand why Draudillon Oriculus was reluctant to take such extreme measures. For a queen who saw her kingdom represented by the people, not lands and riches, it was an inconceivable sacrifice. "As for the second?"

The general calmed down, although that vein of madness could still be seen on his face. Literally, for a little lump on his forehead was throbbing unnaturally. "We're still unsure about that one... but there's a reason we handed you that orb. Dragon magic and the nature of undeath, if unrelated, have something in common."

"You don't mean that…"

Khajiit sneered, with teeth whose rot was visible even from a distance. "The soul, Sir Stronoff. What happens when the body takes its last breath? Does the soul remain connected to it? Or does it fly off somewhere? Resurrection magic might make us think of the first hypothesis, yet even such a miracle sometimes fails. And bodies left to their own devices can return in the dark shapes we know so well. Is it the same impulse that moved them before that gives them motion, or are the wheels that spin these new bodies different?" He leaned close to Gazef, and the total absence of any smell now, even the most rancid, was even more unpleasant. "These are only theories, but you understand their practical contribution... could prove very productive."

"So you want me to use this object to capture the souls of enemies?" But was such a feat even possible? Or was it just the ravings of madmen who had lost all other hope? If he had only had to attest to the general and Khajiit, the answer would have been well obvious to Gazef.

But the woman who was white stared at him. Not that he could be sure, with her face still half covered by that crimson hood, but it was a strange feeling. Like his very heart was being grazed by long, sharp nails, gauging its texture and counting its every smallest grain.

"You try it, Sir Stronoff. It will cost you nothing," the general offered his hand to help him up, almost as if he were inviting a guest to leave. "Your first mission will be to reach Captain Luin, and find out where our enemies are holed up at the moment. Do that, and should the fight break out, engage as you always have. You won't have to do anything but slay... this I was told you are very good at."

Gazef placed the 'gift' he had received back into the hands of his second. Iovino had suspicion lashing at his seemingly gracious appearance, but said nothing. He trusted his captain to make the right choice.

"I will think about it," said Gazef Stronoff. "No promises, right?"

"No promises," the woman who was white heartened him. To Gazef she appeared in the midst of the most beautiful of smiles, though her lips had remained still since the conversation had begun, movement a chimera for such appendages. "It's just... a suggestion. A request for help, if you will. For the Draconic Kingdom, of course." Her arm rose and, behind the folds of her robe, a spasm could be caught through the perfect figure. An almost unusual movement. An act of unnaturalness, perhaps granted by a whim.

"Of course, Sir Stronoff," concurred General Aderbaal. "Why don't you start heading out of town? Someone who is waiting for you has arrived. And if you have any uncertainties about what our beloved queen might think, you have nothing to fear. I will inform her Majesty Oriculus as soon as possible, so that when the time is right, she will be able to join us."

"I will," Gazef took his leave, feeling the darkness approaching.

----------------------------------------

When they were outside the palace, he turned to his second. "What do you think of all this?"

Iovino scratched his chin, uncertain. "We should try to follow this plan, Captain."

'Not what I expected to hear.' "I'm just unsure if this is the queen's will. It's true that she gave us free rein, but to act on something so sensitive without her consent... it doesn't seem wise."

Outside, people conversed amiably, letting the tension perceived not overwhelm them. It was to protect that peace that Gazef had wielded the sword, and it was to give those people meaning in their lives that he was prepared to sacrifice even himself.

"The queen has asked me to keep an eye on General Aderbaal, Captain." Iovino said. "She does not trust him. He is a product of the aristocracy, not the royal family. Although I expected to find an incompetent administrator... not a madman."

The doctrine of Theocracy on undeath was clear. Yet Khajiit and his retinue were part of the cult, the most concealed and contradictory part. For those who celebrated the lord of death, Surshana, such a paradox was a vital fluid of belief.

Nigun and the sunlight scriptures had veiled contempt for them, and Iovino seemed to be no less.

"In that case... maybe we should just wait."

"No," retorted his second. Gazef had never had conviction burn so brightly in his gaze. "The queen also entrusted me with the task of assisting the general, in case he was plotting something, and if so, to intervene. If he is up to something crazy, as we really believe, our non-cooperation will only make him more cautious. If, on the other hand, we pretend to follow his plan, we will have the opportunity to expose him." The speech ended there, but the feeling that there was more to be added was pregnant. Was it shame that prevented his second from staring him in the face? Or was there something else?

If her majesty Oriculus had entrusted that task to Iovino, and not Gazef, there could have been many motivations.

"The Cardinals will also have to be warned. They will want to know what the Adepts of the End are up to."

"Aye, I'll see to that."

Gazef nodded, still feeling anxious. He reexamined the orb that had been entrusted to him, still feeling that unpleasant energy seeping from the sphere's refinements, tempted by the possibility of shattering it into a thousand pieces, sitting there.

The possible consequences of such a gesture were what held him back from acting at that very moment.

"In any case, I wonder who is waiting for us…" His lucubrations did not have to wait long before finding an answer.

The gates of the fortress, swarming with guards on every wall, were open and a familiar voice greeted Gazef and Iovino as they reached the place.

"It is good to see you, Sir Stronoff!"

Cerabrate rode into the streets on a pure white horse, his shining breastplate catching the sun's blessings until they shone brighter than they did when they were still in the firmament. Every passer-by would stop to greet him, and to express due respect with simple gestures of devotion, acclaiming his name, bowing to his radiance, or applauding fervently.

"The Fierce Flash is ready to ride again!" He shouted to the cheering crowd. The strength of an adamantium-class adventurer was also that. Exaltation and hope rose with his mere presence, almost as if the light he brought was too much for one man to bear, and had to be shared. "My friend, let's embrace!"

When they were close enough, Cerabrate dismounted from the saddle, and reunited in a gesture of affection with Gazef.

"It is also good for me to meet you again." Someone who did not hide what he was, and who still believed in heroism and aiding others. The Holy Knight was a spokesman for all these values, and the Theocracy warrior couldn't help but be grateful for it in that moment of doubt. "Was it the queen who sent you here?"

Behind the leader, the rest of Crystal Tear followed a few paces behind. Gazef greeted Lilianne with a gesture of his head, who reciprocated with equal discretion, and Imilcone, who looked around dazedly. As far as the warrior had heard, resurrection tended to have long-lasting effects in some cases, and the one that had brought the spellcaster back to life had been a more complicated ritual than the ordinary one.

Gazef wondered how much more he remembered, but decided that would be a speech for another occasion.

''She did not want to send us at first!'' The adventurer exclaimed, feigning astonishment. "Her Great Majesty Queen Oriculus feared it would not be possible to pay our fee, and that our contribution had been far too much. 'Nonsense!' I told her. Do I look like a cheap worker to you? Ready to ask for the gabble when his homeland is in danger?"

"I would say not."

"And you would be goddamn right! I reassured her doubts and guaranteed that our reward would be the smiles of the children who might find peace at the end of it all," he leaned close to Gazef's ear, awash in the scent of violets, whispering with amusement. His comrades apparently shared that noble sentiment. "Between you and me, I think the queen has a soft spot for me. A man knows love in the eyes when he sees it."

Expectations might have been dashed, and where the heart showed a golden sunset, other sights might have beheld only arid desert instead.

"What do you intend to do, now that you are here?" The corner of Gazef's mouth stretched with benevolence and courtesy.

Cerabrate gave him a vigorous pat on the shoulder, nearly making him wobble. "I have already been informed of my duty," said the Holy Knight, glowing with a light that made the most poignant sunset pale. "Get your men ready! The hunt will start soon!"