《Shadow's Fall (Discontinued)》


 Chapter 1: An Unpleasant Awakening

    Dere woke to a half-dozen familiar sensations and another dozen less familiar ones, all of them unpleasant. His head throbbed. His hand stung. His stomach rumbled. His throat rasped. And he was sore, so very sore. Ignoring it all for the time being, he looked around. He had landed in a small room. Shadows covered every wall, and the only light came from a hole in the roof. Suspicious, he rolled over and looked at the ceiling. A hole of curiously similar proportions to himself beamed light back onto his squinting eyes, almost tauntingly.¡°Well, that answers one question.¡± He thought.


    Still on his back, he glanced around the room another time. Despite the sunlight trickling in through the hole, the walls remained bathed in half-shadow. From what he could tell, it looked like a bedroom, unused for some time. A small dresser and a bed he missed by a sparse few feet provided its sole decoration. His body groaned at the taunting proximity to a softer fall. Still though, there were worse landing spots.


    Noticing a stinging pain on his palm, he held his hand in front of his face. Through the dark he could see a cut trickling a small stream of red liquid down his arm. It was blood. He narrowed his eyes, confused. Then, in a single moment, everything clicked. Desperately, he tried to draw upon the shadows of the room, to bring them to him, but they didn¡¯t respond to his call. Ilu never did make idle threats. ¡°Oh, Dere, you¡¯re in it this time.¡± He muttered.


    As the revelation struck him, footsteps of armored men clanged past the door and broke him free from his daze. Trying to shake his weariness off and ignoring the now fading footsteps, he turned over once again and pushed himself up. His body protested every step of the way, but he managed to steady himself on two feet. Instinctively, he stretched, hoping to fix the awful soreness. It only served to further aggravate his aching back. With a defeated sigh, he decided to try and remedy his raging stomach and parched throat. Those, at least, he knew how to fix.


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


    He exited the room into a stone hallway dotted with doors of the same design as the one he left. The hallway''s structure reminded him of a castle or perhaps a large manor, probably the servant¡¯s quarters, judging by the simplicity of the design and architecture.


    ¡°If it¡¯s castle it might have a...¡±He sniffed the air and caught a whiff of something savory. Excited, he followed the smell down the hall and to the left where he found a modest kitchen furnished with a few cupboards, some tables, and a brick fireplace. On the central table, fresh bread, meat pies, and other dishes, sat abandoned, nobody around to guard them.


    ¡°That¡¯s a little alarming.¡± He muttered to himself.Not alarming enough for him to not eat the food, of course, or, for that matter, to not enjoy the half-empty bottle of wine nearby. He devoured the food with little ceremony and washed it down with a healthy swig of wine, providing immediate relief to his stomach and throat. A few days ago, he would have sneered at the bland meal but not now. In that moment, it was the best thing he''d ever had.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    As he feasted, the clanking of chainmail alerted him to several more armored men running past the kitchen door. They didn¡¯t see him as they passed, and he felt no need to draw their attention. It would be both far too much trouble, and would, perhaps more importantly, interrupt the most satisfying meal he''d had in ages. He allowed them to keep running and turn a corner, disappearing into the depths of the castle while he finished his food.


    After dining to his stomach¡¯s content, he left with a loaf of bread in one hand and the wine bottle in another, betting the soldiers would be long gone. To his relief, that bet proved correct. Unfortunately, as he strode through the empty corridors, he ended up running into someone else. Another soldier, mid-thirties and square faced, almost bumped into Dere as he sprinted down the hall. Dere dodged to the side and the soldier reeled around to face him.


    ¡°Halt! State your business. Who are you?¡±He drew his sword, pointing it in Dere¡¯s direction.


    ¡°Oh, please, put the sword down. I¡¯m not in the mood for this.¡±To Dere¡¯s annoyance, the sword stayed very much up. The man glared at him behind it, a familiar energy emanating from him. One Dere couldn¡¯t quite place.


    The soldier continued his questioning. ¡°Are you one of the insurrectionists?¡±


    Dere took a gulp of wine, unconcerned with the rather sharp blade pointed in his direction.¡°Well, first off, I wouldn¡¯t tell you if I was. Secondly, no, of course not. Never been one for politics.¡±


    The guard sneered.¡°Thief then?¡± He nodded his head towards the wine and bread.


    ¡°That might have a smidge of truth to it.¡± Dere admitted with a little reluctance.The guard advanced with intent, sword steady.¡°Oh, relax, you have much larger priorities than a bread thief.¡±His slow advance didn¡¯t halt.¡°Off the top of my head, I think the likely insurrectionists that went running that way certainly seem to qualify.¡± With the hand holding the bottle, Dere pointed down the hallway towards where the other men had run. That, at least, stopped the man¡¯s deliberate advance.


    ¡°Describe them.¡± A hint of panic leaked into his tone.


    ¡°Dressed rather like you, actually. Armed with halberds, I think, or one of those long pointy things that can also cut. I get confused. Seemed in quite the hurry. Probably trying to successfully complete a coup would be my guess, though I¡¯ve just dropped into the middle of this, so it is only a guess. But, by all means, ignore them and arrest me.¡±


    Doubt contorted the guard¡¯s stony face. He looked at Dere, glanced down the hall, glanced back, cursed, and muttered a single worried word. ¡°Marcella¡­¡± With that, he left Dere and ran.


    Dere watched him go. ¡°Rude fellow.¡± He remarked.Wanting nothing more to do with the man, he turned in the opposite direction and walked away. This whole thing did intrigue him a little, but he refused to waver from his general rule of avoiding all mortal affairs, even if he now was one. After all, he had more important priorities to worry about. He needed to prove his innocence and not die before he did.

 Chapter 2: Daughter of the Sun

    Dere had left the servant¡¯s quarters well behind and now wandered in a more ornate part of the building. A guest quarters, he figured, judging by the more luxurious rooms. These had larger beds, fireplaces, ornate carpets, expensive curtains, fancy windows, and well-crafted furniture. Their size was such that three or four of the servant''s rooms could have fit quite snugly into one of these. Not that the luxury mattered much now. The area had already been passed through, trashed, and abandoned by the insurrectionists, allowing Dere a minute to stop and rest.


    Still sore, he leaned against the wall, two dozen or so feet away from a dead servant, a victim of the countless skirmishes still going on within the castle. The dead littered the floor wherever he went, impossible to escape. Nevertheless, the stone cooled his body on touch and did wonders for his throbbing head. For over a minute, he stood there, taking it all in, trying not to panic. He almost rubbed his head with his hands, as was his habit when stressed, until he remembered the blood. His right hand still trickled a small but steady stream of the mortal liquid. Only now did it strike him he ought to do something about it.


    Ripping a strip from his already dirty sleeve, he started to wrap the makeshift bandage around his hand like he had seen others do long ago. Before he could finish, however, several pairs of footsteps came clanging down the hall. ¡°Never a break.¡± He murmured.


    He dipped into the nearest room, giving up on his bandage as he did. Closing the door behind him, he turned to examine his new surroundings. This room had the same decorations as the others: same bed, wardrobe, curtains, furnishings, and a stained window against the far wall, overlooking the castle''s exterior. He walked over and glanced out the window, hoping for an exit route. A hundred foot fall filled his vision and dashed that hope.


    The opening and closing of doors soon joined the sound of approaching footsteps. They were looking for something or someone and getting closer.Instinctively, he tried to disappear into the shadows of the room, but it still didn¡¯t work. His abilities eluded him. The actual hiding places weren¡¯t inspiring either, certainly none good enough to escape a group of bloodthirsty soldiers on the hunt.


    As he looked around, he wondered if he could still fight. It dawned on him that if he couldn¡¯t he might die, here and now, at the hands of lowly soldiers, which he found kind of funny in a macabre way.


    He went to look out the window again, hoping he had missed something. As he did so, he noticed a slight deformity in one of the curtains. Mostly imperceptible given their bulk, but noticeable to someone who looked close enough. Curious, he took hold of the curtain and flung it away, revealing a girl of nineteen or twenty. She wore servant¡¯s garb and had long golden hair put into a ponytail. Her eyes met his and she looked at him with terrified defiance. He looked back with mild surprise.


    ¡°Are you one of Duval¡¯s men?¡± She said, controlling the shaking in her voice.


    ¡°If you mean the soldiers storming the castle, no, certainly not. I''m insulted you''d even ask.¡± Before he could say anything more, the door swung open and four of presumably Duval¡¯s men stormed into the room. Two of them carried halberds and the other two carried crossbows, swords at their sides. They spotted the pair of them, standing by the window in plain sight, and readied their weapons. ¡°Gentleman, look, I¡¯m not¡­¡± Dere began, but they didn¡¯t heed him at all.


    Instead, one of the halberd men pointed in their direction and the two crossbows twanged. The girl flinched and closed her eyes. Dere reacted. The first bolt came streaking towards his face. He shifted his head to the left and avoided it. The other bolt raced straight for the girl. Instinctively, he lashed out his hand and caught it.


    He wasn''t sure who looked more surprised at the bolt now clenched firmly in his palm, he or the soldiers. Their eyes were wide open with shock. He assumed that he bore a similar expression. It seemed like he still had some fight in him, after all.


    As the soldiers'' professional confidence wavered, Dere recovered and turned to them with a smile. ¡°As I was saying gentleman¡­¡± Except, once again, they interrupted him. This time one of the crossbowmen shouted, ¡°Blessed¡± to the others and drew his sword. The confidence had disappeared, but fear and professional resolve remained.


    Their nervousness emoldened him, allowing his usual arrogance to return. ¡°Blessed, oh no, I¡¯m afraid there¡¯s been a misunderstanding.¡± They looked at him, weapons at the ready, preparing to charge. ¡°I¡¯m far worse.¡± The girl backed away towards the window. ¡°This could have been so much simpler. I give you the girl. You let me leave. I wash my hands of this pointless mortal affair. But no, you had to try and shoot me." A manic intensity crept into his words. "I could have died, you know? I could have died!¡±They glanced at each other and back at him. He didn¡¯t know whether he wanted them to run or try and attack. On one hand, he didn¡¯t want to deal with the trouble. On the other, they tried to shoot and kill him, which was a new thing for him, and he didn¡¯t think he liked it. Plus, it had been a bad day and he could use somebody to take it out on.


    At first, it seemed like they might break, their resolve wavering in front of an unknown threat, but they held firm. One of them summoned his courage, yelled, and charged. The rest followed. He would get to take his anger out on someone after all.


    The lead man¡¯s halberd came flying towards his heart, but Dere didn¡¯t let it get close. He flung his hand out towards the curtain and ripped it away. Fabric in hand, he swung it towards the man, catching the tip of the halberd with the cloth, and yanked, knocking the soldier off balance. He stepped past the now askew halberd tip and into the stumbling man¡¯s defense. Swinging his arm around, he smacked his forearm into the side of the soldier¡¯s neck. A sickening crunch of bone accompanied a severe deformation of the spine as the bravest of the four went flying away several feet into the halberd shaft of the man behind him.


    When the limp body hit the shaft it knocked the soldier off balance, giving Dere the window he needed. He sprung forward, seized the wooden shaft of the halberd, and ripped it backward out of the man¡¯s hands with inhuman strength. Like a pendulum, he swung it straight back, away from the man, and then stabbed the spiked pommel forward again through its previous owners breastplate, impaling him on the end of his own weapon.


    He barely had time to finish the thrust before he had to dodge a sword swing aimed at his neck from the next soldier. With a few inches to spare he darted under and to the side of the flashing blade, letting go of the halberd as he did. The soldier didn¡¯t leave much of an opening in his defense, but it didn¡¯t matter. Like a snake, Dere darted in and whipped his hand out to seize the soldier¡¯s sword arm, twisting it until he dropped the sword to the floor with a gasp of pain. Dere met the man¡¯s fearful eyes and slammed his forehead into his exposed skull. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    It half worked as it always had. The man crumpled to the floor like a puppet without its strings, which Dere had expected. He hadn¡¯t expected the stab of pain which hit his own skull like Horon¡¯s Hammer. He had forgotten the whole mortal thing.


    The man lay prone on the floor, limp and harmless, but Dere staggered in pain. Through watery eyes he looked at the fourth soldier and the reloaded crossbow leveled at his exposed chest. ¡°That was stupid of me.¡± He thought, for maybe the last time.Except, the stabbing pain of a crossbow bolt never pierced his heart. The soldier never released. Before he could, a beam of light crossed the room and launched him backwards into the bed, leaving a charred hole, the size of a man¡¯s hand, straight through his chest.


    Dere looked towards the source of light gingerly, wanting to avoid aggravating his throbbing head any further this day. The girl stood by the window one hand on it and the other, still glowing, pointed towards where the final soldier stood a moment before. She turned to appraise Dere with curious eyes.¡°Why¡¯d you headbutt him?¡±


    He winced. ¡°Honestly? I didn¡¯t expect it to hurt.¡±


    She looked at him like he was mad, which was fair. As he cradled his head, she continued. ¡°Are you stupid?¡±


    Still hunched over in pain, he managed to respond. ¡°Pretty hard to deny it at this point.¡±


    She raised an eyebrow and glanced away from him to look at the wounded and dying men on the floor.¡°Okay, if you¡¯re not one of Duval¡¯s men, then who are you and why are you here? You¡¯re no household guard or servant.¡±


    He didn¡¯t respond right away. Instead, he hunched over, trying to drown out the awful pain. After several blinks and a few expletives, he pushed an answer out through gritted teeth.¡°Not your enemy, not your friend. Just someone who wants to leave this maze of a castle and finish this altogether awful day. Now, please, enough questions.¡± As he finished speaking, he reached down and picked up the third soldier¡¯s sword. It was a simple sidesword, nothing more or less. It would do.


    Still moving gently, he went to unbuckle the scabbard from the man¡¯s unconscious form. She watched him in silence. ¡°Rare to see a servant girl channel Reyn.¡± He said while still unbuckling the belt. He struck a casual tone, which did nothing to hide the intent of the sentence. She glared at him as he turned to face her, innocent smile plastered all over his still sore face. ¡°Thought so. Whatever, none of my business.¡±After fastening the scabbard around his waist, he walked away. This entire situation held marginal interest and much trouble, not worth his now limited time.


    However, before he got to the door, the girl managed another sentence. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve noticed, but you¡¯re bleeding.¡±


    The wound on his right hand had opened more during the fight. Now, a steady trickling of blood flowed from it, coloring the carpet.¡°Oh yeah, keep forgetting.¡±As he wondered how to stop the bleeding, she walked over to him.


    ¡°Give me your hand.¡±


    With more than a little suspicion, he gave her his wounded hand. She took a second to examine the wound before tearing off a strip of her own sleeve as a bandage and wrapping it around his palm.


    ¡°Thank you, by the way.¡± She murmured while fastening the bandage.


    He blinked at her, surprised.


    ¡°It occurs to me you probably saved my life.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be too flattered. I was fully prepared to just hand you over.¡± Despite the harsh words, his tone had a trace of light-heartedness to it.


    ¡°Yes, I remember you mentioning something like that.¡± She said as she worked on the bandage, ¡°Nevertheless, first option or not, I¡¯m alive because of you.¡±


    He looked back towards where the fourth soldier lay prone, hole bored through his chest. ¡°And I because of you.¡± He murmured, unsure if she even heard. She didn¡¯t seem to acknowledge it, at least, continuing to straighten the bandage.


    He looked at her face as she double-checked her work. A small girl, her head only reached the base of his neck, with sharp features that made her appear older than her actual age. She had tan, golden skin, slightly darker than her hair, and amber eyes. ¡°Strange looking girl.¡± He thought. ¡°Certainly pretty enough, though.¡±


    As soon as she seemed to consider the bandage done, she wiped her bloodied hands on the servant¡¯s garb. ¡°So, what god do you owe your allegiance to?¡±


    ¡°Me? As I told those fellows. I¡¯m no Blessed.¡±


    She snorted. ¡°Yes, you did say that, and I don¡¯t believe you. Who is it? Horon? Valeris? Afre, maybe?¡±


    He smiled. ¡°I told you. I¡¯m not a Blessed.¡± She seemed doubtful. ¡°I suppose, if you insist, you could say I ... follow Dere.¡±


    ¡°Dere?¡± She said, sounding surprised. ¡°The God of Shadows doesn¡¯t take mortal followers. Besides, if he did, I doubt they¡¯d be so¡­¡± She looked at the corpses on the ground with a little queasiness. ¡°...direct.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°Believe me, I''d have been less direct if I could. As I said. I¡¯m no Blessed.¡±


    ¡°Not a Blessed?¡± Her tone reflected her disbelief. ¡°No way, you''re too fast and too strong for any normal human.¡±


    ¡°Who said I was human?¡±


    She rolled her eyes at him.He smiled and shrugged, choosing to let the conversation end there. She seemed less satisfied, slight frown curling her lower lip. After a few moments of silence, she spoke up again. ¡°You said you wanted to leave the castle?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Yes, thanks for reminding me. I really should be going.¡± He turned to leave, uneager to stay any longer.


    ¡°Wait!¡± She said, a tinge of desperation in her tone. ¡°If you¡¯re having troubling leaving the castle, I can get you out.¡± That got his attention. ¡°Most of the main exits are swarming with Duval¡¯s dogs. I know a few other ways which are more lightly watched, one of which I¡¯m sure they don¡¯t know about. We¡¯d still have to force our way through a few men, but that¡¯s much better than the main gates.¡±


    He pondered it for a second. ¡°Tempting but no. You¡¯re trouble. I help you out, suddenly I¡¯m mixed into this whole thing, which is the opposite of what I want. I don¡¯t get involved in mo... in political affairs.¡±


    ¡°Please. We help each other out and split ways afterwards. I promise.¡± She was too proud to plead outright. This was as close as she¡¯d get. He sighed.


    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s... reasonable.¡± He said, sounding a little defeated.


    She suppressed a relieved smile. ¡°Good, I¡¯m glad we can help each other." She passed him and peeked out the door. "If we want to escape, we should leave now.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°The kitchen, near the servant¡¯s quarters. There¡¯s an unguarded exit there. It¡¯s our best chance.¡±


    Dere rubbed his forehead with his uninjured hand. ¡°Because of course it¡¯s there. Why wouldn¡¯t it be there?¡±

 Chapter 3: Petty Mortal Affair

    It proved easier to get back to the servant¡¯s quarters than he had feared. Duval¡¯s men, whoever they were, swarmed all over the castle, but the girl knew how to get around the worst of the patrols, and he could help her duck away from the rest. By this point, the fighting had all but ended. Corpses of palace guards littered their path, remnants of earlier skirmishes, but they provided no real obstacle anymore.


    They traveled mostly unopposed until around the point they passed the room Dere had woken in. There, ten men, armed to the teeth, stood at the turn for the hallway to the kitchen, talking amongst themselves. Dere pulled the girl backwards by her arm before the soldiers spotted them. ¡°I thought you said they wouldn¡¯t be guarding this one.¡±


    She looked at him, annoyed sneer darting across her young face, and yanked her arm out of his hand. "They¡¯re not guarding it. They¡¯re just standing there, talking to each other. Probably slacking or something.¡±


    ¡°For our purposes, I don¡¯t think it makes any difference whether they¡¯re actually guarding it or not. Is there another way around?¡±


    Brow furrowed, she took a second to think while Dere listened for any sound of movement. ¡°Not any easy way, no.¡±


    Dere sighed. ¡°You mentioned other exits, where?¡±


    ¡°A few servant¡¯s exits, all guarded, and an escape route from the master bedroom, which is swarming with Duval¡¯s men. Nothing too easy. This was our best chance.¡±Dere tried not to look too exasperated while he sorted through the options.The girl spoke again, chewing on her lip as she thought. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe they¡¯ll move.¡±


    Dere frowned. ¡°We don''t have time to wait. Whatever friendly troops there were all seem to be captured or dead by now. Sooner or later, probably sooner, they will find us.¡±


    ¡°Fine then,¡± She said. ¡°We¡¯ll make them move.¡±


    Dere looked at her incredulously. ¡°Oh, great idea, I¡¯ll get right on it. Tell you what, I¡¯ll walk up to them and give them a push. That ought to move them.¡±


    She didn¡¯t seem to appreciate the sarcasm.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to try something. Did you see a window at the far end of the hall?¡±


    ¡°Yes...¡±


    ¡°Was there sunlight streaming through it?¡±


    Dere cocked an eyebrow. ¡°Interesting. Yeah, there was.¡±


    He watched as she crept past him towards the corner and peeked around it, careful not to let the soldiers see her. He followed with silent footsteps, pretty sure he knew what she planned to do. The window she referred to sat at the far end of the perhaps sixty foot hallway, above the spot where the hall turned to the right. The corridor to the kitchen split off left about twenty feet down the hall, and the soldiers stood maybe thirty feet away.


    The girl took a deep breath and moved her fingers in odd twisting patterns, muttering a soft prayer under her breath as she did. The light pouring through the window twisted and distorted with her movements, until it formed an almost human like figure. She kept it there for a few seconds until one of the soldiers noticed it. He pointed and the others looked. As soon as they saw, she sent the light illusion down the hall, out of the soldiers view, where it disappeared once it left the light of the window.


    Alarmed, seven of the ten soldiers went dashing after it, leaving three behind, uncertain whether to follow or not. Dere could handle three.


    He turned the corner, drew his sword, and dashed down the hall, faster than any normal human could manage but in almost complete silence. The first soldier never even saw his approaching death. His head and neck separated with a flash of Dere¡¯s sword. The second soldier managed to look at Dere and almost shout before the sidesword slit his throat open, quieting him forever. The final soldier placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and almost drew, but he was far too late. Dere stabbed him through his heart before the sword even got halfway out. It took, in total, maybe ten seconds.


    Turning the corner, the girl walked towards Dere, avoiding any glimpse longer than a second at the soldier¡¯s bodies.


    ¡°You¡¯re much more handy than I had imagined.¡± Dere said, sounding a little impressed as he wiped his blade off on a dying soldier¡¯s tunic.


    She nodded, trying her best not to vomit. ¡°I can manage a little channeling now and then.¡± She turned away from him and the bodies. ¡°Can we go now?¡±


    They started walking away."I¡¯d say it was more than a little channeling.¡± He whispered, still curious, as they skirted around the edge of the hallway. She ignored him. He shrugged, figuring they both had the right to secrets.


    They neared the kitchen but had to stop just short. From inside, the sound of men talking and eating bounced off stone walls.


    Dere turned around and signalled the girl to wait. With muffled footsteps, he crept towards the door. When he reached the opening, he leaned against the wall and reached for his sword. Something, perhaps a feeling, stopped him, however. Instead, he picked up a chunk of masonry on the floor. As he did so, he caught a little of the soldiers¡¯ conversation. Their murmurs barely reaching his ears.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. There¡¯s something different about him. He¡¯s off somehow.¡±


    Dere paused, curious.


    ¡°Maybe, I¡¯m not sure.¡± Said a second soldier.


    A third spoke up. ¡°Are you pretending to know the Commander?¡±


    ¡°No, of course not, I just¡­ you know, we all get the same orders. It¡¯s different. This massacre, the battle, it¡¯s all so¡­ bloody.¡±


    They didn¡¯t talk for a few seconds. Then, the third spoke up again. ¡°I¡¯m not going to pretend to like this anymore than you, but it doesn¡¯t prove anything about the Commander. He¡¯s always been a hard man.¡±


    The first spoke up again. ¡°Not like this. Never like this.¡± He paused, seeming to summon his courage. Much quieter this time, he murmured. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, it¡¯s those things. They¡¯re not right.¡±


    ¡°Shush,¡± Said the third soldier. ¡°This conversation is over.¡±


    Dere cocked his head in contemplation but ultimately chose to ignore it. Brick now in hand, he chucked it down the hall before turning and slinking backwards to where the girl was, pulling her around the corner as he reached her. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    The brick made a satisfying crash at the far end of the hall. A few seconds later, he peeked out in time to see three men bursting through the doorway. They looked around, confused and dashed to where the brick landed. As they moved, Dere grabbed the girls arm and pulled her with him towards the kitchen. They reached the door and slipped in while the soldiers were still trying to figure out what they had heard.


    ¡°It occured to me¡± He said, sounding almost proud of himself. ¡°That maybe I shouldn¡¯t kill every single soldier.¡±


    While she fiddled with one of the cupboards, she responded. ¡°They killed almost everyone I know. I couldn¡¯t care less what you do to them.¡±


    He blinked. ¡°Oh, I mean, if you want, I guess I could go¡­¡± He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to where the soldiers argued over the noise.


    With exasperation, she said. ¡°No, no, it¡¯s fine. Let¡¯s leave.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± He said, confused. He had never understood mortals.


    A few seconds later she found what she had spent the last thirty or so seconds scrounging for. With a sigh of relief, she pulled something inside one of the cupboards and the whole thing swung open. Dere looked down the tunnel.¡°Paranoid lot.¡± He commented.


    ¡°For good reason, it appears.¡±


    ¡°Paranoia often is.¡±


    She motioned him to follow her into the tunnel, but he held a hand up, signalling her to wait. He turned around and sifted through some of the cupboards and cabinets.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± She hissed.


    Without sparing her a glance, he responded.¡°Grabbing something. If you want to leave, you¡¯re under no obligation to wait for me.¡±


    She stood at the edge of the tunnel, glancing at it and back at him, nervous but not moving.Eventually, he let out a quiet grunt of triumph and, from an upper cabinet, lifted two bottles of wine.¡°For the road.¡± He said, smiling.


    She looked at him, furious.Mouth pressed tight in anger, she opened it to say something, until some noise interrupted her. The sound of fighting, down the hall, where the soldiers had gone to look for the sound. They had been arguing amongst themselves for the past minute until grunts and the clang of metal on metal replaced their frustrated tones.


    ¡°It must be some of the remaining loyalists.¡± The girl said, sounding relieved. She left the precipice of the tunnel and went to peak out the kitchen door.


    Dere looked at her, puzzled, and shrugged. ¡°None of my business.¡± He murmured. Turning his back on her, he started walking towards the tunnel, away from the fighting, until a wave of heat and energy passed through him. A familiar feeling of power, much stronger than before radiated throughout the halls. Strong enough to identify now. An aura he knew well. He closed his eyes. A golden god, perched on a golden throne, glared at him, face tinged with grief and disappointment. His shoulders hunched underneath the weight of everything. Beside him stood a man with reddish gold hair and blazing eyes, who looked on with scorn.


    ¡°Banto Re¡­¡± It came out as a whisper, audible to him alone.


    With a shake of his head he broke from the stupor. The noise had stopped. The fighting had ended. The power had dissipated. He turned from the tunnel, bottles still in hand and went to join the girl at the door. She was smiling. A pair of footsteps came running and the girl went out to meet them. Dere looked out the door to see her hugging a man, a guard. A familiar figure, actually. Dere recognized him. A man in his early thirties, strongly built with brown hair and a square face.


    ¡°You¡¯re alright.¡± The man murmured as he hugged her. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re alright.¡± Then, the guard looked from her to Dere, who looked on with an amused expression. His face, which had shown actual human emotion for a few seconds, reverted back to its previous stony gaze. ¡°Back for more bread?¡± He said, releasing the girl and reaching for his sword.


    Dere smiled. ¡°No, afraid not, just wine this time.¡± He said, holding the two bottles in the air.The guard scowled and grabbed the hilt of his blade.¡°Oh, please do. I want you to try. I''m always willing to knock one of Banto Re''s loyal hounds down a few pegs.¡± There was an unexpected hostility in his tone.


    A surprised reaction flickered across the guard¡¯s face for a half-second before he wrestled it away and brought back the stoic gaze. Trying to appear unfazed, he began drawing his sword, heat now emanating from him.


    ¡°Markus, stop!¡± Hissed the girl, surprised at the tension. ¡°This man saved my life.¡±


    Markus paused, sword half out, and looked at the girl.¡°Who is he, then?¡± An edge crept into his tone.


    She pursed her lips. ¡°This is¡­ well, honestly, I don¡¯t know, but he did save my life.¡±


    Dere tilted his head and smiled again. ¡°Well, only after those soldiers so rudely interrupted my offer to hand you over.¡±


    Markus finished drawing his sword. Dere tapped the hilt of his, smile plastered across his face. Each of them tensed for a fight.


    ¡°This is moronic!¡± The girl grabbed Markus¡¯ sword arm and brought it down. ¡°He helped me get here. I¡¯d be dead without him.¡± A little of the tension throughout Markus¡¯ body seemingly released.


    Dere by contrast, remained very still, body ready to move at any moment as he glared at Markus.The familiar power, the image, had set him more on edge than he¡¯d been in a long time. Anger washed out everything else. He had let it simmer and boil, ignoring it, but, underneath, it raged. Loyal for so long and this was his reward.


    His hand had gone white as he gripped the sword hilt like he wanted to strangle it. Markus stepped in front of the girl. They watched him, eyes filled with apprehension, waiting for his next move. His grip on the sword loosened. ¡°Yes, yes, you¡¯re right. This is stupid.¡± The edge in his voice disappeared. The same lighthearted tone he¡¯d used before had returned.


    Markus loosened up. The girl let out a sigh of relief. ¡°Now, if you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯ll be leaving. If we''re lucky, we¡¯ll never see each other again.¡±Once more, Dere turned to leave.


    ¡°Wait!¡± It was the girl. He didn¡¯t turn around, but he did stop.


    ¡°What now?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to go. You could help us. We could use you. Take down Duval together." She summoned some courage before her next words. "I am Queen Marcella of Clovin, daughter of Merchantlord Aric, and last remaining heir to the throne.¡± She said it with an impressive gravitas.


    Dere wasn''t impressed. ¡°Had you figured for a princess. Seemed too young for a Queen, but close enough, I suppose.¡± Markus looked perturbed, but she seemed unsurprised.


    Dere turned and faced them, small grin stretching his face. ¡°Doubtless, you want to recruit me into your campaign for vengeance, or justice, or peace, or whatever you want to call it. Doubtless, you¡¯ll try to persuade me you¡¯re doing the right thing, you¡¯re the good guys, the heroes. This Duval fellow is the tyrant, the bad guy.¡± She said nothing. ¡°You know what I also know? I know if I went to this Duval, whoever he is. Doubtless, he¡¯d tell me a different story, a convincing one, I¡¯m sure. Doubtless, he¡¯d tell me about his campaign for justice, or peace. Doubtless, he¡¯d tell me all about how he¡¯s the good guy, the hero. Doubtless, he¡¯d tell me your husband was a tyrant, unfit for rule. Am I getting this right?¡±


    With suddenly hate filled eyes, she responded. ¡°You know nothing, nothing.¡±


    He smiled, a slow joyless smile. ¡°Yet, simultaneously, I know a lot. I¡¯ve been around a long time. Much longer than you would guess. I¡¯ve seen the same story and all its many variants repeat itself again and again. The same sad cycle. And, you know, that¡¯s the worst part. You might be right. Maybe, you are the good guys, the heroes. Duval may be a true tyrant. I don¡¯t know, but I do know this. Soon enough it will just be the same thing again. There will be another Duval and another family on the throne. Nothing will change. It will take a different form, maybe, but it will be the same.¡± His expression had been darkening. The grin replaced by a mellow ancient gaze as he locked his eyes onto hers. ¡°So why spill all the blood? Why start a Civil War? Why ruin innocent lives? Your family or Duval, it barely matters now and it certainly won¡¯t matter later. This, I do know.¡±


    They stared at each other as he finished. Her face betrayed a maelstrom of emotions, trying to fight back the anger and the tears. He knew his own face looked at her calm and sad. She was full of such fight, of such hope. ¡°You¡¯re wrong.¡± Her eyes glistened wet with emotion. ¡°You¡¯re wrong.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, maybe.¡± He turned and left, this time for real.

 Chapter 4: Whispers of Faceless Men

    For the first time, he saw his new reflection. He was tall but not very tall, thin but not skinny, with grey hair and eyes of various grey hues, from nearly white to almost black. He looked like a man in the prime of his youth, twenty-three, twenty-five, somewhere around there. His clothes were the same as he last remembered, black longcoat with gold and red threads and a white undershirt, once fine but now tarnished by wear and mud.


    It was about what he expected. The best human approximation of his being and a form he knew well. The familiarity failed to temper how wrong it felt, though. This was a human approximation of him, of his face. It wasn¡¯t him. Except, now, he supposed it was. A dozen emotions flared and extinguished: despair, curiosity, loss of control, disbelief, and many more. Eventually, only anger remained. Once again, he clenched his fists in outrage.


    ¡°What have I done to deserve this?¡± He thought. ¡°My years of loyalty, the sacrifices I made, all for¡­ this. To be thrown away with prejudice.¡± His inner-anger threatened to break out, breath escalating in intensity, shout waiting on the precipice of his lips.


    ¡°Boy, are you alright?¡±A man, a blacksmith, approached him from behind. Dere looked away from the piece of polished metal he¡¯d been staring into, trying to regain his lost composure.¡°That piece you¡¯ve been staring at ain¡¯t for sale. One of them fancy types up at the palace ordered it a few weeks ago.¡± He paused for a second. ¡°Though, I suppose they mightn¡¯t even be alive anymore.¡± He scratched his beard. ¡°Suppose I could sell it to y¡­¡±


    ¡°No, no, I¡¯m not interested.¡±


    The blacksmith, a stocky man with greying brown hair and a booming voice, was taken off guard.¡°You been staring at it for the past three minutes. What you mean your not interested?¡±


    ¡°Suppose I just wanted to see my face.¡± Dere shrugged, the rage now dissipated.


    ¡°You ain¡¯t that pretty, boy.¡± Said the blacksmith with some annoyance.


    Dere laughed. ¡°So I¡¯ve been told.¡±


    Shaking his head, the blacksmith walked past Dere and inspected the polished metal for some kind of damage. ¡°Are you buying something or not?¡±


    ¡°Afraid not, just lost.¡±


    Noticing a minor blemish in the metal, the blacksmith pulled out a rag and wiped at it. While he polished, Dere looked at the surrounding neighborhood. He had exited the tunnel into a decrepit cellar, abandoned for decades. After leaving, he wandered around the large city until it turned to night. He ended up falling asleep underneath some grubby bridge after finishing his wine, complimenting one of the worst days of his life with one of the worst nights as well. Waking past midday in an even worse mood than the day before, he once again wandered, this time for hours, until he ended up here.


    ¡°You need directions or what?¡± Said the man, not even looking at him now. His interest faded once he learned Dere didn¡¯t want to buy anything.


    ¡°I would need a destination for directions. If you could just tell me where I am, I would appreciate it.¡±


    Shrugging, the man turned to face him. ¡°You¡¯re in the East merchant¡¯s district, smithing section. Underneath Highlord Besson¡¯s jurisdiction.¡±


    Dere filed the information away. ¡°That¡¯s great and all, but I was wondering if you could tell me what city I¡¯m in?¡±


    ¡°What city?¡± The smith looked at him, eyebrow raised in perplexion.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re in Vicare.¡± Dere looked stumped, so the man continued. ¡°Capital of Clovin?¡±


    ¡°Starting to sound a little more familiar.¡± Dere¡¯s mind struggled to recall what little he knew of the mortal world. ¡°Remind me, where is Clovin?¡±


    ¡°Where is Clovin!¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s what I said.¡±


    ¡°Boy, are you alright?¡±


    Dere sighed. ¡°Most certainly not, but that has nothing to do with not knowing where I am, so, if you could remind me, where is Clovin?¡±


    ¡°Southwest Adera, the Middle Continent.¡± The smith looked at Dere like he might look at a mad man.


    Finally, Dere¡¯s eyes lit with recognition. ¡°Ah, you should have led with that. Clovic¡¯s old kingdom, right? I¡¯ve heard of Clovic.¡± He reached back into his memory. Someone had mentioned Clovic to him once. He had been important. Dere hadn¡¯t been paying much attention. ¡°How long ago did he rule, again?¡±


    The smith scratched his beard, unused to questions of history. ¡°My ma could tell you better. She knows all this stuff, but, hmmmm¡­ five-hundred years?¡±


    ¡°Five-hundred years¡­¡± Dere mused. ¡°Actually, not too far off. Maybe I¡¯m not as behind as I thought.¡±


    The smith shook his head, baffled by the man in front of him. Dere gave him his best reassuring smile. ¡°Thank you very much, sir. I think I¡¯ll be leaving now.¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    The smith watched Dere as he left, trying to figure out what had just happened. ¡°Boy, where are you going?¡±


    All he got in return was an exaggerated shrug. It was the most honest answer Dere could give.


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


    The smith¡¯s question rang echoed in his ears as he walked. ¡°Where are you going?¡± It was a fair question, one he lacked an answer to. Where was he going? What was he going to do? Prove his innocence? How? He wrestled with each question as he wandered around Vicare, hopelessly lost.


    After walking nowhere in particular for quite some time, he eventually ran into something interesting. A man, slight and skinny, stood up on a makeshift podium in the middle of the street, preparing to make some announcement. A modest crowd had gathered around him. He began, voice booming. ¡°Ladies and Gentleman, I come with wonderful news.¡±Dere stopped and listened to what the man had to say, though he had a guess.¡°Yesterday was a triumphant day. The tyranny of Erdrick, scourge of Clovin, has ended. Highlord Duval, the just and mighty, has seized the throne and knocked the senile old man off the seat of power.¡± As he talked, he made grand gestures with his hands, waving them around with every syllable. ¡°Duval will usher in a new era. One of peace and¡­¡± Dere zoned out the rest of the speech. It was all so standard. He could have filled in the rest, if asked.


    Ignoring the man, still gesticulating wildly behind him, Dere walked forward and looked around. He had wandered into a more residential area. Children ran on the street, mothers yelling at them to come back. Men chatted in the shade. The smell of freshly made dinner wafted through the air. His stomach rumbled and, for the first time in a while, his mind stopped thinking about the smith¡¯s question. He was hungry again. In the distance, he spotted a pub. At least, it looked like the pubs he had known. Without thinking, he walked over to it, drifting between the throngs of people and away from the herald.


    The building sat on the edge of the residential area, close to what looked like a docks. A muddy river, brimming with small ships flowed not too far away. It was a wooden structure, built atop a strong stone foundation and isolated from the rest of the buildings. Men of all types walked in and out: merchants, dockworkers, guards, and scoundrels. From inside, wonderful aromas drifted out onto the street, tantalizing any passerby. Among them he could make out the smell of beer, bread, and meat, three things his famished mortal body begged for. Yet, he had a slight problem. He had no coin.


    As he sifted through empty pockets, two figures, one tall and one short, walked out of the pub. Well, one walked, the other, the short one, mostly stumbled.


    ¡°Get offa me. Don need ya help.¡± The drunk man yanked away from his taller companion and immediately barrelled straight into Dere. Dere caught him with ease and handed him over to his friend.


    ¡°Thanks for the help.¡± Said the sober one, a tall man with reddish hair. Nodding at Dere, he grabbed the drunken man by the arm and led him away. Dere watched them leave and, after they turned down an alley, held the drunken man¡¯s purse in front of his face, feeling its weight. There was some satisfying bulk to it. It was the first lucky thing to happen to him all day.


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


    Dere sat in the corner of the room, watching the door and sipping on warm beer. The meal he had purchased for a silver coin from the smiling blond serving girl at the counter rested satisfyingly in his stomach. A nearby fire warmed his cold bones and the idle chatter between the patrons helped settle his mind. It felt nice.


    He had been relaxing for thirty minutes or so when a strange new patron entered the bar. He was a tall man with a large build, who walked easily with the sword on his belt. A soldier, Dere assumed, but there was something wrong with him. He kept glancing around the bar like he was scared of everything and everyone. The blonde bartender at the counter turned to smile at the new customer, but when she saw him the grin slid from her face.¡°Nicolas!¡± She said, shock shaking her voice. ¡°I thought you were dead!¡±


    Dere and the rest of the customers turned to observe the conversation. Nicolas sat at the counter, back hunched, shivering.¡°I should be.¡± He murmured, voice struggling to stay composed


    She looked at him, her face filled with clear concern. "Nicolas, what happened?"


    ¡°It was a massacre, a shame to Horon. Everyone is dead.¡± He shook back and forth in his seat. The girl glanced at the other patrons, at a loss for what to do. Most of them looked away, wanting no part of it.


    One of the customers, who sat at a nearby table with two other men, spoke up. ¡°Tell us boy, what really happened? Duval¡¯s entered the city unopposed. The royal family has been overthrown and the loyal Highlords are either on the run or have already knelt. I thought the loyalists outnumbered Duval¡¯s side?¡± There was that name again, Duval. Dere¡¯s interest in the conversation faded. He returned to his beer but kept his ear on it for boredom¡¯s sake.


    The soldier broke into tears. His sobs filling the whole bar. Everybody looked at him, worried and confused. Dere examined his drink. ¡°We outnumbered them two to one. Sergeant was saying it was a sure victory, surest he had seen in years. Bu¡­ but¡­ but...¡±


    ¡°Pull yourself together, kid. What happened?¡±


    He was sobbing uncontrollably, shaking in his seat as he did. ¡°Amongst Duval¡¯s men, there were¡­. there were¡­. monsters, faceless men who felt no pain!¡±


    Dere whipped his head away from his beer and straight to the soldier, eyes wide.The man continued. ¡°No matter how much we cut them they just kept coming. They were so strong! I had no choice! They were killing everyone!¡± There was a manic intensity to his tone. ¡°I had to run. I had to. Barely anyone else made it out alive!¡± He paused. ¡°No choice¡­ no choice.¡±


    The pub had gone silent, the sole noise coming from the deserter¡¯s sobs. Everyone watched him. Some decided he was mad, others gave him nervous glances, not so sure. All of them sat petrified, stuck to their seat. Their fear hung in the air like a shroud, deafening. Nobody wanted to speak. Surprisingly, it was Dere who ended up breaking the silence.¡°These faceless men, describe them.¡±


    Still crying, the man tried to speak. ¡°Monsters, horrible monsters. They had no faces, blank skin where the eyes should be, no mouth, no nostrils. They weren¡¯t human. I¡¯m telling you, they weren¡¯t human!¡±


    He looked at Dere now, eyes filled with terror. Dere looked back, thinking a million different thoughts. ¡°No hair either?¡± Dere already knew the answer.


    The man shook his head, looking at the floor as he did. The blonde bartender turned to look at Dere. Her face warped with fright and confusion.¡°What? You know these things?


    Dere stood and stretched his neck. Things had changed and fast. He started heading for the door, but, before he left, he answered her question. ¡°I guees I do.¡±


    With that he left out the front door, conversation from the tavern buzzing behind him as he did. He ignored it all, mind sorting ideas and possibilities. He still didn¡¯t know where he wanted to go, but he did know what he needed to do and who he might need to talk to.

 Chapter 5: Reunion

    ¡°You were easier to find than I expected.¡± He was reclining in a sturdy wooden chair, legs kicked up on a desk, nibbling at an apple that didn¡¯t belong to him. The Queen, Marcella of wherever, daughter of whomever, stared at him in shock.


    She managed to fumble out a sentence. ¡°How¡¯d you find me?¡±


    Dere gave her a mischievous grin. ¡°Greased a few pockets, asked a few questions, displayed some patriotic sentiment, climbed through a third story window. Really, it was quite simple. Only took a day or two. And now I''m...¡± He looked around at the moist grimy walls surrounding him with a little distaste. ¡°... here.¡± They were on the third floor study of an abandoned manor on the Western edge of the city. Once large and stately, it had fallen into disrepair and left to rot, providing an excellent hiding place for a Queen on the run.


    Marcella looked at him, looked behind her, looked back, mouth agape the whole time. ¡°Sorry, maybe I started with the wrong question.¡± The surprise was fading and anger rose to fill the void. ¡°Why, in Ilu¡¯s name, are you here?¡±


    ¡°I think it would be obvious. I¡¯m decided to be a hero. Help you get your country back. Join this rebellion you¡¯ve got brewing down here. Maybe even save the world.¡± He didn¡¯t even try to hide the smile.


    ¡°For some reason, I don¡¯t believe you. Should I call up the guard?¡± She was simmering.


    Dere chuckled and took another bite out of the apple. ¡°No, no, that won¡¯t be necessary. If you must know, I¡¯m here for information.¡± She raised an eyebrow but nothing more.¡°I want to know about Duval. I figured, probably correctly, you and your little group would be able to tell me what I need to know.¡±


    She tilted her head in confusion, anger abating a little. ¡°Why would you, of all people, want to know about Duval? You made your opinion pretty clear on our petty political affairs.¡±


    ¡°An opinion I still stand by.¡± The humor left his tone and a colder edge crept into his voice. ¡°It¡¯s not so much about Duval. It¡¯s about who, or rather what, he¡¯s employing. You¡¯ve heard of these faceless men, I assume?¡±


    Cautious amber eyes fixated on his.¡°What do you know about them?¡±


    ¡°Much more than you do.¡±She frowned and stared at the floor, unsure and still a little angry. ¡°What I¡¯m proposing,¡± He continued, trying his best to sound reasonable. ¡°Is an exchange of information. We help each other out. I tell you what I know about the faceless men. You tell me what you, and your group,¡± He motioned around the building. ¡°Know about Duval.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡± She said after a moment''s thought. ¡°You start.¡± Dere raised his eyebrows. ¡°Forgive me if I¡¯m unwilling to put my full trust in a man who not only claims to follow the God of Liars and Thieves but also whose name I still don¡¯t know. You start.¡± She gave him a mocking grin.


    His laugh bounced around the musty room. ¡°Suppose it¡¯s hard to argue with that logic. So, what do you want to know?¡± He took another bite from the apple.


    ¡°What are they?¡±


    Chewing on the apple, he considered how to answer. ¡°Men, dead men, resurrected by Ona or one of her followers into the perfect soldier. They feel no pain, they¡¯re thrice as strong as a regular man, they follow orders without question, and they have no pesky morality holding them back. They¡¯re quite effective, as I¡¯m sure you know.¡±


    Head tilted, she mused. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense. Ona was killed...¡±


    ¡°Three thousand years ago, yes.¡± He said, interrupting her. ¡°They were the Goddess of Darkness¡¯ foot soldiers in the Immortal War. Haven¡¯t been seen since she....¡± He paused again before settling on a word. ¡°...perished. Which is why I¡¯m so curious how Duval managed to get his hands on an army of them.¡±


    Marcella bit at her lower lip, consumed in thought. She settled on her next question. ¡°Okay, leaving aside the hundreds of other questions that brings up, how do we beat them?¡±


    Dere shrugged. ¡°There are a few ways. As I said, they¡¯re obedient, almost to a fault. Take out their commander or exploit his human limitations and you can beat them. They have no thought of their own. They will follow orders without hesitation, straight over a cliff even, if you¡¯re clever enough.¡± His eyes twinkled and he sported his signature grin. She nodded in understanding.


    Rubbing her face, she spoke to nobody in particular and sat down across from him. ¡°This is crazy. Monsters of a long dead god, here, in Clovin.¡± She looked back at him, realization dawning on her face. ¡°It was Dere who did it right? Dere who killed Ona? Is that why you¡¯re suddenly so interested in this?¡±


    ¡°Know your history, I see.¡± His eyes went very cold, their usual multicolored gray hardening to almost black. ¡°But yes, I suppose that''s what they say.¡± It was clear that he¡¯d give her nothing more. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Confused by his sudden mood turn, she paused before her next question.¡°Okay, who¡¯s their leader, then? Duval?¡±


    A grin worked its way back onto Dere¡¯s face, expelling the odd mood that crossed it seconds before, like it had never even been there in the first place."I think this is where my questions can begin. I¡¯m wondering the same thing myself. So, tell me about Duval.¡±


    At first, it seemed like she might protest the switch in questioning, but she ended up relenting with a sigh.¡°What do you want to know about him?¡±


    Fiddling with his apple core, he seemed to consider. ¡°How did he do it?¡±


    She watched as he fiddled with the core, annoyed expression crossing her face. ¡°That was my apple, you know?¡±


    He grinned. ¡°And it was delicious.¡± He took one last nibble out of it. ¡°How did he do it?¡±


    She ran her hand through her hair. ¡°Duval¡¯s always been the ambitious type. He¡¯s wanted the throne for over a decade now. Constantly scheming and plotting, looking for whatever opportunity he could find. After years of buttering up a few Highlords, he finally felt he was in a position to make a play for the throne, but it never should have worked.¡± Dere tilted his head.¡°Duval managed to seize control of the kingdom with the aid of five of the fifteen Highlords. Nobody has done it before without a majority. Originally, he had counted on other Highlords defecting to his side. They didn¡¯t.¡± She shook her head. ¡°The war was almost over. Duval was losing. His Highlords were wavering. We had him trapped. We were going to win.¡± Dere leaned forward in his seat, listening intently. She sighed. ¡°And then¡­ everything went wrong.¡±


    ¡°The Faceless Men?¡± Dere asked.


    She nodded, seeming tired all of a sudden. ¡°I¡¯ve only heard what I have from the others, but, as I understand, it was a nightmare. They wouldn¡¯t die. Our best knights were slain, powerful Blessed ripped to the ground and torn apart, Prince Andrei brought down with the rest. Thousands of innocent men, boys really, slaughtered without mercy.¡± Her tone became hard, angry. Dere listened in silence. ¡°And then, he just walked into the city, unopposed. Took it and the castle. Dragged Erdrick out, kicking and screaming, too old to fight, and cut his head off. I managed to hide, to get away, but I saw it roll.¡± Struggling to maintain her composure, she went on. ¡°He was a good man, you know? Not the best king, old and half-senile with a body that could no longer contain his power, but a good man.¡± She looked at him with contempt. ¡°Not that it matters to you. You made that clear.¡± Angry tears streamed down her face.


    Dere allowed her a minute to regain her composure. It only took her a few moments. She looked at him, tear tracks visible on her cheeks but otherwise calm.¡°I¡¯m sorry, if it means anything. I''m sure it was awful.¡± She didn''t meet his eyes.Dere pursed his lips, unsure of what to do. It seemed unfair to push her more, but he had to know. He drew a breath. ¡°So, he just suddenly had those monsters? No idea how?¡±


    ¡°There were whispers, rumors between his soldiers.¡± Marcella paused, taking a few deep breaths. ¡°Stories of an advisor, a man who approached Duval in his most desperate hour and offered help.¡±


    ¡°Do you know if those stories are true?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Dere scratched the slight stubble he had grown in the past few days. ¡°Would the advisor still be with Duval?¡±


    ¡°Almost assuredly.¡± She wasn¡¯t looking at him as she spoke, staring into the fire at the edge of the room, instead.


    ¡°And Duval¡¯s in the castle?¡±


    ¡°No. He has left Highlord Besson in charge of the city. Duval¡¯s out in the country, ensuring the loyalty of the remaining Highlords.¡±


    Dere sighed. ¡°Never easy, is it?¡±


    Smirking, she said. ¡°What did you expect? To break back into the castle, figure out what¡¯s going on, end this in one fell swoop?¡±


    ¡°Few more steps in between, but, yeah, essentially.¡±


    ¡°Duval¡¯s paranoia is infamous. He has some of the most powerful Blessed in the kingdom watching his back whenever he isn¡¯t. I know nothing about his advisor, but, if he exists, at the very least he¡¯s being guarded too, and I have a suspicion that he probably wouldn''t need it.¡±


    Dere examined his right hand, bandage still on it. ¡°You¡¯re right. It would be foolish. I guess I¡¯m having trouble conceptualizing my new¡­¡± He pursed his lips. ¡°...weakness.¡±Dere kept looking at his hand, odd expression on his face. Marcella narrowed her eyes, curious and confused, but didn¡¯t pursue the line of questioning. ¡°Alright,¡± He said, snapping out of it for the time being. ¡°Is that all you know?¡±


    ¡°More or less.¡±


    He nodded and stood up, glancing around the room as he did. ¡°Well then, it has been a¡­¡±


    ¡°If you want to know more, I think we can help each other again.¡±


    Dere gave her his full attention. ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t get to Duval, but we might be able to reach his oldest friend, Highlord Besson. We have our own reasons, but if anyone were to know about how Duval got an army of undead nightmares, it would be him.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re so desperate to drag me into your little Rebellion.¡± Dere sat back in the chair and contemplated, slight smile dancing across his face.


    Her own face remained emotionless. ¡°You made your opinion on what we¡¯re doing clear. It¡¯s a mutually beneficial arrangement, much like this conversation, nothing more. We could use your help.¡±


    Dere looked at her, young face set in grim determination. Understanding dawned on him. He leaned forward. ¡°You don¡¯t want my help. You need my help.¡±


    She shifted in her seat. ¡°Well¡­¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t do whatever you''re planning without me, can you? Or, at least someone like me?¡±


    Lips pursed in frustration, she muttered. ¡°Your gifts could be useful, and¡­¡± She grimaced. ¡°well, they don¡¯t know your face.¡± She sighed. ¡°Alright, we could really use your help.¡±


    Dere grinned. ¡°Fine, you¡¯ve got a deal.¡±


    Her eyes flickered for a second, but she regained her composure before Dere was sure what he saw.¡°Wonderful. You¡¯ll need to meet the rest.¡± She got up and walked towards the door. ¡°I¡¯ll tell them not to kill you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you.¡± Dere said, following her out.

 Chapter 6: Meeting in the Manor

    ¡°Hello, Markus.¡±


    ¡°Thief.¡±


    They started at each other across a circular table on the first floor, Markus¡¯ stony stare contrasting Dere¡¯s arrogant grin.


    ¡°Markus, I already promised you wouldn¡¯t kill him.¡± Marcella spoke up, already tired of the tension in the room.Markus took a deep breath, and Dere smirked.¡°At least, not yet.¡±A slight smile, almost unnoticeable, broke Markus¡¯ stoic stare. Dere raised his eyebrows in the Queen¡¯s direction, concerned. She pretended to ignore him.


    ¡°So this is the mystery man?¡± A figure, taller than even Dere, spoke up for the first time. He had red hair, beginning to show signs of greying and commanding blue eyes.


    Dere inclined his head. ¡°Pleasure.¡±


    The man nodded his head in return and looked towards Marcella. ¡°Can we trust him?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Markus said, stepping into the conversation.


    Marcella glared at him. Then, spoke for herself. ¡°No, probably not.¡±


    Dere looked a little hurt before thinking for a second. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s fair.¡±


    The man seemed unperturbed. ¡°If we can¡¯t trust him, why is he here?¡±


    ¡°I told you,¡± Marcella said, with a touch of annoyance. ¡°He found us.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    Dere met the imposing figure¡¯s startling blue eyes. ¡°Greased a few pockets, asked a few questions, displayed some patriotic sentiment, climbed through a third story window.¡± He finished with a smile in Marcella¡¯s direction. She rubbed her temples with her fingers.


    ¡°If it¡¯s that easy to find us¡­¡± Markus began.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that easy. I¡¯m just good at this, which is one of several reasons you lot probably need me.¡±


    A delicate laugh chimed around the room. ¡°He makes a fair point.¡± Dere turned and looked at a fifth figure around the table, a beautiful woman with silvery blond hair and pale skin in her mid-twenties. ¡°Besides,¡± She continued. ¡°I¡¯d actually trust him to be able to do this particular job, unlike Markus.¡± She smiled in Markus¡¯ direction.


    ¡°We don¡¯t even know his name.¡± Said Markus, glowering a little from the previous comment.


    They all looked at Dere. ¡°Nobody asked.¡± He said, shrugging.


    ¡°Well,¡± Marcella said, trying to maintain her cool with steady breaths. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t even bother, he¡¯ll just lie.¡± Markus murmured, loud enough for everyone to hear.


    ¡°Loathe as I am to admit, the simpleton is right.¡± Dere said. ¡°I would just lie.¡±


    Markus rolled his eyes while the tall figure met Dere''s eyes again, trying to piece apart his many mysteries. ¡°I find it hard to trust a man whose name I do not know.¡±


    Dere met his stare and allowed a moment of silence to seize the air before speaking again. ¡°Names are irrelevant to trust, a label, nothing more. You don¡¯t want my name, you want to know who I am. Unfortunately, I can¡¯t tell you that either.¡± Eight eyes of varying intensity locked onto him. ¡°I can tell you two things to try and make you trust me. First, I¡¯m a man of my word.¡± Markus scoffed. Dere turned to grin at him. ¡°I understand how that might be hard to believe, but, when I make a commitment, I follow through. Second, I can tell you what I want.¡± They were listening intently, searching for meaning in every word. ¡°I want to find out how these monsters have come back. I want to find out who is responsible.¡± A hint of horrible anger blended into his last sentence. ¡°And, I want to find that person and rip their heart out through their fucking throat.¡± Silence hung in the air for several seconds, each person started at him, wondering. He met each of their eyes in turn. ¡°Truth is, you shouldn¡¯t trust me, not really. I am entirely self-interested. I don¡¯t care about you, or your kingdom, or your little rebellion, but I do care about what I want. As long as that aligns with what you want, you can trust me. I wouldn¡¯t recommend anything past that.¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    They turned for guidance to the imposing red-haired man. He turned to Marcella. She paused and examined the apprehensive faces of the other three. ¡°You¡¯re in.¡± She said, glancing back at Dere.


    ¡°Good to hear.¡± He didn¡¯t smile this time. In that moment, the room felt huge as each person stared down at the table, the weight of every decision pushing them down and apart. Except Dere, of course, who appeared unaffected. ¡°Alright then,¡± He said, breaking the silence. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    The tall man turned to face him. ¡°Besson¡¯s holding a party, a celebration of Duval¡¯s victory. Every noble family in the area has been invited. It¡¯s an attempt to assert Duval¡¯s authority over them. Pretty standard procedure.¡± Dere nodded. The man glanced at the silvery woman. ¡°We think if we get you and Arlette in there, you two could get to Besson.¡±


    ¡°The party will be held in Besson¡¯s personal manor.¡± The silver-haired woman, Arlette, spoke up. ¡°It¡¯s a few miles outside the city proper and guarded like a fortress. Once you¡¯re in, you¡¯ll need to wait. Besson is infamous for retiring early at parties. He disappears into his private quarters and allows others to do the talking for him. That¡¯s the opening we need.¡±


    ¡°How exactly are you proposing we get in?¡± Dere met her eyes. ¡°I know you don¡¯t know who I am, but I can assure you, at the very least, I¡¯m not Clovish Nobility.¡±


    An elegant smile wormed its way onto Arlette¡¯s face. ¡°No, but Robert Girard, fourth son of the humble yet very much noble Girard family of landowners is. The rest of his family won¡¯t be making an appearance. You¡¯ll be representing them. With me as your escort, of course.¡± She eyed Dere. ¡°In the world of Clovin''s Nobility, families like the Girards are invisible. Technically noble enough to get invited, not noble enough for anyone to bother talking to them. So, hopefully it won¡¯t matter that the family has no fourth son named Robert.¡±


    ¡°Hopefully, indeed.¡± Dere stopped to contemplate for a second, going through the scene in his mind. ¡°So, you¡¯ll be my escort?¡±`


    She gave him what looked like a normal smile, but it felt empty to the trained eye. ¡°Both your escort and an escort, which shouldn¡¯t be too hard for me. It is, after all, my job.¡±


    The others watched them intently as they talked and turned to Dere after Arlette finished. His expression remained unreadable. Marcella broke into the conversation. ¡°Arlette is my personal retainer and a Blessed of Glenmoa. She is experienced at these kind of events.¡±


    A grin that seemed somehow off crossed Dere¡¯s face, and he looked towards Arlette. ¡°Ah, now I understand, a daughter of the moon, famed spies and prostitutes. I¡¯m honored.¡±


    Dere tilted his head, thinking about something distant. The others tried to read his expression, not sure what to say. Nobody felt inclined to break the sudden silence until the tall man spoke up once more. ¡°Once you make it into the party, you are to wait until Besson retires for the night. Make your way into his personal quarters and extract what information you can on Duval. Don¡¯t worry about making him talk. Point a dagger in the general direction of his throat and he¡¯ll sing." His intense eyes locked onto Dere''s. "I''m warning you, though, don''t give him any oppurtunity. Coward he may be, but he is still a Highlord of Clovin with the blood of the Gods coursing through his veins. He is perfectly capable of burning you to a little crisp if you let him.¡± His face hardened, and Dere saw the cold calculations underneath. ¡°When you¡¯ve gotten all you can from him, slit his throat.¡±


    Dere met the man¡¯s intense stare. ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t expect it to be easy.¡± Marcella spoke up again. ¡°Besson will be guarded by several elite knights of his household and his two personal retainers, powerful Blessed nobles. Avoid them.¡±


    ¡°I rarely seek out trouble.¡± He almost meant it.


    ¡°Whatever you say. Come back here at noon in two weeks. Arlette will be waiting with a carriage and your clothes. Markus and I will be gone by then, fleeing to my father¡¯s court in Coln to beg his aid. The party begins at six. Don¡¯t mess it up.¡± With that, she left the room. Markus followed behind her. The towering man gave Dere a nod before exiting as well. Arlette stood up to join them.


    ¡°Wait.¡± Dere remained in his seat, contemplating something. She paused and looked at him, curious expression on her face. ¡°So you¡¯re a Blessed of Glenmoa?¡± Arlette nodded. ¡°Do you know of any temples to the Moon Goddess here in the city?¡±


    She gave him a suspicious stare. ¡°No, I don¡¯t.¡±


    A slow smile crept across Dere¡¯s face. ¡°Ah, what a shame. Would you perhaps tell me, then, where I might find the prostitute''s quarter? Could use some company.¡±


    Arlette narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. ¡°Why do you want to find a shrine to the Moon Goddess?¡±


    ¡°Just want to speak to somebody. That¡¯s all.¡± He held up his hands as a gesture of innocence.


    ¡°You¡¯ll find the district on the Northern end of the city, near where the river turns.¡± She gave him one last suspicious look before walking out of the room, leaving Dere alone.


    He sighed and stood up, stretching his back as he did. It was time to speak to his sister. He wasn¡¯t looking forward to it.

 Chapter 7: Dear Sister

    Moonlight spilled through a large circular window on the ceiling, coalescing into a small basin on the floor and lighting the room an eerie silver. The basin sat in the middle of a medium sized spherical room, decorated with silver gilding and depicting various cycles of the moon. Around the basin, six hooded woman prayed, beautiful in the moonlight. It was a sacred place, a holy place, one Dere wasn¡¯t supposed to be, not that that had ever stopped him.


    He sat at the edge of the room, covered in shadows, watching. He had been standing there for half an hour, waiting for something to change, for anybody to move. Yet, the women maintained their prayer, engrossed in the words and in the power, however slight. Dere sighed. ¡°Just once, once, I¡¯d like it to be easy.¡± He thought, bitter at the world and everything else.


    There were any number of things he could do to make them leave, all of which required more effort than he wanted to expend.Then, a thought struck his mind. ¡°Why not make her do something for a change?¡± He nodded, pleased with the idea, and stepped from the shadows into the view of the women.


    ¡°Apologies ladies, I¡¯ll be needing the room.¡±


    At once, six women heard the voice of a man infringing upon their sanctuary. Robes swung around as each woman turned to glare at him, rage contorting their lovely young faces.


    ¡°Who are you? You need to leave this place at once!¡± The figure furthest away from Dere spoke up, outrage lacing the edges of her words. Her face, older and wiser than the rest, simmered with the kind of indignation only a devout of a God could muster.


    ¡°Relax, relax,¡± Dere gave her his easiest smile. ¡°I know her.¡± He gestured towards the basin, still reflecting silver moonlight.


    They all turned to look at the basin, searching for a seventh figure who they knew wasn¡¯t there. The eldest turned once again to Dere, indignation almost pouring from her face. ¡°You couldn¡¯t possibly mean¡­¡±


    ¡°Glemoa, yes.¡± Dere appeared unfazed by the woman¡¯s fury. He knew this kind of anger well. Without paying her much heed, he scratched his nose.


    ¡°Mistress, this is an outrage.¡± A younger girl broke into the conversation, eyes bristling with perhaps even more fury than her older companion. ¡°A man, in Glenmoa¡¯s sanctuary, demanding that we leave?¡±


    ¡°You need not inform me why this is a transgression. I know well.¡± The elder mistress glared at the younger one. Their eyes met with the kind of bickering intensity only years of rivalry could form. Dere eyed the scene with amusement.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t the first transgression of this kind to take place underneath your watch. Were Mistress Blanc still in charge¡­¡±The moonlight, shining in the bowl had been intensifying as the exchange roared on. An image of the moon, full and beautiful, took shape in the shallow basin.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare discuss Mistress Blanc in front of me. I¡¯ve inherited the mess she has¡­¡±A sudden surge of incorporeal silver power washed over the room. Its touch felt light and gentle, but it had a slight chill in it, warning of far greater power. The women all stumbled back and the argument ended. Dere stood still, eyeing the light with a slight grin while they rushed towards the bowl, now showing a crystal clear image of a shining moon. At once, they whipped their heads around towards Dere.


    ¡°As I said, I know her.¡± Amusement and casual arrogance dripped from his every word. ¡°You¡¯ll need to be leaving now. I don¡¯t suggest discussing this with anyone else.¡± Their eyes darted between the bowl and Dere, confused as to which baffled them more. Dere started tapping his right foot, impatient. One of them, the youngest, opened her mouth to speak again. Before she could, however, another surge of light lashed out from the bowl, filling the room with incredible power.


    Together, they looked at him and then at each other before fleeing the room, wanting to put as much distance between themselves and Dere as they could. And, just like that, the room was now empty, with the exception of Dere and the bowl of moonlight. Filled with smug satisfaction, he looked away from the bowl and began studying the moon cycle designs on the walls. ¡°Hello, dear sister. Happy to see me?¡± He spoke in the same lighthearted tone he always used.


    ¡°I¡¯m almost never happy to see you, especially when you make trouble for me.¡± A voice reverberated from the bowl and flowed through and between the glowing light, echoing in and out.Dere laughed but offered no other response, seemingly intent on the odd patterns decorating the wall. There was a pause before she spoke again. ¡°Did you do it?¡± Even the voice''s strange echoing couldn¡¯t hide the emotion in the tone.


    ¡°Straight to the point, as usual.¡± Dere moved away from the wall and walked a few feet towards the bowl. The facade slipped away for a moment and a grave look flashed across his face.¡°I did not kill Ko. I swear to you.¡± His voice wavered with desperate resolve. He needed her to believe him.


    ¡°The God of Order is dead, Dere. You hated him more than any other, and you¡¯re one of the few capable of such an act. There is a compelling case against you.¡±


    ¡°Mo, you know me better than any other. I wouldn¡¯t do it. And, if I did do it, I certainly wouldn¡¯t be caught so easily.¡±


    The air thrummed with her power, rocking the room ever so slightly as she considered. ¡°If not you, then who?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± He breathed a sigh of relief, a tension he didn¡¯t know he had unfurled from around his chest. One person believed him. He only needed one right now.


    ¡°Ko had few enemies. Perhaps it was aimed at you, knowing you would be the only suspect?¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°There would be more direct ways to get to me. No, if it was aimed at me, at all, it was aimed at us both.¡± His boots clacked against the stone floor as he paced the room. ¡°It does make sense that it might be an enemy of mine as well, but who?¡±


    The air thronged with an odd noise that Dere had trouble placing. It almost sounded like laughter. ¡°Well, Dere, just think, which gods hate you? That should narrow it down.¡±


    The odd sound kept bouncing around the air and Dere looked towards the basin with a mild grin. ¡°Was that a joke? From you? Oh, dear, I really have fallen far.¡± He paused and looked upwards through the window, at the brilliant night sky. ¡°Though, I suppose you have a fair point. There¡¯s a large list of suspects.¡±


    Shaking his head and chuckling a little, Dere resumed walking, consumed in deep thought. Options flickered through his mind, one after the other. None lined up. ¡°Mo, I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Neither do I.¡±


    Dere kept pacing around, searching for anything beyond mere guesswork. He could find nothing.


    ¡°How are things back there, anyway?¡± He thought of home, of the immortal palaces, demigods spilling in and out of the festivities, minor gods and goddesses flirting, divine beasts soaring through the sky. He saw the brilliant beauty of the fauna, the strength of the buildings, the power of the people. He saw Ilu looking down at him in scorn. He saw himself falling.


    ¡°Bad. Ko¡¯s death and your punishment have everyone panicking. The old dividing lines are forming again. Ilu¡¯s handling of the situation has not been looked upon favorably. ¡±Even through the odd reverberations of the light, he could make out the distaste in her voice.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Dere¡¯s brow furrowed in worry. He looked down at his feet, going through the ramifications of her news, none of it good.


    ¡°Your punishment Dere, it is viewed as a step too far.¡±


    Dere almost snorted, breaking him out of his worried contemplation. ¡°I¡¯m assuming that has little to do with me.¡±


    ¡°No, but you are still a god. Many don¡¯t like the precedent of Ilu stripping away a god¡¯s divinity. They believe he¡¯s overstepping his authority.¡±


    ¡°They and I agree on something. That¡¯s rare.¡±


    ¡°Dere, this is bad. It¡¯s chaos up here. The situation worsens every day.¡± The ephemeral voice paused, on the edge of another sentence. Dere struggled to make out emotions through the light, but he still felt her apprehension. ¡°I fear war.¡±Dere didn¡¯t speak. He knew what war between the gods meant. The last one embedded itself so deep into his memory he could never shake it.¡°Reyn, Duru, Mora, myself, and Sem play peacekeeper for now. Even Ante Retara, the ever distant God of Time urges peace, and he just lost his son.¡± Glemoa paused and then continued. ¡°But I fear we can only construct a dam, one that will break. Horon already calls for war, Afre and Iota take his side, and Banto Re keeps rising to his challenges.¡±


    ¡°When has Horon not called for war? He¡¯s the God of War, and Banto Re being a literal hothead is nothing new.¡± Dere sounded annoyed. The politics of Gods frustrated him almost as much as the politics of man. He just had to pay more attention to the former.


    ¡°Dere, tensions are rising fast. We may not be at the precipice of war yet, but we are approaching.¡± Her cold calculations whirred almost audibly to Dere¡¯s mind, as she pieced together the way of things. ¡°Listen to me Dere, you must not die. To the gods, your mortality represents the threat of death, should actual death befall you the consequences would be...¡±


    ¡°And here I thought you were actually worried about me.¡± His voice seemed weighed down by exhaustion and annoyance. He took a long breath. ¡°Relax sister, I won¡¯t die.¡±


    Glenmoa paused, unsure of what to say to him. ¡°You must not do anything to endanger yourself.¡±


    Dere waved his hand dismissively in the direction of the light. ¡°Yes, yes, as soon as I figure out what¡¯s happening down here, I¡¯ll remove myself from danger.¡±


    It didn¡¯t convey through the light, but Dere knew her voice dripped with annoyance. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Well, sister, it¡¯s the most curious thing.¡± Dere paced back and forth around the circular room. ¡°The Puppet Men, here, serving underneath a mortal master.¡±


    A surge of silver light flashed through the room. The news unbalanced even his sister, it seemed. ¡°Dere that¡¯s impossible."


    He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯d tend to agree, but the description matches.¡±


    The power ebbed and flowed around the room. ¡°Dere, if she¡¯s back¡­¡±


    ¡°She is not back!¡± He snarled the phrase out.


    Glenmoa paused, taken aback by the sudden rage. ¡°Even if she isn¡¯t back, something¡¯s going on. You¡¯re mortal Dere. It¡¯s dangerous for you to get involved.¡±


    Dere shook his head, still pacing at a rapid clip. ¡°Do you think it''s a coincidence that I landed in the exact spot to sniff out what¡¯s going on? Of course not, this is him. Something¡¯s going on, and, if I figure it out, this could get me back home.¡±


    He knew her well enough to know she was conflicted. All the options would be swirling through her mind, thinking, considering. ¡°I won¡¯t stop you Dere, but you are vulnerable now. There are those among the gods who will see this as an opportunity to shut you up forever. They will send servants after you. Your reputation may protect you for a time not forever. Regardless of the last thousand or so years wasted to debauchery and depravity, there are many who still fear you. They don¡¯t know you are helpless.¡±


    Dere looked up at the night sky, where the moon shone bright upon the earth, and smiled. ¡°Vulnerable I may be, but helpless I am not.¡±


    ¡°Are you so certain?¡±Dere let silence fill the air between them.He thought he heard her sigh. ¡°I can¡¯t leave you like this, weaponless.¡±


    He looked into the silver light and then looked skyward. From the heavens an aberration in the sky formed. A formless dark shape whirled around and soaked up the nearby light. It kept falling and falling until it landed in the basin almost soundlessly, plunging straight to the hilt. A sword, his sword, quivered in the basin. A simple weapon with a black hilt and a flickering, semi-transluscent grey blade. ¡°Goodbye Dere.¡± The light drifted away and the moon in the basin disappeared. Only Dere and the sword remained in the room.


    He went over to pick it up and grasped the hilt. A shiver of power ran through his body as the shred of his divinity inside the sword reacted to him. The sword''s power paled in comparison to the recent past, but there was a shard left, a small almost insignificant shard of himself, of his power. Despite its size, it filled a gaping hole he hadn¡¯t even recognized inside himself. He fought back tears.


    Sword in hand, he lifted it to the sky and looked upon his weapon, wreathed in shadow. With a flicker of focus, he warped the shadows around it and it took on the appearance of a regular steel sidesword. An elegant twirl of his wrist, sent the blade down the same scabbard as the weapon he had looted earlier. With that, he exited the room, leaving the temple behind him. With silent steps he walked through the streets of the prostitutes¡¯ district, moonlight shining upon him from above and a million questions buzzing around his skull.

 Chapter 8: An Invitation to Dance

    ¡°I heard an interesting rumor last night.¡±


    Dere opened one lazy eye, a multicolored canvas of grey and black, and observed the silver haired woman sitting across from him. She wore a lovely red dress, adorned with pretty yet elegant frills and modest silver jewelry, which accentuated her hair and light blue eyes.¡°Do tell.¡± He didn¡¯t sit up from his prone position on the bench across from Arlette, where he¡¯d been napping moments before, choosing instead to leave the option of returning to slumber open.


    ¡°Oh, you know how rumors can be, so outlandish.¡± Dere raised an eyebrow. Arlette, who sat on the bench in perfect posture, met him with an elegant smile. ¡°This particular one claimed that a man, of all things, broke into the small shrine to Glemoa in the Red district and actually ordered the daughters to leave. You wouldn¡¯t happen to know anything about that?¡±


    Dere¡¯s other eye opened and he sat himself up, careful not to rumple his fine clothes or to knock his head on the cramped interior of the carriage. ¡°Outlandish indeed. But, as you said, these rumors can oftentimes be so absurd. Were I to believe everything I¡¯ve heard, I¡¯d walk around the streets like a madman, claiming that faceless men walk the same ground we do.¡±


    She hit him with another perfect smile. If he annoyed her, she didn¡¯t show it. ¡°Yes, that would truly be an outlandish claim.¡±


    ¡°My thoughts exactly.¡±


    Her smile remained unmarred. ¡°Though, I do find that our world can be quite peculiar, so much so that the things we dismiss as outlandish can prove to be totally correct.¡± She put particular emphasis on the final word. ¡°And I do find it to be such a bizarre coincidence that, a few days after you ask about a temple to Glenmoa, a man strides into such a spot unannounced.¡±


    He met her with his own smile, the complete opposite of hers. It made no attempt to hide intent or truth, but rather reveled in them. ¡°That¡¯s a bold claim you seem to be making. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d say you didn¡¯t trust me.¡±


    Light blue eyes tried to pierce through his but failed to find anything through the shadowy grey. ¡°Ah, now you understand. I don¡¯t trust you in the slightest.¡± Nothing about her posture or overall demeanor shifted but the conversation had changed.


    Dere stretched off his grogginess and yawned. ¡°Yet, here you are, across from me.¡±


    A slight shrug of her shoulders served as perhaps the most genuine response she had yet given. ¡°Unfortunately, my trust remains irrelevant. Marcella trusts you, for now.¡±


    Dere leaned back in the seat, legs splayed out on the bench. ¡°Which is peculiar, I admit. I¡¯m not even sure I trust me.¡±


    Her expression remained as statuesque as ever, but Dere thought he saw a flicker of amusement pass through her eye. ¡°Well then, you are a wiser man than I thought.¡± She took a second, considering what to say next. ¡°Like me, Marcella thinks you¡¯re useful, almost necessary. Unlike me, Marcella thinks she understands you, at least enough to trust you.¡±


    ¡°Does she now?¡± Dere¡¯s eyes twinkled.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mistake me, I think it''s a foolish notion. But Marcella has always had an eye for people, an understanding of how they work. She can find the humanity in anyone, and she¡¯s seldom wrong.¡±


    ¡°Finding the humanity in me would be¡­ difficult.¡±


    Arlette gifted him with a polite laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t doubt it. Perhaps Marcella trusts her talents too much. She has always leaned on her own intelligence, especially since her channeling has always been weak by her families¡¯ standards.¡±


    Dere narrowed his eyes, unsure why Arlette chose to divulge that particular information. Arlette pretended to not notice his suspicion. ¡°I¡¯ve known Marcy since she was a child. Always out to prove why she was the brightest of the family, and, indeed, she usually was. I think her sisters would normally have resented her for it, but they always had a closer bond with Reyn. Marcy just never had that same talent.¡± Arlette looked out the window as she talked. ¡°Made her a good Queen candidate for Erdrick, of course. Still had the Blessed bloodline to maintain her pedigree and the intelligence to help manage the kingdom, but she lacked the actual strength to challenge his throne. Sad really, in the past, Erdrick would never have had to worry about such things. A straight descendant of the Fire King, yet age and old wounds catch up to even the most powerful Blessed. We may play at being immortal, but we are not.¡± The way she ended the sentence varied from the start. Dere could hear the cold edge in her voice.


    The atmosphere in the carriage had shifted. Dere sat, still leaning back, trying to read Arlette. For her part, she ignored him, continuing to stare out the window at the lovely countryside of Clovin.¡°I tend to find,¡± Dere muttered, after a time. ¡°That those best equipped to use power, are those who would manage just fine without it. I suppose that¡¯s a point in Marcella¡¯s favor.¡±


    Arlette turned to him and gifted him with her most dazzling smile yet, so lovely it could make even the coldest man¡¯s heart melt. Shame, really, that it was fake.


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


    Dere helped Arlette down from the carriage and turned to face the manor. Every inch of the stone and marble oozed wealth. Vines, trimmed daily, tumbled down the walls. Beautiful windows, decorated with images of fire, let sunlight into all four stories. A garden, maintained by a small army of staff, led them to the front door, which itself was inlaid with precious stones and carved of expensive dark wood from the Western Continent. Impressive for a mortal, Dere had to admit.


    He and Arlette walked arm in arm through the front door. The guard, a portly bored looking man in fine chainmail, nodded at Dere¡¯s invitation and gestured them on through.


    The inside somehow flaunted its wealth even more than the exterior. Crystal chandeliers imported from Coln, artwork painted by Aria¡¯s Blessed, architecture of Vandrian style. Dere and Arlette strode through it all, looking as impressed as Clovish custom allowed. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Together, they entered the central courtyard, where they found the focus of the party. The greats of Clovin, many of them Blessed, mingled amongst each other here, exchanging false pleasantries and sugared lies. A server passed them as they stood by the entranceway, carrying a silver platter with goblets of wine. Dere snatched up two glasses and handed Arlette the other. He took a swig of wine and raised his brows in appreciation before taking another sip.


    Arlette looked at him and his glass, slight dismay curling her lip. Dere gave her a little wink. ¡°Just blending in, that¡¯s all.¡± He finished the remainder of the cup, as fast as etiquette would allow, and replaced it with another from the tray.Trying not to sigh, Arlette took a delicate sip from her own glass, hardly consuming any of the wine at all. She then led Dere away, before he could summon the bright idea of grabbing a third drink.


    It took surprising grace to weave between the various guests, but they each managed it well enough. Dere picked up bits of the conversation as he flowed between the groups of people. The usual pleasantries and pointless topics appeared, but, every so often, he¡¯d catch a worried whisper of Duval, Besson, or the faceless men.Arlette led him to a corner where they had a good view of the full courtyard and all its many guests. On the way, Dere finished his glass of wine and deposited it onto another tray. Arlette stopped him before he could grab another.


    ¡°So¡­¡± Dere began, until the sudden blaring of music from the orchestra at the center of the courtyard interrupted his thought. The guests laughed and walked over to nearby partners, outreached hands extending a silent invitation. The ones who received an affirmative answer moved around the center of the room, preparing to dance.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you know how to dance?¡± Arlette asked.


    ¡°If it''s old, stuffy, and traditional, almost assuredly. If not¡­¡±


    ¡°Well I have good news then,¡± She said, giggling just a little. ¡°Old , stuffy, and traditional is the only way Clovin knows how to do things.¡±


    Dere¡¯s laugh echoed around the room, intermingling with dozens of others. He proffered a hand to Arlette, bowing mockingly as he did. She shook her head and accepted the hand before leading him off to the center once more. Dere did indeed recognize the dance. He had learned it two thousand years before and could still recall the movements. He and Arlette moved through them together, his natural dexterity making up for his occasional misstep.¡°So,¡± He said, as they danced in rhythm. ¡°Mind pointing out the important guests here?¡±


    Arlette scanned the room a little and considered. ¡°You¡¯ll need to know the Highlords.¡± They extended out at arms reach and came back together. ¡°Duval, Besson, and, of course, Lucroy you already know.¡±


    Dere tried his best not to look confused when she mentioned Lucroy, a name he hadn¡¯t heard. He scanned his memory and landed on a tall red-haired man with commanding blue eyes, whom he¡¯d met back at the manor. ¡°Ah,¡± He said. ¡°I didn¡¯t know he was a Highlord.¡±


    Arlette gave him an incredulous glance but seemed unwilling to delve further into it. He whirled her in a circle. ¡°Other than those three, there¡¯s Sylvian, Highlord of the Eastern Plains.¡± She nodded her head in the direction of an old, formal looking man, with a well groomed moustache. ¡°He was Erdrick¡¯s cousin, a loyalist, and a good man, for a Highlord. Over there is Highlord Christopher. He remained loyal to Erdrick.¡± She grimaced when she saw the next man. ¡°That¡¯s Highlord Frederic and his son Dylan.¡± Dere followed her glance and saw two men standing side by side chatting. They looked much alike: average height, blond hair, handsome.


    Arlette continued to glare at them as she talked and danced. ¡°Frederic was one of Duval¡¯s earliest allies, as much a scoundrel as you¡¯ll ever find. His son, if at all possible, is worse. They and Sylvian have been at each other''s throats for nearing on three decades.¡± Dere thought he saw the boy look in their direction, but he couldn¡¯t be sure.


    She pointed out many more of Clovin¡¯s elite- Evrard, Albert, Nathaniel, Gustave, Isaac- some loyal, others not. A few were missing. Those who had not yet been culled in by Duval¡¯s might: Maurius, Manuel, and Adam. They fought on, but their defeat was an apparent inevitability.


    Arlette continued describing, in more detail, the political intricacies and relationships between the Highlords, but Dere¡¯s eyes glazed over and his ears picked up next to nothing. The next thing he knew, Arlette was staring straight into his eyes. ¡°Are you even listening?¡±


    Dere broke out of his revery. ¡°Of course, Isaac and Manuel were¡­ childhood friends?¡±


    ¡°Longtime rivals, actually.¡± Her usually calm demeanor slipped a little.


    ¡°Same thing, to my ears.¡±


    It seemed like Arlette wanted to chastise him, but the music stopped before she could. Dere separated from her and went to grab some wine, promising to return in a minute. Arlette watched him as he walked away then shook her head, too annoyed to offer much complaint.


    Dere slipped between the crowd towards the nearest server and reached for another drink. As he did, another hand picked up one of the other cups. Dere grabbed his own and looked upwards at the chiseled face of Highlord Sylvain, the only one Arlette seemed to like. He nodded at Dere and dipped back into the crowd. On a hunch, Dere followed at a distance.


    Sylvian exchanged pleasantries with a few of the guests, but he moved with a clear destination in mind, never loitering for more than half a minute. He made it through the worst of the crowd and ended up at the Easternmost wall where he met another figure, this one tall and lean with stark black hair. Dere leaned against a nearby column and sipped his wine, ears straining to pick up anything they might be saying.


    ¡°I hate parties.¡± The black haired man murmured, bitterness lacing his tone.


    ¡°I hate parties that celebrate my defeat.¡± Responded Sylvian with a guffaw.


    The black haired man shook his head and Sylvian laughed and patted him on the back. ¡°Always so negative, Florian.¡±


    Florian rolled his eyes but otherwise maintained a clear level of respect to his apparent superior. ¡°Have you heard,¡± He said, after Sylvian¡¯s laugh had died down. ¡°The Highlords are calling a meeting?¡±


    Dere¡¯s ears perked up. He took another casual sip of wine and pretended to look away from the two men.Sylvian¡¯s voice lost some of its good-humor. ¡°I¡¯ve heard. Worried about Duval, are they? Little late for that.¡±


    ¡°This could be an opportunity to get the Highlords in line, form a united front against Duval and his monsters.¡± Florian muttered the words out so quiet that Dere had to strain to catch them.


    ¡°United Highlords?¡± Sylvian¡¯s laugh carried across the party and through the room, temporarily interrupting some of the nearby conversations. Sylvian waved politely and everyone returned to their idle talk. Then, more quietly, he continued. ¡°That¡¯s funny, Florian, that¡¯s really funny.¡±


    ¡°I know it¡¯s naive, sir, but we should try.¡±


    Sylvian started to speak and stopped himself. He gave it another moment''s thought, then, spoke again. ¡°No, you¡¯re right. We¡¯ll never unite, but this might be a chance to plant a seed in their mind, to try and sow some discontent.¡±


    Florian betrayed no reaction, positive or negative, to his lord''s change of mind. ¡°The meeting will be in an hour, in Besson¡¯s personal residence.¡± Sylvian only nodded.The two of them broke up after that. Sylvian slapped Florian on the back as he walked away, telling him to go and enjoy himself.


    Dere finished his wine, mind buzzing. He needed to get into that meeting, but how? He looked around for Arlette and saw her conversing with some of the party guests. A few dozen feet away from her, a man approached, Frederic¡¯s son Dylan, walking right up to her with a clear purpose. Dere connected the dots. They knew each other well, very well. He had an idea.

 Chapter 9: Duel in the Courtyard

    ¡°Arlette, my little nightflower, you look especially lovely today.¡± Dylan, son of Highlord Frederic, strode towards Arlette with outstretched arms and a huge smile.


    Arlette turned away from the people she had been conversing with and fought down a grimace. ¡°Hello, Dylan.¡± Her voice sounded calm as usual, but Dere thought he heard something on the edges of her words.


    Dylan grasped at his heart. ¡°Your coldness wounds me again. It strikes deep at my very soul, yet my resolve will not be broken.¡± He aimed his most charming smile at Arlette as he closed the distance. Arlette, keeping her composure, held out her right hand, and he bent down to kiss it with a playful flourish.


    ¡°Arlette, why don¡¯t you introduce me to your friend here?¡± Dere, who approached the pair while the exchange went back and forth, broke into the conversation.


    Arlette smiled at Dere and hid her relief. Dylan glanced at him, smile still on his face. ¡°Yes, Arlette, please, introduce your date?¡± He said the final word with an emphasis. His smile remained, but his cold, hostile eyes gave away everything Dere needed to know.


    ¡°Dylan, this is Robert Girard, fourth son of Timothe Girard.¡±


    Cold eyes glared at Dere¡¯s placid face as Arlette introduced his alias. ¡°My apologies,¡± Dylan said, barely maintaining an apologetic facade. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard of your family.¡±


    Arlette sucked in a silent but sharp breath and Dere put together that Dylan had just hurled a grave insult in the world of Clovin''s nobility. He pretended, half-heartedly, to look insulted. ¡°Oh, no offense taken, my family has earned its reputation through generations of proven honor and a strict adherence to the ideals of Clovic. I would only expect us to be recognized by families who value such things.¡± Dere hadn¡¯t the slightest clue what adherence to the ideals of Clovic meant, but he suspected Dylan would know. By the way Dylan narrowed his eyes, he suspected correctly.


    Arlette turned to him, warning in her eyes, which Dere, of course, ignored. She risked a glance at Dylan whose smile had dissipated. ¡°The words of an irrelevant family.¡± Dylan spat, face turning red.


    ¡°Or an honorable one.¡± A cool smile curled Dere¡¯s lips.


    Dylan¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°Look here you impoverished curd. I¡¯ll cut you open for those words and take the whore for myself.¡± He reached for his sword. Before Dylan could draw, Dere slapped him with his glove. ¡°If you want to draw swords,¡± Dere said, voice calm and collected. ¡°I suggest we do it properly.¡±


    Dylan¡¯s handsome face turned blood red, the same color as Horon¡¯s during battle. ¡°As you wish.¡± The rest of the party, who bore witness to the exchange, began murmuring. Dylan looked around at the curious faces with fury and stalked away.


    Dere whirled around and faced Arlette, victorious smile lighting his face. ¡°Well, that went well.¡±


    Arlette¡¯s face promised murder. ¡°In what world did that go well?¡± She kept closing and opening her hands while looking at his neck.


    ¡°In a world where the Highlords are having a private meeting, one I need to get into. Embarrassing Dylan in a bout of swordplay might become my ticket in.¡± Dere glanced at Highlord Sylvian, who looked upon the exchange with a booming laugh and a big smile. ¡°You mentioned Sylvian and Frederic are the bitterest of rivals. And since Dylan¡¯s a dick who thinks he owns you, he seemed like a suitable candidate.¡±


    Arlette faced Sylvian for a second and turned back to Dere. ¡°Maybe, maybe, but it''s still foolish. Dylan¡¯s a brat, but he¡¯s one of the best swordsmen in the Kingdom. He won¡¯t be allowed to use his powers in a duel, but even so¡­¡±


    ¡°I am a shadow of my former self, weaker than a shadow actually, but I can still manage an uptight brat.¡± She frowned at his words, confused by what he said. His voice had a resolve, though, that Arlette wasn¡¯t used to hearing. With a deep sign, she nodded. ¡°It¡¯s not the proper way to do things, but it''s not like we have much choice now, anyway. Ask permission for Florian to be your second. He¡¯s Sylvian¡¯s head knight and retainer.¡± She paused for a second. ¡°Oh, and Dere, don¡¯t meddle in my affairs again.¡±


    Dere gave her a somewhat apologetic smile and twisted around towards the onlookers. ¡°I¡¯ll be needing a second for my bout. With permission, I request Florian, retainer of Highlord Sylvian!¡± Some gasps and a few approving chuckles broke out from the crowd. Sylvian was the loudest of all, booming laugh echoing around the courtyard and threatening to deafen some of those who stood next to him. He put his arm on the back of the gloomy dark-haired figure standing next to him and pushed him forward. Florian walked out of the crowd to join Dere, clear annoyance bristling through his body.


    ¡°Tell us your name, boy.¡± Sylvian roared, clearly enjoying the spectacle.


    ¡°I am Robert Girard, fourth son of Timothe Girard.¡± Unsuccessfully, Dere tried to match Sylvian¡¯s volume. However, his voice still carried through the crowd well enough. Arlette tried to compose herself, furious at Dere for bellowing a fake man¡¯s name to a hundred people. If anyone suspected, though, they didn¡¯t say. Some of the crowd even cheered. Through the onlookers, Dere caught Highlord Frederic¡¯s disapproving glare. He hit him with a wink.


    Arlette grabbed Dere¡¯s arm and pulled him down to whisper into his ear. ¡°A duel in Clovin is first to draw blood. Wound him, don¡¯t kill him. Not even Sylvian will approve of that.¡± Dere nodded his understanding. Arlette took a second to watch the onlookers construct the necessary circle with their bodies. ¡°Don¡¯t mess this up.¡± She murmured so that only Dere could hear.


    ¡°I seldom ever do.¡± Sighing, Arlette released him and gave him one last nervous look before disappearing into the crowd.


    Dere stretched himself out, going through some basic motions while he waited for Dylan to reappear, presumably with his second. From behind him, he heard a sharp whisper. ¡°What¡¯s your game, boy.¡± Dere turned to see Florian glaring at him, suspicion evident across his face.


    ¡°He harassed my date.¡± The way Florian looked at him, Dere could tell he didn¡¯t buy the answer in the slightest. Dere broke into a guilty smile. ¡°And, well, I needed an in with Sylvian.¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    To his surprise, Florian didn¡¯t seem upset. ¡°You certainly chose the best way to do it.¡± He said, sounding somewhat bored. ¡°He¡¯s already enamored with you, and you haven¡¯t even won yet.¡± Dere smiled and continued with his stretches. Florian straightened up a bit and tried to find Dylan. ¡°Do you think you can win?¡±


    It was an honest question. Florian wanted to know. Dere gave him the widest grin of the night. ¡°Absolutely.¡±


    Florian chuckled and patted him on the back. ¡°I like you kid. Good luck.¡±


    As Dere finished stretching, Dylan reappeared. Alongside him strode another blond man, this one taller and leaner, dangerous as far as Dere could tell. Dere thought back to who Arlette had pointed out. Either she didn¡¯t mention this particular man, or Dere had zoned out while she introduced him. Both were possible. Shrugging, he ignored the new man and gave Dylan his cockiest grin. Dylan sneered back at him, anger still coloring his handsome face an ugly tomato red. ¡°Are you ready for your thrashing, Girard?¡±


    ¡°Ah, I see you remembered the family name. Fear not, you won¡¯t forget again. I¡¯ll carve it into your skin, so even your dim head will remember.¡± No hint of malice or anger infringed upon Dere¡¯s lighthearted tone. He said it with casual indifference.


    Removing his embroidered coat and sneering at Dere, Dylan entered the circle, hand on the hilt of his sword. Dere did the same. They stood across from each other. Dylan¡¯s visible anger and Dere¡¯s easy amusement almost seemed to collide in the air.


    Florian stepped in between them. The tall blond man with Dylan did the same. The crowd watched, excitement mingling with the smell of good food and wine. Florian spoke up. ¡°First to draw blood wins. Any use of non-physical channeling will result in disqualification and stain your family''s honor. This is a contest of swordsmanship. Now, draw!¡± He and the other man stepped out of the circle. Dere and Dylan drew their blades. In his hand, Dylan held an ornate rapier, sharp and decorated with gemstones. Dere¡¯s sword seemed much simpler, a sidesword, well-made but unspectacular. A discerning eye might have made out something wrong with it, a flicker of its true nature, but few in the world could do that and none here.


    They circled each other, light footsteps matching the other¡¯s rhythm. Dere smirked and beckoned. Dylan attacked. The rapier dove first for Dere¡¯s stomach, then turned upwards towards his neck. Dere simply batted it aside with a casual flick of the wrist. With a skilled maneuver, Dylan reversed the rapier¡¯s trajectory and tried to catch him on the hand. Dere needed to only move it back a few inches for the rapier to cut through mere air, missing him by a comfortable hair. Dylan tried another time, sending the rapier downwards towards Dere¡¯s forwardmost leg. A simple parry sent the sword aside, and, in response, Dere''s own sword flew towards Dylan¡¯s exposed chest. To the man¡¯s credit, he backed away in time, dodging the blade by a few inches.


    Catching his breath, Dylan shuffled backwards a few steps, eyeing Dere. Dere, for his part, bounced off one foot then the other and winked at the man. Arlette hadn¡¯t lied, he was a skilled fencer. He moved with inhuman speed and grace, almost matching Dere¡¯s own, a testament to two decades of practice. Shame for him, really, that Dere had been fighting much, much longer.


    The crowd murmured, excited by the brief flurry the two exchanged. They threw comments between each other, minor bets over who would prevail. The ones among them who most knew swordsmanship watched quietly and pieced the bout together like a puzzle.


    Howling, Dylan stormed forward and unleashed a flurry of blows, caring not whether they injured or killed. In a dazzling display, Dere parried, dodged, and counterattacked, never letting Dylan feel comfortable or confident and never making a concerted attack. The fight dragged on. Dylan continued stabbing and thrusting in a frenzy, using everything he learned in his decades of study, yet he could land nothing.


    The crowd murmured and roared, the ones who didn¡¯t understand screamed at Dere to attack, to stop the cowardice. The ones who did understand watched in awe as he moved, enthralled by the display.


    Dylan fumed and sweated. His face grew redder and redder as his anger and exertion continued to rise. Dere dipped and dodged, muttering an occasional insult aimed at his opponent''s mother. One last time, Dylan backed away from Dere to catch his breath. Dere, a little sweat wetting his brow, let him. Across from him, Dylan stood, anger swelling and swelling.


    ¡°So,¡± Dere said as Dylan glared. ¡°Where shall I carve the family surname. I was thinking the forehead, but the ass has a certain poetic appeal."


    Dylan roared and charged forward once more. This time, though, it was different. His blade still sought Dere¡¯s heart but, from his opposite hand, a gout of flame built up. For the first time, Dere made a real move. He darted in, deflecting the sword above him and out of the way. As he deflected the blade with one arm, he grabbed Dylan¡¯s free hand and pointed it downwards with the other. The hand shot out flames towards the ground, blackening it with Banto¡¯s Re¡¯s sacred fire. Still moving, Dere leaned into Dylan, blocking his sword arm from swinging down. Secure from a counterattack, Dere sent his own blade slashing downwards, towards the hand that he still held.


    Dylan''s left hand fell to the floor with a sickening squelch. The Highlord''s son roared in pain and collapsed while Dere sheathed his own blade.


    The building went silent except for Dylan¡¯s screams. The crowd watched the two of them, stunned. Dere ignored them and pushed through the onlookers, until he stood in front of Highlord Sylvian himself. Drawing his blade, Dere knelt down and presented it above his head. ¡°I wish to pledge my services to you, Highlord.¡±


    Sylvian looked at him, expression unreadable. Then, a slow smile curled across his face, and his enormous laugh filled the courtyard once more. He drew his sword, a battle-worn blade, and placed it on Dere¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I name you, Robert Girard, my retainer.¡± His voice had an air of formality and authority that he hadn¡¯t shown before. ¡°Stand.¡±


    Dere stood and fought off the grin that threatened to ruin his plan. ¡°That was some of the best swordsmanship I¡¯ve ever seen.¡± Sylvian commented as Dylan screamed in the background, some of his family¡¯s servants carrying him inside the manor. Quieter than before, Sylvian murmured to Dere. ¡°And I couldn¡¯t think of a better whelp to use it on, or a better family to shame. You wanted to impress me, well done.¡± Their conversation ended, for a time. The crowd dispersed from around them and returned to their drinking and merriment, unfazed by what just happened. It seemed, in Clovin, a man losing his hand in a duel was just part of the party.


    From a distant part of the room, a pair of burning eyes bored into Dere''s skull. He met them. Highlord Frederic glared at him, eyes filled with a special kind of hate. Dere gave him one last wink.


    ¡°You¡¯ve made a powerful enemy today.¡± Behind him a familiar booming voice spoke: Sylvian.


    ¡°Believe me when I say this. I have far scarier enemies.¡±


    A noncommittal grunt was Sylvian¡¯s only response. ¡°Come. I have a meeting to attend, and it''s your duty as my new retainer to accompany me.¡± Face calm and cool, Dere nodded, rejoicing inwardly. He began following the Highlord to Besson¡¯s personal manor. After a few strides, though, a cool hand touched his shoulder. He stopped and turned around to see Arlette.


    She whispered to him. ¡°For a follower of Dere, you¡¯re not exactly subtle.¡±


    Beaming at her, Dere responded. ¡°I have a sneaking suspicion Dere would have approved of that.¡± She shook her head and smiled. The first genuine smile of hers he had seen. It was off center, just a little, and wrinkled her dimples and eyes. ¡°You know,¡± Dere said as he walked backwards away from her. ¡°Your real smile is much prettier.¡±


    ¡°Oh, shut up.¡± She said, rolling her eyes at him. Dere laughed and chased after the receding Highlord. Behind him, she kept smiling.

 Chapter 10: The Highlords Convene

    Seven of the most powerful men in Clovin sat around a circular table. Those with male heirs old enough to attend brought them along to stand behind them. Their retainers, noble Blessed who had sworn their loyalty, flanked them on either side. Advisors, important and trusted enough to listen in, hugged the edges of the walls and strained to catch what the seven men said.


    "Shall we begin?¡± Evrard, Highlord of the Northern border, a large bald man with an unkempt beard, broke the temporary silence that had swallowed the room.


    ¡°Besson has not yet arrived.¡± Frederic replied, somehow calm as ice despite what just happened to his son.


    Sylvian snorted. ¡°Nor will he anytime soon. He wants us to stew.¡± The Highlords exchanged suspicious looks with each other. Old rivals and friends crammed into Besson¡¯s meeting room, not a sliver of trust amongst them. ¡°I think it would be prudent to start before he arrives.¡± Sylvian continued, fighting back his boredom and annoyance.


    ¡°I agree with Sylvian and Evrard. We should start.¡± Said Highlord Cristopher, an average sized man with mousy hair, who sat closest to Sylvian around the table.


    Gustave, a brute with a long greying beard, chuckled dismissively. ¡°Of course you do.¡± Cristopher gave him his best withering stare, which Gustave only laughed off.


    ¡°It seems to me,¡± Said Isaac, a well-kept man with immaculate posture and silver hair, who was Highlord of the Southeast Coast. ¡°That since we are addressing our complaints towards Besson, we should wait for him.¡±


    They bickered back and forth amongst each other for a while, and Dere became more than a little annoyed. Arguing over whether or not to start a conversation, only in politics. He hid a yawn underneath his hand and looked around the room. Besson never missed an opportunity to show off in his own home, it seemed. Even something as basic as a meeting room, with only a large central table and a fireplace for furnishing, displayed his wealth. Fifteen Coats of Arms of exquisite craftsmanship adorned three of the walls. A huge window, looking out over the courtyard and decorated with ornate images of fire, dominated the fourth wall. Through the window, Dere saw the party below. He thought he spotted a flash of silver hair amongst the guests, Arlette, perhaps.


    ¡°Enough!¡± Sylvian slammed his fist down on the table and even Dere jumped a bit. ¡°Duval has gone too far, and we will discuss it!¡± Some of the Highlords nodded, others glared at him with clear malice.


    Cristopher took the stunned silence as the opportunity they needed. ¡°The rumors out of Freeholt, what Duval has purportedly done to Maurius¡¯ family and holdings, are disturbing.¡±


    ¡°And untrue.¡± Frederic maintained his calm, but Dere could read the frustration dancing underneath his eyes.


    ¡°I have that information on good authority.¡± Said Cristopher, unwilling to back down, not with Sylvian on his side.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard similar things.¡± Said Evrard, stepping in to help Cristopher. ¡°After what he did to Erdrick, it seems feasible.¡±


    Frederic curled his lip but said nothing. Isaac spoke up next. ¡°Yes, Duval has ignored some of the etiquette expected of the nobility during wartime.¡±


    Gustave sneered. ¡°It¡¯s war, Isaac. We may play pretend about proper procedure for wartime, but it¡¯s just that, pretend.¡±


    ¡°Always willing to revert to savagery, Gustave.¡± They exchanged heated stares, their hatred for each other filling the room.


    Dere kept one eye on Sylvian during the exchanges and the other out the window, so he could watch the party. The conversation bored him. He wondered if this meeting had been a waste of time.


    ¡°We¡¯re arguing about etiquette while ignoring the actual problem.¡± The youngest of the Highlords, Albert, broke into the conversation. His voice echoed loudly for his small frame and stature. ¡°Duval has monsters, lest we forget.¡± Just like that, Dere¡¯s interest reignited.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    The others turned to look at Albert. ¡°You mean the men who feel no pain?¡± Isaac asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re not men.¡± Said Sylvian, reentering the conversation.


    ¡°If they¡¯re not men, what are they?¡± Highlord Nathaniel, a tall, cold-looking man, broke his silence.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Said Sylvian, meeting Nathaniel¡¯s freezing gaze. ¡°But perhaps Frederic would.¡±


    Frederic¡¯s sneer travelled around the table, landing on Sylvian. ¡°Was that an accusation?¡±


    ¡°It can be, if you want it to.¡± The others looked at Frederic, none of them willing to jump to his aid.


    His sneer grew even larger. ¡°I know as little as you do.¡± The other Highlords didn¡¯t believe him, but Dere thought differently. He could tell. Frederic told the truth.


    ¡°You¡¯ve known Duval a long time, Frederic. I find it hard to believe that you know nothing.¡± Evrard spoke, and some of the others nodded with him.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t at the battle. I only learned of their existence after. Duval and Besson won¡¯t say a word about them, even to me.¡± The Highlords still seemed suspicious. Old prejudices clouded their vision. Something about the way he talked, though, some of the weakness underneath his tone, caught them off guard. They were still suspicious, but they weren¡¯t so sure that he lied.


    ¡°Damnit, where is Besson!?¡± Evrard slammed his fist down onto the table in impatience, cracking the sturdy wood. Some of the advisors around the edges of the room flinched at the casual show of strength. None of the Highlords even reacted. Sylvian rubbed at his moustache and beckoned to Florian. Florian bent his head and Sylvian whispered something into his ear. Dere ignored the still ongoing argument and strained to hear what Sylvian said, but not even his ears could pick up the whisper. Straightening back up, Florian nodded at his Highlord and left the room. Only a few paid attention to his exit. Dere returned to the conversation as Florian closed the door behind him.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard whispers out of Vandar and Coln, of the faceless men on their border. Does Duval intend to invade?¡± It was Albert this time. He spoke to Frederic, whose collected facade began to slip. They pestered him with more questions. His face started turning the same deep red as his son¡¯s when angry.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Frederic¡¯s explosion silenced the rest of the room. Every eye fixated on him. He spoke much lower, almost at a whisper. ¡°I¡¯ve heard next to nothing from Duval, nothing. He has changed. I hardly recognize the man anymore. He has become as monstrous as those things he employs. Stop hounding me for information. I have none. Speak to Besson.¡± The onlookers broke into worried frowns. Dere swore under his breath. Not even Frederic knew what was going on. It seemed that only Besson had the answers he needed.


    The room descended into quiet. The conversation turned from shouts between the Highlords to murmurs between advisors. Dere caught some of what they said. They whispered about Duval, about Besson, about his tardiness. Rubbing his head, Dere suppressed another yawn.


    ¡°This is a waste of time. Besson hasn¡¯t even shown up, and he probably never will. Who called this meeting, anyway?¡± Gustave shattered the odd silence that had befallen the room. The Highlords looked amongst each other, suspicion etched onto each of their faces, but nobody spoke up.


    ¡°I was told it was Sylvian.¡± Cristopher said.


    Sylvain snorted. ¡°Like I¡¯d ever want to meet with this bunch.¡±


    Albert spoke next. ¡°I was told it was Isaac.¡± Isaac shook his head, confused. They continued bickering back and forth between themselves, naming each other. Dere watched them as they did, his mind sorting possibilities. It was clear, to him at least, that none of the Highlords here had called the meeting. Who did, then? Whoever called it didn¡¯t want the others to know it was them, yet had the capability and influence to round them up.


    The solution hit him like a steep fall.It was Besson. Besson called the meeting, but why? Dere looked around the room, searching for answers, but he only found the Highlords and their advisors. Grey eyes flitting through faces, Dere latched onto one advisor who looked off somehow. He stood by the window, blank expression on his face. He exchanged no heated words with the others and hadn¡¯t the whole time. Dere met the man¡¯s eyes. The man smiled at him and put his hand on his heart. The heat in the room began rising subtly. An odd orange light emanated from the man. Dere¡¯s eyes went wide as the revelation struck him. It was a masterstroke, really. All his past and future rivals taken out in one fell swoop. He couldn¡¯t believe he didn¡¯t think of it earlier.


    Dere screamed as loud as he could. ¡°It¡¯s a trap!¡± Then, he sprang onto the table and ran across it. Most of the people in the room just looked at him, stunned and confused. The quicker of them, Sylvian and Frederic among them, took his hint. Dere ignored them all. He took one last glance at the fake advisor as he ran across the huge table. The man¡¯s face was placid and calm. He had bright red hair, Dere would later recall, fire red hair. Dere looked away and flung himself out the window at full force, smashing the priceless artwork with all his strength. Behind him, the world devolved into fire and heat. It blew Dere further through the air and he felt a searing pain across his back and legs. He saw the ground rushing towards him, and everything went dark.

 Chapter 11: Twin Shadows

    His entire world devolved into fire, blood, and pain, so much pain. It consumed him, ate at him. A hundred cuts along his body, burns down his legs, aches everywhere. It was worse than anything he had ever known.


    ¡°Roger!¡± It sounded distant but familiar, penetrating ever so slightly through the fog. Who was Roger? He felt a cool hand on his torso. He knew that name. He recognized the voice.


    He opened his eyes. Arlette stood above him, terrified and confused. He focused on her face, so lovely and pale. It gave him something else in the world to hang onto, besides the pain. ¡°Hello, Arlette.¡± It was meant to sound lighthearted and sarcastic. It came out as a wheeze. He coughed and struggled to breathe.


    ¡°Roger, hold still.¡± She kept calling him Roger. He supposed it was all she knew him by. She placed a hand on his chest and silver energy coursed through his body. The cuts began to close. The burns started fading. The aches softened. It gave him enough respite that he could look around. He saw a world of fire and death. Flames ate away at the gardens. Beautiful flowers went up in smoke. A mere five feet away from him, Highlord Albert laid dead, burned to the point Dere could hardly recognize him. He heard screams elsewhere, panic. The guests were fleeing.


    Further away, he spotted another figure, large and burned but alive. It was Sylvian. ¡°Tough bastard.¡± Dere thought. Even closer than Sylvian, Dere saw another man, breathing through the pain. He didn¡¯t look as handsome as usual, but Dere could tell it was Frederic. He almost chuckled, something about the entire situation just felt funny somehow, but he could only manage a strained cough.


    Arlette glanced down at him, worry etching her stoic face into a permanent frown. ¡°Roger, you need to relax.¡± She said. ¡°I¡¯m not good at healing. It isn¡¯t my specialty. Please, keep still.¡± He tried to look apologetic. He doubted it showed.


    His head fell to the side, in the direction of Sylvian and Frederic. In the distance, he spotted another figure, a woman. Unlike many of the other people that dotted the burning courtyard, she was standing and moving towards him, towards the fire and death. In her hand, she carried something. Dere struggled to make it out through the smoke. Focusing, he saw a curved sword, speckled with red blood. ¡°Arlette, please hurry.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying, Roger.¡± Dere kept his gaze on the woman. She kept moving in his direction, but he wasn¡¯t her target. No, she headed towards Sylvian.


    ¡°Arlette?¡± He wheezed it out again. She looked down at him, about to repeat the same phrase. He nodded in the direction of the woman before she could. Arlette seemed confused, but she turned around, just in time to see the woman plunge her sword straight through Sylvian¡¯s heart.


    Arlette gasped. Dere watched Sylvian¡¯s body tense up then relax. His life, so powerful and vibrant, faded out of him. The woman pulled the blade out of Sylvian and kept walking. This time towards Frederic. ¡°Arlette!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m hurrying!¡± Arlette kept healing him, and Dere took a second to look up at the sky. It had turned to night. The moon shone on him from above, brilliant and beautiful. He muttered a noiseless prayer to his sister, wondering, as so many mortals probably had, whether she even listened. It might have been his imagination, but Arlette¡¯s channeling coursed through him with more power than before. His body kept healing. The woman kept walking. Eventually, she stood over Frederic. His handsome face, filled with spite, met hers. He had accepted his death. She lifted her sword.


    Then, Dere shouted. He didn¡¯t know why. What concern was Frederic to him? The man actively hated him. But, nonetheless, he had done it. No taking it back now.


    The woman stopped and looked in his and Arlette¡¯s direction, taken just a little off-guard. Dere nudged Arlette to the side, grabbed his sword, and lifted himself from the floor. It hurt to stand. It hurt so much, but he could do it. He steadied himself on two feet and faced the woman.


    Tilting her head she looked him up and down. They each got their first good look at each other, through the smoke and the fire. She stood taller than any other mortal woman he knew. Dark golden skin corded with lithe, powerful muscles reflected the firelight. She wore a light blue, loose fitting shirt and pants that blew ominously in the wind. Everything about the way she moved screamed danger. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Dere knew he must have looked unimpressive across from her. His injuries and exhaustion had him almost wobbling on his feet, hardly a match, but Dere had never been as easy as he might seem. He grabbed his sword and drew on the trickle of power streaming from it. It was so little, but it would have to do. Behind him, his shadow shifted and distorted.


    For a while, she kept observing him as he stood twenty or so feet away from her. Perhaps she wondered what it was that possesed him to make him do something so stupid. Dere was, after all, wondering the same thing. Then, she simply shrugged. In just a few seconds the answer probably wouldn''t matter anyway.


    With a blast of air she covered the ground between them. Dere dodged to the side and deflected her blade, his body complaining the whole time. The woman careened past him at blinding speed before twisting in the air and regaining her footing. He turned to face her. She met his eyes and nodded, perhaps a little impressed. Dere glanced around for Arlette but couldn¡¯t find her. She had disappeared without so much as a whisper.


    He dropped into a stance, feigning an attack. The woman smirked and prepared to meet him. Suddenly, her eyes darted around and she dodged to the side as a dark figure lunged forward and attacked her. It was made of evershifting grey shadows and held an incorporeal blade. It was Dere¡¯s shadow.


    Dere followed up his shadow¡¯s attack, feinting low and going high. The woman parried his blow with ease and whipped out her curved sword towards Dere¡¯s thigh. It took all of Dere¡¯s speed and experience to deflect the blow. She aimed another towards his neck, which he managed to dodge in time. Behind her his shadow attacked again. She whirled around and parried its thrust. Quick as the wind, she slashed her sword at the shadow, but it blocked it with its odd blade.


    The fight roared on. Dere and his shadow exchanging blows with the woman, nobody gaining an upper hand. Eventually, she lashed out another strike at Dere, forcing him back. Using the opportunity, she whipped her other hand around in a circular motion. A gust of wind knocked Dere and his shadow back ten feet. Dere flipped around and landed on his feet, nearby one of the courtyard¡¯s columns. His shadow mirrored his action.


    Dere and the woman glared at each other, each preparing for the other¡¯s next move. Dere knew her fighting style well. She was a Blessed of Afre the Goddess of Storms. She, on the other hand, had never fought anything like him.


    With a snarl, she lunged at him again. He didn¡¯t attempt to block it this time. Instead, he jumped towards the ground, into the shadow of the column. Her slash sliced through the stone column with ease, cleaving it in two, but Dere no longer stood there. He had disappeared. She looked around in fury, just in time to see Dere¡¯s shadow lunging towards her once again. Blade a blur, she blocked the shadow¡¯s attack and countered. The shadow managed to deflect but left itself open. She prepared to finish it. Except, before she could, Dere emerged from the shadow of another column and sent his blade flashing towards her leg. She dodged backward but not quick enough. The sword bit into her unarmored thigh and drew blood. Unleashing a primal scream, she whirled her hand around again and sent a much more powerful blast of wind outward, knocking Dere and his shadow thirty feet across the courtyard.


    Dere landed and skidded back several more feet, almost bumping into something as he did. Once again, his shadow mirrored his landing. Momentarily distracted, Dere glanced downward and saw Highlord Evrard, dead and burnt, like all the rest. His sword laid a few feet away from him. Its shadow looked thin and small in the firelight. Dere looked up from Evrard to see the woman staring at him, eyes full of rage. He took a long breath, pain all but forgotten, and prepared to meet her next assault.


    This time, though, she didn¡¯t charge. Instead, she summoned a flashing bolt of lightning in her hand. Dere¡¯s eyes went wide and he held up his blade in time to block the bolt. It sent him flying back several yards and almost knocked the sword out of his hands. The force of the blow laid him prone. As he sat there, she approached him slowly, another lightning bolt appearing in her hand. Dere gestured and, before it hit him, his shadow jumped in front of him, absorbing the brilliant light and fading away.


    The Blessed woman sneered and used the wind to propel her forward once again, eager to finish the still prone Dere. Using all his speed and grace, he whirled his body around and jumped towards her, under her flashing blade. She went over him, just barely, and he landed next to the body of Highlord Evrard once more. He reached out his hand and touched the shadow of Evrard¡¯s sword. It traveled into him and disappeared. Turning around he saw the woman dash forward one more time. He held up his hand and from it a shadow of Evrard¡¯s blade soared out. She saw it too late. Her dodge was too slow. It cut her across her stomach and she tumbled to the ground, a few yards away from Dere.


    Dere tried to rise, but everything that had happened today caught up to him: the pain, the loss of blood, the use of his powers. He felt too weak. He struggled to his feet, too slow, he knew. Even injured, she rose faster than him, grasping her sword as she rose, eyes filled with an indescribable rage. Dere held his own weapon, hoping he had the energy to stave her off.


    However, before she could attack, she suddenly stopped. Her mouth opened wide and she turned to look behind her. There, Arlette stood, materializing out of nowhere, a small dagger plunged through the woman¡¯s back.

 Chapter 12: The Devastation

    Arlette kept the blade in the woman¡¯s back and grabbed her throat. ¡°Hello, Fasha.¡±


    Dere hunched over, hands at his sides, and breathed in and out, focusing on anything but the pain. ¡°You know her?¡± He wheezed out through slow breaths.


    Arlette gave him a mildly sympathetic look. ¡°She¡¯s Besson¡¯s hired help.¡± Fasha sneered at Dere and writhed around in Arlette¡¯s grasp. Arlette only had to move the dagger a little for her to stop.


    ¡°Perfect.¡± Dere said as he straightened himself out. ¡°Then she can tell us where Besson is.¡±


    He slugged Fasha in the stomach. The punch came out weaker than it normally would, but it still had the desired effect of bowing her over. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell us, Fasha?¡± Despite the pain, his voice didn¡¯t waver. It came out cold and calm.


    ¡°Fuck you.¡±


    Arlette twisted the dagger and Fasha screamed. ¡°Sorry,¡± Dere said. ¡°I couldn¡¯t quite catch that.¡±


    She met his hardened coal black eyes, anger turning them from their usual grey. ¡°I said, fuck you.¡±


    Dere sighed and punched her again. ¡°You know Fasha, I wanted to do this the easy way? I always hated doing this.¡± His right hand launched out and latched around her neck while his other hand pointed at the ground, towards Fasha¡¯s shadow. Her deep brown eyes met his unnatural black ones and an eerie smile flitted across his lips. She looked down at her shadow, which was shifting and moving unnaturally.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Arlette asked. Sudden uncertainty lacing the edge of her tone.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡± With a gesture, Dere dragged the shadow up from the ground and towards Fasha. She wriggled and screamed in his iron grasp, unsure what Dere wanted to do but certain it was bad. Dere kept hauling the shadow up, ignoring the waves of fatigue that the effort shot through his beaten body. When the shadow reached Fasha, it entered inside her and dissapeared from sight. Suddenly, the screams stopped. ¡°Arlette, you can let her go now.¡±


    Arlette released the woman and looked Dere dead in his frightening eyes. ¡°What are you?¡±


    ¡°If I told you, you wouldn''t believe me.¡± He smiled at her. It resembled his usual good-natured grin, but none of his usual emotion reached those coal black eyes.


    ¡°You might be surprised.¡±


    ¡°Doubt it.¡± She frowned at the non-answer, perturbed by the way Dere skirted around her questions. However, she knew him well enough by this point to understand no more clarification would be coming.


    Dere focused his attention on the now limp Fasha. ¡°Look at me.¡± She obeyed without question and met his stare. Arlette sucked in a silent breath. Fasha¡¯s normally brown eyes had been replaced, covered over by an ever shifting grey mass of shadows. ¡°Tell me, Fasha,¡± Dere¡¯s anger leaked into his words. He spoke with an emphasis on every syllable. ¡°Where is he?¡±


    ¡°Heading back to Vicare.¡± Fasha¡¯s voice sounded emotionless and seemed to come from somewhere distant. ¡°He¡¯ll be long gone by now.¡±


    Dere¡¯s grip around her neck tightened. ¡°Well then, you¡¯ll just have to tell me what I want to know. Who gave Duval the faceless men?¡±


    ¡°A man.¡± Fasha responded without hesitation. ¡°I¡¯ve only ever seen him at a distance. They call him Finger.¡± You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°He claims to be the finger of the gods. Their way of touching the mortal world.¡±


    Dere¡¯s mind raced through the possibilities. Options arose, all of them imperfect. ¡°Which god?¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t say.¡±


    Dere made no attempt to hide his aggravation. He knew the way of things. There were never answers only an ever increasing tower of questions. He moved on. ¡°When did he contact Duval?¡±


    ¡°Before the eve of the final battle. He only talked to Duval and Besson. That¡¯s all I know. I wasn¡¯t there.¡±


    All at once his tiredness caught up to him. He loosened his grip and drew in a labored breath. ¡°Of course you weren¡¯t.¡± He closed his eyes for a long second before opening them again. When he did, they had returned to their normal grey. ¡°Tell me. How? How has he done it? How has he brought them back?¡±


    Fasha¡¯s unblinking shadowy eyes stared straight through him. ¡°He found the dark goddess.¡±


    Dere¡¯s fading anger reignited all at once. The tiredness and the pain were both forgotten. ¡°What!?¡± His grip became like a vice. Fasha¡¯s dark face went red. He hissed. ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡± Fasha remained limp in his grasp. The odd passivity that consumed her was unshaken by his display of rage. With a scream, he ripped the shadow out of her. ¡°How did he find it!?¡±


    Fasha¡¯s eyes, brown once more, looked away from Dere, fleeing from his rage. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± In the back of his consciousness, he heard Arlette scream his name.


    Dere roared and stabbed his blade through Fasha''s heart. Both her and Arlette both watched him in surprise. Fasha looked down at the shadowy blade impaling her chest. The sword drew upon her power and leeched upon the piece of divinity in her body, taking it into itself. She gave him one last look of defiance before collapsing to the ground.


    Arlette turned on him, mild disapproval crossing her stoic face. ¡°That could have been handled better.


    ¡°She had nothing more to tell us.¡± The usual certainty he carried at all times seemed to be absent from his demeanor. Exhaustion pressed down on him again. He sat on the floor.


    Arlette let silence envelop the courtyard for a few seconds before pressing him. ¡°Do you believe her? Do you think they found her?¡± Arlette spoke with uncharacteristic uncertainty. She had crossed into territory she didn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t lie.¡± Dere murmured. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean it''s true.¡±


    ¡°What if they did?¡±


    ¡°Then the faceless men are just the beginning, and Duval¡¯s even more untouchable than I thought.¡± His voice was weighed down by a thousand emotions.


    Arlette sat next to him. Her appearance, usually so crisp and pristine, had fallen into disrepair. She seemed almost as tired as Dere. ¡°What now?¡±


    Dere looked around at the fires and the dead. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    He heard a groan behind him. Frederic, who had fallen unconscious during the fight, stirred. Dere hauled himself up and walked over to stand over the man. Frederic had made out well, better than Dere had. They looked at each other and Dere offered out a hand.


    ¡°Bastard.¡± Frederic murmured. Dere wasn¡¯t sure whether that was aimed at him or Besson, both made sense. Either way he accepted the hand and Dere pulled him to his feet. Frederic stumbled around for a second, eyeing the extent of the devastation. He grunted when he saw Fasha¡¯s body. Then, with slow painful steps, he hauled himself in the direction of the manor.


    ¡°Besson¡¯s not in there.¡± Said Dere as he watched the man with pity.


    ¡°No, but Dylan is.¡± Step by painful step, he dragged himself forward. Dere watched him walk away and followed him. Arlette sighed and trailed behind them.


    Together, they navigated the torn up courtyard. The fires seemed to part for Frederic as he passed, like water around a ship. It allowed them to reach the gate easily. Dere grabbed the charred handle and flung the door open.


    The inside had held together well. The explosion collapsed parts of the building and blackened many others, but the structure stood. The people inside hadn¡¯t made out as well. Bodies of guards and servants littered the floor, some burned others cut open. It seemed someone besides Fasha had been cleaning up.


    Frederic staggered forward, the weight of worry on his back. Dere followed him down the corridor. They reached a room at the far end and Frederic pushed it open. Inside was a small but ornate bedroom. On a bed in the center, Dylan lay still, unburnt but cut open so that his guts spewed out over the fine bedding. Frederic said nothing as he saw his dead son. No reaction betrayed whatever grief he must have felt. He simply stood there, looking at his son¡¯s corpse.


    ¡°Leave.¡± He murmured. Dere and Arlette looked at him. ¡°I said leave!¡± Noiselessly, they left him. Dere couldn¡¯t quite tell, but, as he limped down the hall, he thought he heard sobs behind him.

 Chapter 13: The Lost Men

    Arlette had to support him as Dere hobbled back across the courtyard. The fires were fading, their hunger no longer sustained by the sparse kindling of the garden. Through the embers they strode, one step after another.


    Suddenly, Arlette stopped and Dere looked up to see Florian kneeling in front of Sylvian¡¯s body. His blade, dyed red with blood, rested by his side. Eyes fighting back tears, he turned to face them.


    ¡°Who?¡± He asked, a horrible sadness carrying through the word.


    Dere gestured to Fasha¡¯s corpse, some twenty yards away.


    Understanding dawned on his grief stricken face. ¡°Of course.¡± His voice was caught between rage and sorrow, but his eyes bore no such divide. They burned with an unquechable fury that he leveled at Fasha''s corpse. ¡°Was that your work?¡±


    ¡°And Arlette¡¯s.¡±


    Florian clenched his fists. ¡°Thanks, to both of you.¡± He grabbed his blade and stood up, intent clear.


    ¡°Besson¡¯s already gone.¡± Said Arlette. ¡°Back to Vicare. You can''t catch him."


    Florian paused to take a breath and comb a hand through his long black hair. His weapon, a curved sword not dissimilar from Fasha¡¯s blade, shook in his hands, vibrating to the rhythm of his anger. Steadying himself with several shallow breaths, the trembling eventually faded. Then, after sheathing his blade, he looked down at Sylvian¡¯s corpse, an odd calm washing over him. ¡°He was all I had. I¡¯ve built my entire life around him. Served him for over a decade. And, now... I don''t know. Even vengeance seems hollow now.¡±


    Dere empathized. It was a situation he was familiar with. Having one¡¯s purpose torn away, left in the darkness, no cause to claim as your own. He¡¯d spent half his immortal life that way. He wondered whether to say something, to provide some words of wisdom. Nothing came to him. He wasn''t used to offering comfort. Instead, he got back to business. ¡°Where did you go?¡±


    Florian spoke absentmindedly, thoughts elsewhere. ¡°Sylvian sent me to find Besson. He was getting suspicious. Clearly not suspicious enough, though.¡± He forced out a hollow chuckle. Dere nodded in response, unsure how to proceed.


    Florian''s empty eyes scanned the courtyard, looking at everything but seeing nothing. ¡°I ran into Gregor." He eventually murmured. When Dere looked back, confused, he clarified. "One of Besson¡¯s other retainers. He was picking off some of the survivors, but I took care of him." Whatever vulnerability he had revealed earlier vanished was gone. His voice carried steel in every syllable. ¡°Do any other Highlords live?¡±


    ¡°Frederic.¡± Said Dere with a shrug.


    Florian laughed lightly, a sad, hollow thing. ¡°It would be him.¡± He said, voice layered with sarcasm. ¡°Where is he?¡±


    Arlette rentered the conversation and pointed her finger towards the manor. ¡°Inside. He¡¯s mourning. Dylan¡¯s dead.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Florian shook his head. ¡°Rotten kid, always was, probably always would be. Shame, though.¡± Silence held the air in its iron grip. Everybody lost in their own thoughts. Dere stared at the flames, Arlette at the sky, and Florian at Sylvian. After a while, Florian closed his eyes and looked away. ¡°So, what are you going to do?¡± The question was directed at Dere.


    It was one Dere had been dreading. He didn¡¯t know. Everything in him wanted to return to Vicare, to find this Finger and unleash the extent of his rage. Except, he couldn¡¯t. Duval, Besson, and Finger were all out of his reach. Many times in his life he¡¯d felt lost. Even then, even in his worst moments, he always had his strength. He always had the ability to act. Now, he faced a new problem. He had direction but was too powerless to act upon it. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Florian chuckled. ¡°That makes two of us, then.¡± A light smile, much smaller than usual but perhaps more genuine, curled Dere¡¯s lip.


    ¡°What about you, Arlette?¡± Dere looked down at her. She was still supporting him with her shoulder.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be heading North to Coln to rendezvous with Marcella.¡± Dere chuckled. She spoke with such certainty. It wasn¡¯t in her nature to be lost.


    ¡°Marcella¡¯s alive?¡± Stammered a surprised Florian.


    ¡°Yes, and if you need a cause to cling to, we¡¯d gladly welcome a Blessed of your reputation.¡±


    Florian closed his eyes and nodded. ¡°I¡¯d be honored.¡± His voice carried noticeable relief. A man like Florian needed a cause.


    Arlette turned from Florian to appraise Dere, who met her questioning eyes. ¡°You need to reach Finger, right?¡± Dere nodded. ¡°He¡¯s guarded by the most feared Blessed in the realm and is surely powerful in his own right. I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re capable of, but I doubt even you could manage that. You¡¯ll need an army to get to him.¡±


    ¡°Maybe more than that.¡± Dere mused, thoughts dwelling on the past. Images of the Immortal War, so many years ago, flashed through his mind. The creatures Ona had controlled. The terror and the power Finger might be able to wield. Even if it was a fragment of what Ona could do, Dere was less than a fragment of himself. ¡°No, much more than that.¡±


    Arlette didn¡¯t even look perturbed. ¡°You need our help Roger, or... whatever your name is.¡± Florian raised his eyebrows but otherwise didn¡¯t comment on Dere¡¯s hazy identity.


    Dere thought for a while. What avenues did he have? He was too weak to take matters into his own hands. Finger had the support of at least one god. How else could he have retrieved the body? Besides, he didn¡¯t even know where the man was. Vicare, maybe? If he reached out to the gods for help, none of them would provide it. Even the ones that didn¡¯t hate him were preparing for war. She was right. He needed whatever help he could find.


    ¡°Fine. On the condition that Marcella helps me get to this Finger fellow, I will help her retake the throne.¡±


    Arlette gave him a real smile. ¡°I¡¯m glad to have your help.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, I¡¯d be glad to have me too.¡± Arlette rolled her eyes, but her smile grew just a tiny bit wider.


    Florian broke in. ¡°Hate to interrupt but...¡± He nodded in the direction of the manor. All three of them turned to see Frederic hobbling out. The remaining fire parted for him as he walked across the courtyard, flames bowing to his considerable will, even in his injured state. Dere saw the ember''s reflected in his deep blue eyes, his rage making them burn hotter. He was a Highlord of Clovin, a chosen of Banto Re, and one of the most powerful Blessed in the realm.


    He stopped ten or so feet away and appraised each of them in turn. Arlette met his flaming eyes. ¡°Marcella is alive, Frederic. We intend to help her retake the throne. Will you help?¡±


    The flames grew even hotter. ¡°Any enemy of Duval is my ally. Tell the girl she can count on my aid, when the time comes.¡± With that he hobbled away, out the manor. The fires faded as he grew more distant, until only a few embers remained.

 Chapter 14: Drinks in the Pub

    Dere hated horses, loathed the beasts. Their backs were as uncomfortable as steel. They always tried to buck him off. They were too loyal for his liking, something suspicious about that, and the worst part was everyone else loved the things. No, that wasn¡¯t true, the worst part about horses was the smell, a horrible acrid thing, especially in the rain.That was another thing Dere hated, the rain. Nothing in the world succeeded so wholly in ruining a perfectly good day. Besides, rain was Afre¡¯s thing, and they had never gotten along.


    By sheer coincidence, Dere currently sat astride a horse in the heart of an ongoing storm. The rain had soaked through his clothes and the horse¡¯s smell had begun its assault on his nostrils. ¡°How far until we get there.¡± He, Arlette, and Florian were heading North to Coln. They had travelled for a week already, and Dere had fallen into a foul mood. Their next stop on the trek North was the small village of Farrow, another unremarkable hamlet for Dere to enjoy more foul food and drink.


    ¡°You¡¯re such a child.¡± Arlette responded. She was not in a much better mood than him but showed it, and said it, much less.


    ¡°I¡¯m far older than you.¡±


    ¡°If you are, which I doubt, then you certainly don¡¯t act like it.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re close.¡± Said Florian, entering the conversation before they engaged in another of their hour-long bickering sessions.


    Dere rolled his eyes. ¡°You said we were close an hour ago.¡±


    ¡°We were close an hour ago.¡± Florian was the only one of the three who wasn¡¯t in a particularly bad mood. If only because his natural state was a bad mood. ¡°We¡¯re closer now.¡±


    Groaning, Dere went back to staring downward at the saddle, not even bothering to guide the horse. Silence encompassed the group once more as the horses brought them up a shallow hill. Upon reaching the crest, Dere spotted distant lights below. ¡°Told you.¡± Florian remarked with just a little too much self-assuredness for Dere¡¯s liking.


    Dere glanced over his horse¡¯s head at the town of Farrow below. It was even smaller and more ramshackle than the others with barely enough buildings to qualify as a village. ¡°Great, I''m so delighted.¡±


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


    He and Florian dropped their meager possessions off in the room, the largest the inn had. Arlette had taken possession of the only other remaining room, so Florian and Dere split this one. Normally, Dere would have filled Arlette¡¯s ears with a chorus of complaints and arguments, but he lacked the energy to do even that. He shook as much water off his clothes as he could manage then walked towards the door. ¡°Drinks, Florian?¡±


    ¡°Gladly.¡± Florian, who had been staring out the second-story window, followed Dere out the door. Together, they went down to the first floor where some of the townsfolk and a few other travelers had gathered for drinks. It was the usual crowd: farmers, one or two guards, some travelling merchants, and three tougher looking fellows who Dere thought might be mercenaries in between jobs. All in all, not the best drinking companions.


    Dere pointedly ignored the lot of them and headed to the counter. A matronly woman in her early forties manned the bar. She gave Dere and Florian the smallest smile courtesy allowed. ¡°What can I get you boys?¡±


    Dere looked at the options and sighed. ¡°Two flasks of beer, please. The best you have.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯ll be six coppers.¡± So cheap, too cheap. It meant it was probably swill. Florian handed the coins over and the woman poured two mugs from a cask underneath the counter. Dere picked up his mug and sniffed at it. He fought the urge to recoil at the stench. The novelty of mortal appetite had left him, and his usual pickiness had returned. Not so long ago he was drinking the finest wine of the Immortals, one glass of which could fetch enough coin to purchase this entire sad excuse of a town. Now he was drinking something that smelled suspiciously similar to horse piss. Dere let out another sigh, no use dwelling on the past.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    They claimed a table in the far corner of the room, near the fire, and sat in the wooden seats. Dere¡¯s body, sore from the ride and not yet fully healed from the events of a week ago, complained as he did. Even Florian groaned when he sat. They each sipped their beers at the same time and simultaneously recoiled. Nevertheless, the drinks had alcohol, so they kept sipping.


    ¡°Chances Arlette joins us?¡± Florian asked, mild grin on his normally grumpy face.


    ¡°Us, alcohol, and the splendid company of all these fine people,¡± Dere gestured around the room. ¡°I can¡¯t think of anything she¡¯s less likely to do.¡± Florian snorted, and Dere, even through his foul mood, smiled.


    ¡°Can you imagine a drunk Arlette? That would be a sight.¡± Florian muttered while taking another sip.


    ¡°As hilarious as that idea sounds, I doubt it would be much fun in actuality. She¡¯d probably be insufferable.¡±


    ¡°I think she¡¯d actually try to strangle you.¡±


    ¡°Try? She¡¯d succeed.¡±


    Florian¡¯s laugh filled up the sordid room. It was one of the few things about the man that reminded Dere of Sylvian. For most of the time Dere had known him, Florian drifted between various states of grumpiness, but every once in a while he¡¯d brighten up a little and one could spot a trace of his old liege¡¯s influence. It was one of the reasons Dere liked the man.


    For another half hour or so they sat in that corner table and downed pints of the awful beer. As their inebriation increased their foul mood receded. Dere was almost having a good time. Florian was almost in a good mood. Then, Dere overheard something. The three men he¡¯d earlier pegged as mercenaries had been idly conversing about opportunities for employment. Dere caught bits and pieces of what they said throughout the night, none of it interested him. They mentioned many of the usual things: guard work, bullying people for local landowners, enforcement. They seemed as uninterested in the work as Dere was in their conversation, but then, they mentioned something else.


    ¡°I need work, man.¡± Said the tallest of the three whose face bore a nasty scar running down his neck. ¡°Not for coppers either. None of the usual bullshit. I need silver in my pocket. Maybe even some gold.¡±


    ¡°And I want to marry a princess. Neither is going to happen.¡± Muttered a grizzled older man who sported something of a potbelly.


    ¡°The new king¡¯s offering work, Davel, or something like that.¡± The third one spoke up. He was the shortest of the three and looked like he was distantly related to a rat. ¡°Needs help bringing down Maurius, ol¡¯ Sir Stick up his Ass. Good money I hear.¡±


    ¡°No. You¡¯ve heard the same stories I¡¯ve heard.¡± The fat one interjected. ¡°I¡¯m not getting within twenty miles of those monsters. No way I¡¯m throwing myself in with his lot.¡±


    Rat man shook his head. ¡°You¡¯ll have to sooner or later. The Kingdom¡¯s his. Ilu only knows what¡¯s going on with the other Highlords.¡± He looked around suspiciously then muttered to his companions under his breath. ¡°Plus, I heard from one of my pals in Randas¡¯ host that they¡¯ve rounded up the Queen.¡±


    Dere, who had been trying not to zone out of the mostly boring conversation about Duval, suddenly perked up. Across from him he saw Florian do the same.


    ¡°No way. When?¡±


    ¡°Few days ago, apparently. She was fleeing to Coln with Lucroy. Rumor is they killed him and grabbed her.¡±


    The tall one sat back in his chair and rubbed his patchy facial hair. ¡°What a mess. None of our business, though. Davel, or Devel, or whoever is bad news. I¡¯m telling you. Best keep away.¡± He leaned forward and moved on. ¡°Anyway, you see that dame who walked in here¡­¡± He stopped abruptly. Florian had scooted back his chair and approached the table. Dere watched him from his seat, pretty sure he knew where this was going.


    Florian stood over the three men. They looked at him, confusion clear in their eyes.


    Rat man confronted him. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    Florian looked down at the man¡¯s sneering rodent-like face. ¡°Tell me everything you know about what happened to the Queen.¡±


    The man looked at the others then back at Florian. ¡°Why would I do that?¡±


    ¡°Because I told you to.¡±


    ¡°Who do you think you¡­¡± Before he could finish the sentence, Florian¡¯s fist flew straight into his ugly face.

 Chapter 15: Quiet Rage

    Florian had held back his punch, but the man still went sprawling off his chair. His friends took a second to react, shocked by what just happened. After several stunned blinks, they burst from their seats to confront Florian. He just watched the three of them, oddly calm. Dere, for his part, continued sipping his beer, correctly figuring Florian had the situation under control.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter with you!?¡± Screamed the tallest of the three men.


    ¡°I need your friend to tell me everything he knows about what happened to the Queen, and I¡¯m in no mood for any delays.¡± Despite the tension pervading around the room, Florian sounded rather bored.


    ¡°Fuck you asshole!¡± The man¡¯s other friend, the chubby one, shouted out. He came at Florian and threw a punch at his stomach. Florian batted it to the side with ease and slugged the man in his stomach. The mercenery bent over and vomited on the floor.


    The tall one stepped past his friend and threw a jab towards Florian¡¯s face. Florian darted to the side of it and slammed his head into the man¡¯s skull. His body seemed to fold in on itself as he collapsed to the floor, nose spewing blood in every direction.


    One of the guards across the room, a young portly fellow who had moments before been enjoying his drink in peace, broke out of the shocked inaction that had kept him immobile. He sprang from his seat and walked across the room, drawing his sword as he did. His path brought him right by Dere¡¯s table.


    With a sigh, Dere launched his fist sideways and caught the guard in the gut. The man leaned over in pain. Dere lazily rose from his seat and stomped down on the man¡¯s sword arm, forcing him to drop the rusty blade. ¡°Sorry about this.¡± Dere said, somewhat genuinely. The guard didn¡¯t even seem to hear him. He was to busy being in pain to notice anything else.


    His friend, an overweight middle-aged man, got up from the table with some difficulty and drew his own sword. Dere turned to face him and smiled. ¡°Here¡¯s a friendly suggestion. I wouldn¡¯t.¡± Dere did indeed sound friendly, but the warning conveyed clearly. The elder guard looked from Dere to his friend and sat back down. Dere kicked the other guard¡¯s sword away and turned to see what Florian was up to.


    Currently, he was holding rat man aloft in the air by his shirt. ¡°I¡¯m going to ask again. What happened to the Queen?¡±


    The man squirmed in his grasp. ¡°I...I...I already said. Randas¡¯ host ran into her.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡± Florian¡¯s incredible anger radiated out from him and focused in on the poor sellsword.


    ¡°Uh...uh...uh¡­ Karn¡­ it was by Karn. They ran into a scouting party and were hunted down by a larger host.¡±


    ¡°Where are they now?¡±


    ¡°Fuck man, I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Florian¡¯s eyes honed in. ¡°Are you lying to me?¡±


    Rat face kept struggling against Florian¡¯s Blessed strength. ¡°Yeah... like I¡¯d lie to you right now.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s telling the truth.¡± Said Dere from across the room.


    Florian shrugged. ¡°Fair enough.¡± He dropped the man on the floor. Rat face landed on his knees and scurried away.


    At once, he and his buddies flew towards the door. Everyone else in the pub watched them leave in stunned terror, terrified by what just happened.


    As the three mercenaries hurdled out the door, the tall one drew some unexpected courage and stopped. ¡°You a Blessed, ain¡¯t you? Damn you all, flaunting your power wherever you go! You¡¯ll get yours!¡± He turned in a hurry and dashed out the door, unwilling to back his convictions with further blows.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Florian didn¡¯t bother with a response. He merely watched them leave in silence. Dere left the guard to do what he wanted and walked up to join Florian. He stood by him for a moment, wondering what to say. ¡°Now, Florian, I¡¯m not exactly qualified to give advice on¡­ well... almost anything,¡± He said as he watched the three figures get more and more distant through the door frame. ¡°And there¡¯s a certain satisfaction in slugging a stranger in the face, I won¡¯t deny that, but there are healthier ways to deal with anger and loss than bouts of random violence.¡± Florian didn¡¯t look at him, but his ears, at least, seemed at attention. ¡°If you don¡¯t care. If you just want to punch people. That¡¯s fine. I mean, it¡¯s what I used to do. If we¡¯re being honest, it¡¯s what I still do.¡± He paused. His tongue, normally so dexterous, struggled to come up with the right words. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ well¡­ I don¡¯t think that¡¯s what you really want to do. You¡¯re not like me. At least, I don''t think so.¡± Dere shrugged and walked back to the table, leaving Florian alone to stew in silence.


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


    Dere hated how calm Arlette always looked. It made the anger somehow more unsettling. ¡°What did you do?¡± She asked him, arms folded across her chest.


    ¡°Me? I didn¡¯t do anything. I¡¯m, as usual, innocent¡­ well¡­ mostly innocent. Florian started this whole mess.¡±


    She came down from the stairwell and joined the two of them on the ground floor. Her silver hair was in a rough ponytail, and she had thrown on a simple white robe.


    Upon reaching the ground floor, she appraised the situation and fought down a groan. The remaining customers had fled, the barkeep herself had disappeared into a cellar and locked the door behind her. Spilled drinks and traces of fresh blood marred the already dirty tavern floor. ¡°Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes I leave you two alone, and this happens.¡± Her voice dripped with exhaustion.


    ¡°Oh, relax, it¡¯s not how I would have done it. Or... maybe it is how I would have done it, but that¡¯s unimportant.¡± Dere said, the usual grin twisting his lip. ¡°What is important is what we found out.¡± Dere had enough grace to let the smile disappear from his face. ¡°Marcella has been captured.¡±


    Arlette¡¯s cool calm, which she wore no matter how aggravated or tired she was, disappeared in an instant. ¡°What!?¡± She looked around frantically as if she could find Marcella somewhere in the pub. ¡°Where? When? By who?¡±


    Florian, who had been stewing for the duration of the conversation, broke in before Dere could answer. ¡°She was taken a few days ago, near Karn. The man said it was Randas.¡±


    Somehow, Arlette¡¯s pale skin went even whiter. ¡°Do we even know he was telling the truth.¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t lie.¡± Dere said, matter of factly.


    She nodded, stunned. ¡°We need to go¡­ now.¡± Her tone was everywhere, bouncing between her torrent of emotions like a ship in a storm.


    ¡°Hold up,¡± Dere said, palm upraised. ¡°Whose Randas? Where¡¯s Karn?¡±


    Arlette¡¯s mind was somewhere else, so Florian, who had calmed down considerably, answered the question. ¡°Karn¡¯s a few hard day''s ride Northwest. Minor city, nothing special. Randas is one of Duval¡¯s retainers. He¡¯s a Blessed of Duru. One of the most powerful of the Earth God¡¯s chosen on the Middle Continent. A great warrior and a brutally efficient man.¡±


    ¡°So, trouble then?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    Dere ran a hand through his increasingly long grey hair. ¡°Great, just what I need.¡± There was nothing subtle about the sarcasm in his tone.


    ¡°Something wrong?¡± Arlette asked, with much more open hostility than she had ever used before.


    ¡°Maybe there is.¡± Grey eyes shifting between shades, he met her gaze. ¡°The more and more I get wrapped up in this petty power struggle the less worth the effort it seems. I don¡¯t care about all this meaningless politics. I have something much more important I''m trying to accomplish.¡± Arlette¡¯s eyes went wide with anger, but Dere¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver. ¡°Look, I like Marcella. I¡¯m sure she¡¯d be a good queen, but while your fight and mine have some similarities they are not the same. We should all remember that. I¡¯ll help the girl. I still need her help, but I¡¯m not going to keep jumping through hoops to save a monarchy I''ve never cared about. Understand?¡±


    Light blue eyes narrowed in quiet rage. ¡°Oh, I understand.¡± She said. They glared at each other a while more before Arlette looked away in disgust.


    She was about to stomp upstairs to fetch her things, but Florian grabbed her shoulder before she could. ¡°What?¡± She asked, her anger at Dere far from doused


    ¡°I know this is a bad time, but it needs to be said.¡± Florian¡¯s face looked grave. ¡°I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s true, but the man certainly believed it. Lucroy might be dead.¡±


    All of Arlette¡¯s emotions seemed to just drain away. Her eyes looked blankly through Florian. ¡°Okay.¡± She murmured. Without another word, she turned around and climbed the stairs, taking each step deliberately like she was afraid they would disappear.


    Dere and Florian watched her go. A chaotic quiet filled the air between them. ¡°Guess we¡¯re going to Karn, then?¡± Dere asked, even though he knew the answer.


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡±

 Chapter 16: The Perils of Mortality

    The weather had cleared over the past few days and blue skies beamed sunlight down upon the three weary travelers. The improved weather did nothing for the mood of the group, though. Ever since they had left Farrow they had exchanged only the briefest conversations with one another. Even Dere, ever so talkative, brooded quietly. The silence became their fourth companion, ever-present, both unwelcome and welcome.


    Arlette led the three of them down a wooded path, pushing a frantic pace. Florian trailed her and Dere trailed him. Dere stared at the mud brown mane of his horse. Florian seemed lost in his own world. Only Arlette paid attention to the road ahead. She drove them forward with reckless abandon. The road stood between her and Marcella and she intended to eat it up as fast as possible.


    Night was fast approaching. They were six hours ride out of Karn. Arlette wanted to press on through the dark. Dere thought differently. Exhaustion consumed his entire being. Days of hard riding, broken only by a few hours restless sleep. Wounds, once closed by Arlette and time, kept throbbing, draining away at his body¡¯s endurance. He had barely eaten. He had barely slept. The wounds had gotten worse, not better. Sometimes he¡¯d lose control and sway in his saddle for a second. Other times, he felt hot, unbearably hot, and he didn¡¯t know why. Florian, or even sometimes the still mad Arlette, would turn to look at him on occasion. At rare times they¡¯d even look concerned, but they pressed on.


    By this point, Dere had had enough. He opened his mouth to speak, to voice his protest. However, something stopped him. A sense long forgotten tingled in the back of his mind. Pulling on the reins he halted his horse. Arlette and Florian turned to look at him. ¡°Arlette, we need to stop and rest.¡± Florian said. ¡°Look at him. He can barely stay in the saddle.¡±


    Arlette opened her mouth to speak, but Dere interrupted before she could. ¡°No, no, something¡¯s wrong.¡± His foggy grey eyes scanned the treeline. Then, he saw it.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Florian asked.


    Dere didn¡¯t bother answering. Instead, he just tumbled right off his horse towards the hard dirt road below.


    Alarmed, Florian pulled his own horse around to go fetch him. However, when he got there, Dere was gone. He had disappeared. ¡°What¡¯s he doing?¡± Florian murmured. Arlette pursed her lips and looked around, aggravated by the delay.


    Unbeknownst to them, Dere had fallen into the shadow of his horse and reappeared elsewhere. He currently sat in the shadow of a mighty oak, about fifty yards off the main road, right behind the five men who had been watching them from the cover of the treeline. The five of them were huddled together in some bushes. They wore sparse armor and were covered in dirt, possibly as cover or possibly just because they had been camping in the woods for too long. Dere crept forward and caught bits of their whispered conversation.


    ¡°Where¡¯d he go? Can you see him?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t. He¡¯s just¡­ he¡¯s just gone.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be absurd, the horse is just hiding him.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure? I can¡¯t see him.¡±


    They continued like that for a bit longer. The argument went back and forth. Dere tried to guess at what they were. He initially thought bandits, but there was something a little bit more professional about them. Bandits were forced together by proxy and desperation. They sought strength in numbers, nothing more. These guys were a unit. Dere took another hesitant step forward, hoping to figure out more.


    The fifth figure, taller than the others and wearing a long cowl over his face, eventually spoke up. ¡°Enough.¡± He said it quietly, but his voice carried the unmistakable authority of command. ¡°Lucius, flank along to the left. Try to get a visual on the third figure. Adam, Jeremi, move forward a few yards. Look for any signs of affiliation on their horses or garb. We need to know whether they¡¯re friend, passerby, or foe.¡±The men obeyed without question. That all but confirmed to Dere that they weren¡¯t bandits. This was something else. Besides, he recognized the voice of the leader. He couldn¡¯t quite place it through the haze that enveloped his mind. There was something about the tenor, though. The dry but commanding way the man spoke.


    Dere shook it off. He needed to focus. He decided to follow Lucius, the man who was moving to the left. He stepped backwards into the underbrush and trailed him from a moderate distance. Lucius¡¯ footsteps were quiet and trained, but Dere¡¯s didn¡¯t even make any sound, even in the dense vegetation. In tandem, they moved through the forest. Lucius kept glancing at Florian and Arlette in the distance. Dere tried to see what they were doing, but a sudden wave of exhaustion clouded his vision. Shaking his head once more, he focused on Lucius.For another half-minute, Lucius kept moving further and further away from the rest of his troop. Eventually, Dere decided the man was far enough away to strike. Pushing his exhaustion aside, Dere darted between the trees and drew his sword. A second later he had one hand over Lucius¡¯ throat and the other holding the sword across his neck. ¡°Move and you die.¡± Lucius nodded very gingerly, afraid to cut himself on the blade. ¡°Who are you? What are you doing here? I don¡¯t think I need to tell you what happens if you shout. I don¡¯t want to hurt you.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Slowly, Dere removed his hand from the man¡¯s mouth and moved the sword away just enough that he could speak. ¡°We¡¯re soldiers of Highlord Maurius.¡± Lucius whispered. ¡°We wish you no harm. We were just checking you out.¡± His fear carried through in every shaky syllable. He spoke through it, though, like a soldier. Dere nodded at the response. Maurius, he knew Maurius. He was the renegade Highlord. One of the three that still opposed Duval. There were other details about the man that Dere used to know. Whatever they were, his worn out mind struggled to recall them at the moment. It was something he had heard at the meeting. His holdings had been destroyed or something. Maybe something about his family as well. The other Highlords had been upset about it.


    Dere kept hold of Lucius. He had another question. ¡°Who¡¯s your captain?¡±


    Lucius fumbled out an answer. ¡°Markus Alard.¡±


    Even in his current state, Dere knew that name. He groaned. ¡°Alright, I¡¯m going to let you go. We¡¯re on the same side. I don¡¯t recommend trying anything.¡± In one smooth motion, Dere removed the sword from Lucius¡¯ throat and returned it to his scabbard. Lucius took one stumbling step forward then rubbed at his throat. Dere sighed. ¡°I know your Captain.¡±


    ¡°Too bad for you.¡± Lucius responded absentmindedly, still rubbing his throat. He grimaced a second later, aware of what he just said.


    Dere laughed weakly. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s unfortunate. Come on, let''s say hello.¡±


    He stomped back through the forest with much less care for noise than earlier. Lucius followed behind, unsure of the situation. It only took them thirty seconds until they reached Markus¡¯ position. The other three soldiers and Markus were waiting for the two of them, swords drawn. Upon getting a closer look at Dere¡¯s face, Markus groaned and sheathed his sword. Dere held his arms out wide in a mocking gesture. ¡°Miss me Markus?¡± It came out differently than he had expected. More of a rasp than an arrogant question. Markus got the meaning all the same.


    ¡°You¡¯re a man I never expected to see again.¡±


    ¡°Expected or wished?¡±


    ¡°Both.¡±


    Dere smiled and Markus rubbed his eyes. ¡°How¡¯d you sneak up on us?¡±


    ¡°I have my ways.¡±


    Markus sighed. ¡°Who are you travelling with?¡±


    ¡°Arlette¡¯s down there, on the grey horse. That¡¯s Florian with her. I don¡¯t know if you know him.¡±


    Markus raised his eyebrows. ¡°I know who Florian is. Not sure why he¡¯s with you two.¡± He scratched his stubble. ¡°We should greet them.¡±


    Dere nodded and led him through the forest back towards the path. Markus¡¯ other soldiers followed behind them. After a brief hike, Dere reappeared onto the trail in front of Florian and Arlette. They had been arguing but stopped when they saw him. Arlette opened her mouth to say something. Then she saw Markus and the words halted on the tip of her tongue. ¡°Uh¡­ Markus?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s me.¡± He murmured as he walked past Dere and ignored Arlette for the time being. He made it to Florian and held out a hand. ¡°Been a long time.¡±


    Florian grasped his hand and gave it a firm shake. ¡°Good to see you Markus.¡±


    ¡°Likewise.¡± Markus glanced around and then looked back at Florian. ¡°What are you doing with these two?¡±


    Florian swallowed. ¡°Don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve heard. Sylvian¡¯s dead. Figured Marcella¡¯s cause was as good as any to pick up.¡±


    Markus nodded sadly. ¡°Heard the rumors. Thought Sylvian would have made it out. Toughest bastard I ever met. It¡¯s a shame to lose a good man.¡± Even when giving condolences, Markus spoke like a soldier.


    Florian didn¡¯t seem to mind. He nodded as if he appreciated the words. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a shame.¡± Florian drifted off for a half second, lost somewhere else, before snapping back to attention. ¡°What are you doing out here, anyway?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here for the same reason you are. They¡¯ve got Marcella and I aim to get her back.¡±


    ¡°And these men?¡± Arlette broke into the conversation. She had been examining the four soldiers while the two of them spoke.


    ¡°Maurius¡¯ troops.¡± Dere answered. It came out as barely more than a rasp, so he repeated himself. ¡°Maurius¡¯ troops.¡±


    Arlette gave him an unreadable look before turning back to Markus. ¡°And why are you in league with Maurius?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°He wants the same thing we do. Always been a loyalist to his core.¡±


    Arlette seemed oddly concerned but chose not to voice whatever she was thinking. Florian, on the other hand, seemed relieved. ¡°Having Maurius¡¯ backing will be a huge boon.¡±


    Arlette said something in response, but Dere didn¡¯t catch it. He felt very hot all of a sudden. He shouldn¡¯t have used his powers, took too much out of him. His legs wobbled underneath him. His breath started coming in short gasps. His mortality suddenly become very apparent to him. The world started spinning and the ground felt shaky underneath his feet. He fell to his knees. The others turned away from the conversation to look at him.


    ¡°Roger?¡± Arlette said. ¡°Roger, are you alright.¡±


    ¡°My name¡¯s not¡­¡± He never finished the sentence. Before he could, he collapsed to the ground.

 Chapter 17: Waking in a Dream

    His eyes were open, but he wasn¡¯t awake. No, this was something else, something different. One moment he sat at the side of a lake, the next he camped in a tranquil forest, a moment later he tumbled off a cliff. Familiar visions, not quite memories, streamed through the backdrop around him. People he recognized flitted in and out. He saw things he did, things he wished he did, and things he wished he hadn¡¯t done. They flowed around him, suffocating. He closed his eyes to drown the images out. When he opened them again, someone stood in front of him.


    She, at least he thought it was a she, stood perhaps ten feet away from him. Or was it five feet? Thirty? Everything felt off. His mind struggled to grasp the illogical world he¡¯d woken in. He focused on her and only her. She was surreal. Her face had two distinct parts. One side was that of a beautiful girl with black hair and stunning blue eyes. There was something off about the beauty, though. She didn¡¯t seem to quite add up. It felt more like a compilation of pretty features than an actual face.


    The other side was even more disturbing. It was the same girl, but it was broken, twisted, and warped. More creature than woman. It haunted the mind. Sought down its greatest weaknesses and pried them out oneby one.


    Dere looked down and shook his head, trying to clear his mind. The girl still stood there when he looked back. However, her face had changed. It had the same dichotomy asbefore, but the features shifted. The hair went from black to blonde, eyes from blue to green, face structure from sharp to soft. Different girl same unnatural split.


    Dere stared her down. ¡°Kniama, right? Goddess of Dreams?¡±


    ¡°And nightmares.¡± Her words echoed in the back of his mind similar to how he might recall a voice from memory.


    ¡°Ah, yes, how could I have forgotten?¡± He defaulted to his usual tone, hoping it would bring some normalcy to the situation.


    He thought she smiled at his response. Her two-faced appearance made it difficult to judge any kind of emotion. ¡°So, you¡¯re Dere, the God of Shadows.¡±


    Something about the way she said it made him look down at his own body. He saw an ever-shifting mass of multicolored shadows in the shape of a man. It was his natural form. Intrigued, he peered closer at his right hand. For some reason the living shadow felt so odd to him now. ¡°Not much of a god anymore, I¡¯m afraid.¡± He eventually responded, still gazing at his shadowy hand.


    ¡°So I¡¯ve heard.¡± She tilted her unnatural face to the side to observe him from another angle. ¡°Forgive me for my curiosity but to see the God of Shadows, the personalassassin of Ilu, the feared Killer of Gods in such a state is¡­ intriguing.¡±


    The way she spoke unnerved him. He knew almost nothing about her, yet he already didn¡¯t like her. She set him on edge more than any other god ever had.¡°Why am I here?¡±


    She tilted her head to the other side, seemingly unbothered by Dere¡¯s abruptness. ¡°Someone wants to talk to you.¡±


    He narrowed his eyes, though the movement wouldn¡¯t have been visible through his shadowed face. ¡°Who?¡±


    This time, he knew she smiled. The two faces curled in different ways. The woman gave him an almost flawless smile, marred by an imperfection he would never be able to pin down. The monster¡¯s smile was far less perfect. The curl of the lips, the number of teeth, all wrong. But, even despite the horrific face, something about the smile felt comforting. It felt natural, somehow. And then, in an instant, the smile was gone. She was gone.


    Dere blinked in surprise. Someone else stood in front of him. She had a feminine face, beautiful beyond compare, golden eyes, and hair made of flowing sunlight. Her presence felt warm, uplifting. It pushed away hatred, fear, and sorrow. It whisked everything bad away and invited you into its warm grasp. It wanted to help you, to lift you up. Dere could only stare at her. If he had a visible mouth, it would have been agape. He managed to whisper out a single word. ¡°Reyn¡­¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Dere.¡± Her voice was surprisingly deep. It always had been. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    In an instant, he snapped out of his daze. Reyn always had a certain effect, especially on him. He took an unnecessary breath. ¡°I¡¯m the same now as I¡¯ve been for the past few weeks. Hurt but alive.¡± He knew his voice sounded cold and distant.


    She met his eyes, and he was forced to confront the pain she felt at his animosity. ¡°I don¡¯t think you did it, Dere. I know you¡¯re innocent. Someone else killed Ko.¡±


    He hated that her opinion meant something to him. That it meant everything to him. He fought down the wave of feelings. ¡°What do you want Reyn? Why are you here?¡±


    Sad, golden eyes, bright enough to hurt if you stared at them long enough, held his gaze. ¡°I need your help.¡±


    The world around him shifted and showed a memory. There Reyn was, eyes spilling golden sunlight, begging him to help her, to save him, to save everyone. It was the only other time she had ever asked for his help. She didn¡¯t need it often. He focused back on her, unwilling to dwell much longer in the past. She was looking somewhere distant, probably seeing the same memory. The one that changed Dere¡¯s life forever. ¡°What is it?¡±


    Golden eyes looked up and down his imperceptible form. She ended up where she assumed his eyes were. ¡°Banto Re is missing.¡±


    That took Dere off guard. ¡°Missing or¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get your hopes up. He¡¯s not dead.¡±


    Dere ignored the millions of flaming eyes that suddenly filled the world around him. He had seen those furious fires enough. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± She sounded frustrated. ¡°The other gods assume it¡¯s nothing, but I think differently. Something happened to him. I don''t care what the others gods say. I don''t care that it has only been a few days. He wouldn¡¯t disappear now, not in such a chaotic time.¡±


    ¡°Maybe he just finally got what he deserved?¡± One could almost feel the chill in Dere¡¯s tone.


    ¡°Dere¡­ he¡¯s my brother.¡±


    Dere¡¯s hands clenched. ¡°I remember what happened after Ko died. Amongst the confusion, your brother was always in Ilu¡¯s ear, whispering, planting seeds. He saw it as an opportunity to take me down, and he succeeded.¡±


    Dere¡¯s anger and callousness didn¡¯t dissuade Reyn. Golden eyes flashed brighter. ¡°That¡¯s the thing. Banto tried to ruin you, but, in part because of that, he¡¯s one of the few gods who knew you were innocent.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°My brother has known you a long time and hated you for most of it. He also knows you better than almost anyone else. He knows what you¡¯re capable of and what you will and won¡¯t do. Yes, he tried to sow seeds of doubt against you, but I think he was surprised when it worked. How easily they lapped up his lies. How willing they were to pick a culprit. That¡¯s how he knew you were innocent.¡± Dere didn¡¯t say anything. He was immersed in his thoughts. Around him memories and visions swarmed. A man of fire and a man of shadow, fighting, bickering, yelling. ¡°So,¡± Reyn continued as Dere reflected in silence. ¡°He started looking into it himself. He knew someone else did it. Maybe he found something. That might be why he¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°Another mystery.¡± Dere whispered. He knew Reyn was right, even if he didn¡¯t want to admit it. Her logic was sound. He sighed. ¡°What do you want me to do? If I were up there, I might be able to help. Down here, though, as I am right now, I don¡¯t know if I can.¡±


    Reyn closed her eyes for a second, and Dere realized something. She was scared. Not for herself, never for herself, for her brother. Thousands of years she had watched over the all-powerful God of fire. Chided him. Cheered him up. Soothed his all-consuming rage. And now, he was gone. Sunlight eyes opened once again. Whatever fear he had detected didn¡¯t show in those balls of glowing light.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re looking into something Dere. Something going on in the mortal world. I see you from time to time, when Afre doesn¡¯t obscure my vision with her storms and clouds. I¡¯ll do my part up here. All I¡¯m asking is for you to look for the connection. Try to find out what happened to him. If his followers feel a difference. You¡¯ve always been good at this stuff.¡±


    Dere hated the way she looked at him. The way she found the best in him and everyone else. The way she made him want to be better. The way she knew he¡¯d do the right things. He groaned. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll do what I can.¡±


    Her smile lit him up. Even in this nightmarish dreamscape, it seemed to brighten everything, make the world less scary. He used to live for that smile. ¡°Thanks, Dere.¡± She said, hair and eyes shining bright. ¡°Take care of yourself. I¡¯d hate to see anything happen to you.¡± She stared fading away, and the dream world faded with her. ¡°Oh, and take care of Marcella for me. She¡¯s a good girl.¡±


    With that, she was gone. The world felt colder without her presence. Not that it seemed he¡¯d be here much longer. Cracks began spreading out around the fading world. His brief time here was at an end. As the dream collapsed around him, Dere thought he spotted a two-faced figure in the distance, smiling at him. Then, all went black.

 Chapter 18: Highlord Maurius

    He woke up to a headache so bad it immediately made him want to go back to sleep. Fighting back that temptation, he opened his eyes a tad. The midday sun beamed light down at him through the flap of a tent. He blinked a few times to clear his head and regain his bearings. With a start, he realized that he wasn¡¯t alone. In the corner of the canvas tent, a lonely figure with silver hair sat on a chair, staring out at the beautiful day.


    ¡°You look awful.¡± Dere said, surprised by how clear his voice sounded. Silver hair shifted and pale blue eyes turned to appraise him. Arlette looked exhausted.


    ¡°Good to see you¡¯re alright.¡± She sounded mostly sarcastic, but Dere caught a hint of something genuine in the words.


    Dere took his right hand and placed it over his eyes to ward off the sun. ¡°I don¡¯t feel alright.¡±


    Arlette gave an almost imperceptible chuckle. ¡°You don¡¯t really look alright either.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to think about that.¡± Groaning, Dere pulled himself up into a sitting position. It hurt less than he expected, actually. He looked under the blanket to see that his skin had mostly healed.


    Arlette noticed his bemused expression. ¡°We got some actual healers to look at your wounds. You were pretty bad off. I don¡¯t think I did a very good job.¡±


    ¡°Really? You think?¡±


    Arlette pursed her lips. ¡°Okay, I¡¯m sorry. You were hurt, and I pushed you too hard.¡± Dere just looked at her with a blank expression on his face. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ I don¡¯t know, there¡¯s something about you. Even when you¡¯re bleeding from a hundred cuts or barely able to stand you still somehow seem invulnerable. I guess I just forgot that you¡¯re mortal like the rest of us.¡±


    Dere laughed loud enough to aggravate his throbbing head even further. The ensuing stab of pain quieted the laughter, but he kept chuckling regardless. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I tend to forget the same thing.¡± Arlette looked at him, guilt weighing heavily on her expression. ¡°Relax, it¡¯s fine. I mean it. I would have done the same.¡±


    ¡°Knowing you would have done the same thing doesn¡¯t really reassure me.¡± Dere laughed, and Arlette smiled gently. Some of the guilt seemed to fade away from her expression and posture. She began to look a little more like herself.


    ¡°Where are we anyways?¡± Dere asked as he looked around the tent.


    Arlette sighed. ¡°Maurius¡¯ warcamp. Four or five hours ride out of Karn.¡±


    Dere nodded and went through the math in his mind. ¡°How long was I out?¡±


    Arlette shrugged. ¡°Half a day or so.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s less than I expected, actually.¡±


    ¡°You heal fast.¡±


    Dere laid back down on the bed with a groan and closed his eyes. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    Arlette stood up from the chair. ¡°There¡¯s a feast at sunset in the main tent. Be there.¡± She strode out after that, leaving Dere alone.


    ----------


    Dere hated feasts. It¡¯s not that the idea didn¡¯t appeal to him. He liked stuffing himself with food and wine as much, if not more, as anybody else, but feasts so seldom worked out that way. Because, for some reason, somebody had the bright idea of placing a bunch of hungry people in front of appetizing food and not allowing them to eat until a set amount of arbitrary etiquette was met. And then, even when they were allowed to begin, there was a limit on how much they could eat or drink. Anything more would be seen as discourteous and rude. Not that it ever stopped Dere much. It just added another layer of annoyance.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°Is that your third glass of wine?¡± Arlette asked.


    ¡°Hardly, it¡¯s my fourth, and to get through this nightmare, I¡¯ll be needing a few more.¡±


    Arlette didn¡¯t even have the energy to summon any indignation, so she just shook her head and went back to nibbling at her food. She had cleaned herself up since Dere last saw her and already looked much healthier. Dere looked better as well, but a new change of clothes and a quick wash couldn¡¯t quite hide the gauntness of his features. They sat next to each other up at the high table. Markus sat to Dere¡¯s other side, and Florian chatted with some guests a few more chairs down. Highlord Maurius sat at the center of the high table, surrounded by the most important guests of the event. Dere peered closer at him, trying to piece together his puzzle. He didn¡¯t have a full grasp of the man yet. A tall, thin man, with greying black hair, and a straight spine. Dere might describe him as rigid. He was rehearsed, diligent, and efficient in everything he did. The way he spoke, the way he moved, even the way he ate had a certain technical quality to it.


    As Dere watched him, Maurius stood up, glass of wine, barely touched, in hand. The crowd, made up of minor nobles, high-ranking soldiers, and important merchants, turned to look at their Highlord. ¡°When I was a child,¡± He began. ¡°I used to sit in front of the fireplace at my family¡¯s manor. Up there, on the mantle, there was a plaque. Written on it were three simple words, my family¡¯s motto:Loyalty above all. It is a message that has been engraved into every child of my household for over three centuries.¡± Dere read the man as he spoke. He could tell that this speech had been rehearsed thirty times in front of a mirror. Every syllable clipped a certain way. Every sentence flowed with classic military efficiency. Nothing wasted. ¡°I can see now that the message has travelled far outside the bounds of my house, though. Each person here has displayed the extent of their loyalty.¡± He looked around, eyes moving from person to person. ¡°We are standing against a traitor.¡± He spat the word out. ¡°A man who has betrayed the vows he swore and the family he was supposed to serve. A man who has brought chaos and death to Clovin.¡± He made a pre-planned pause. ¡°Duval has power. Duval has monsters. Standing up to him is no small task, yet, here we are. Here we are, all united through the unbreakable links of true loyalty. It is those links, which will allow us to remain unbent. Even as he burns your home and mine.¡± He let another pause into his speech and looked down at the floor, an attempt to show emotion. It mostly succeeded. ¡°It is those links, which will allow us, together, to strike back and show him what a traitor is due.¡±


    Maurius sat down and approving applause filled the main tent. Dere clapped lightly with them. It had been a fine speech. Too rigid for his liking, and the emotion didn¡¯t seem real, but it was fine. Next to him, Arlette clapped as well. On her face, though, she wore an interesting expression. One of distastes, perhaps.


    ¡°You don¡¯t like him.¡± Dere murmured.


    ¡°What?¡± She said, still clapping.


    ¡°Maurius. You don¡¯t like him. Why?¡±


    Arlette breathed in and finished her clapping. ¡°He¡¯s a good general, one of the best I¡¯ve ever met. A practical, efficient man, and a loyalist to his core.¡±


    Dere looked at her quizzically and sat down. Arlette did the same. ¡°You don¡¯t seem to trust him.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, I trust him. He may be emotionless, but he didn¡¯t lie. What he said about loyalty is true. As I said, he¡¯s a loyalist to his core. He¡¯d kill himself before he betrayed the throne. I trust him. I just don¡¯t like him.¡± Dere raised his eyebrows. Arlette kept her voice low, so only Dere could hear. ¡°The man is unflinching, emotionless, and frankly cruel. It doesn¡¯t matter how many soldiers he loses, how many farms get burned, even what happens to his own family,¡± She took a second to look at Maurius who had returned to his seat. ¡°He will not bend. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, is more important than his loyalty. Perhaps that¡¯s a good thing. I don¡¯t know. But, I think the countless soldiers who died because Maurius refused to yield or fail his king, even just a little, might disagree.¡± She took a sip of her wine, an actual sip this time, and glared in Maurius¡¯ direction.


    Dere said nothing, choosing instead to think in silence. He swirled the wine around in his glass, eyeing the deep red color.


    ¡°What¡¯s that.¡± Arlette whispered, confused by something.


    Dere looked at her and then to where she was looking. Her eyes were still fixated on Maurius. Dere didn¡¯t see anything unusual. ¡°What are you talki¡­¡± And then, he caught something. Not with his eyes, no. With his nose. A smell danced in between the food and the wine. Very subtle, only noticeable to somebody who paid attention. It smelled like death. Arlette pointed her finger behind where Maurius sat. Dere followed the line and looked closer. At first, he saw nothing again. But, upon closer look, there was a slight distortion, perhaps. So imperceptible it felt like a trick of the mind. It seemed to be moving, edging closer and closer, right towards Maurius.


    Dere¡¯s eyes went wide. The smell, the distortion, he knew what it was. Arlette leaned in to whisper something. Dere paid her no mind. Instead, his hand launched out towards the table in front of him. He grabbed the knife he¡¯d used to cut his steak. It was heavy, unwieldy, and totally unsuited for what he needed it for. It would have to do. Barely even taking the time to look, he flung the knife across the room, towards where the weird distortion was, right behind Highlord Maurius.

 Chapter 19: The Beast

    Dere hadn¡¯t thrown a knife in almost five-hundred years. The last time he¡¯d thrown one, he¡¯d nailed Horon in the eye with a butter knife over a drunken dispute, a memory he liked to think about whenever he fell into a particularly bad mood. Were he in less of a hurry, he might have thought about the rust that might have built up over the years. He might have hesitated, but he was in a hurry. So, instead, he just threw it. Good thing too because he still had it. The knife flew true and hit the distortion on its outer edge.


    For a second, an odd silence ensnared the room. A few stunned onlookers turned to gape at Dere, confused. Then, a terrifying shriek filled the air. All eyes turned to look behind Maurius where an inhuman, high, whining sound assaulted any nearby ears. A knife protruded out of a creature made from nightmare. It was houndlike, in the most basic of ways. It stood on six crooked legs. Its head, which sported hundreds of needle like teeth in a gaping mouth, hung low to the ground. The thing¡¯s body was translucent, revealing an unnatural set of organs that throbbed to a rhythm not of this world.


    Screams of sheer terror filled the main tent. Guests sprung from their chairs, heading as far away from the creature as they could manage. Some of the guards and Blessed reached for their weapons, hoping to save their Highlord. They wouldn¡¯t be in time. The creature snarled at the knife sticking out of its shoulder and jumped at Maurius. Needle teeth prepared to rip into tender skin. They never reached their target. Before they could, Maurius thrust his hand forward and a jet of scorching flame flew out and seared the beast on its side. It knocked the monster off its trajectory and elicited another maddening screech. Smoke filled the air as the tent caught fire. Guests scrambled for the exit. Men pushed women and children aside to get out faster. The beast, reeking of charred flesh, turned pale eyes upon Maurius. It tensed to leap but never got the chance. Florian, who had been one of the first to rise from his chair, held out his hand and muttered a silent prayer. From the table, a hundred knives rose into the air and propelled towards the beast. With one sickening squelch after another, they impaled into its soft flesh. The monster managed one last murderous look before it collapsed to the ground, dead.


    While the monster had breathed its last, the panic didn¡¯t halt. Fire consumed the cloth tent and threatened to trap everyone inside. Maurius, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings, stared at the beast in front of him like he was in some kind of trance. Eventually, something seemed to snap him out of it, and he looked around. Realizing the gravity of the situation, he held two arms to his chest and prayed. The fire halted and then travelled from the cloth walls of the tent into Maurius¡¯ embrace. It flowed into him, disappearing when it touched him. A minute later there was only smoke. Not even a single ember remained.


    Dere, who hadn¡¯t bothered to move since he¡¯d thrown the knife, watched Maurius from his spot on the table. The man seemed lost in deep thought, scanning the crowd, like he expected another monster to leap at him from the gaping mouths of one of his guests. After some time, he summoned his booming voice. ¡°I¡¯m calling a war council. I expect every capable Blessed here to come.¡± Deep brown eyes surveyed the room once more, lingering on Dere longer than anyone else. Then, Maurius turned and left, through the smoking hole he had created.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    -----------


    ¡°How did you know?¡± Maurius almost hissed the words out. They were sitting in a tent adjacent to Maurius¡¯ personal one. A large table, covered with maps, provided the spacious war tent¡¯s only decoration. Dere leaned back in one of the provided chairs around the table. Other Blessed, several of them from Maurius¡¯ personal staff, sat stiff-backed in the other chairs. All eyes were on Dere.


    ¡°How did I know to save your life, you mean?¡± Dere appeared unfazed by Maurius¡¯ intensity.


    ¡°How did you know?¡± Maurius repeated, a near madness edging into the corner of his dark eyes.


    Dere sighed. ¡°I saw it. Well, that¡¯s not quite fair. Arlette saw it.¡± Dere nodded his head towards Arlette, who stood, arms crossed, in the opposite corner of the tent. ¡°I just knew what it was. So, I acted and, by doing so, saved your life.¡±


    ¡°What was it, then?¡± Asked a stout middle-aged woman with grey speckled brown hair. Everyone looked at Dere expectantly.


    He sighed. ¡°A Kibra. It¡¯s a¡­ well¡­ let¡¯s just say it¡¯s a monster. Much like the faceless men.¡± The assembled Blessed began whispering to one another. Maurius abstained from the conversations, choosing instead to level a suspicious gaze in Dere¡¯s direction. Dere met the man¡¯s intense stare with a slight smile.


    Maurius shook his head and broke the contact. He surveyed the room for a second before turning back to Dere. ¡°Was it Duval¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡± Said Dere, shrugging.


    ¡°Will he have more?¡±


    ¡°Almost assuredly.¡± The quiet whispers continued. Dere caught scraps of the conversation. They were worried. Maurius¡¯ most powerful Blessed were afraid. They didn¡¯t know how to stop a beast they couldn¡¯t see. The ease with which most of them lived their life, the security that the blood of a god provided, seemed somewhat shallow now.


    ¡°Silence!¡± Maurius bellowed. The room obeyed his command. He closed his eyes. ¡°All this does is force an early hand. We can¡¯t be out in the open anymore. The time for dawdling and argument is over. We need a stronghold, and we need it now. We¡¯re moving to take Karn tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°But, sir,¡± One of the Blessed on the edge of the room, a thin sickly looking man well past the prime of his life, whispered. ¡°The men are not ready. Karn¡¯s a fortress. If we try and take it¡­¡±


    ¡°Make them ready.¡± The callousness of the words rang throughout the room. Dere raised an eyebrow, almost a little impressed.


    Markus, who had been frowning since Maurius made his declaration, stepped forward. ¡°If we attack the city, it could put Marcella in danger. I won¡¯t allow that.¡± Maurius turned angry eyes upon Markus, but Markus wouldn¡¯t back down. The tension between them escalated as neither looked away. Dots of sweat started appearing on Dere¡¯s brow, and he realized that the temperature was actually rising.


    ¡°We¡¯ll need to secure her, then.¡± Arlette spoke up, breaking the tension that gripped the room. Markus and Maurius turned away from each other and towards her.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Markus asked.


    ¡°Using the opening the siege provides, a few people should enter the city and secure Marcella before the battle begins. That way, we can avoid putting her in unnecessary danger and remove any leverage they might try to use her for. I will, of course, be one of the people charged with rescuing her. I¡¯ll need some help, though.¡± She looked at Dere, expectantly. The others followed her gaze.


    Dere rubbed his face and groaned. ¡°Because of course it¡¯s me.¡±

 Chapter 20: Infiltrating Karn

    ¡°I still don¡¯t get why Markus has to come.¡±


    ¡°Because,¡± He said, while checking over his pack. ¡°While I have the utmost faith in Arlette, I¡¯m not going to put the responsibility for rescuing Marcella in your hands.¡±


    ¡°Sure, I get that. I just think you¡¯re better suited to bludgeoning people on the battlefield with your boarish hands. But, perhaps that¡¯s just me.¡±


    Markus breathed in to speak, but a glance from Arlette stopped him before he could. He settled with a venomous glare at Dere, who mocked a shiver in response.


    They sat on the edge of a dense treeline, about four hundred yards from Karn¡¯s walls. On the opposite side of the city from them, Maurius¡¯ army marched in plain view, straight for the city¡¯s Western gates. Most of the guard patrolled on that side, understandably distracted by the army heading towards them. Maurius would strike at sunrise. They were to go two hours before then.


    ¡°How long?¡± Dere asked, more out of impatience than anything.


    ¡°Just a bit longer.¡± Responded Arlette, not bothering to look in Dere¡¯s direction.


    Dere yawned and stretched his arms, loosening up for the day ahead. His eyes felt heavy in their sockets, but an anticipatory energy kept him alert. He fiddled with his new clothes, uncomfortable grey garb that helped him blend in with the shadows, a task made more difficult now that he was no longer made up of them. Arlette and Markus wore similar apparel, though they appeared more comfortable in theirs. He wondered if they gave him the worst pair.


    Before he could voice that concern, Arlette interrupted him. ¡°Okay, now.¡±


    ¡°Finally.¡± Dere muttered, forgetting whatever it was he was going to say. Like a wraith, he took off from his spot in the bushes, drifting through the night and across the plains without a sound. Arlette kept pace with him and managed to move quietly enough. Markus, though, made such a racket trampling through the underbrush that Dere wondered if there was any point to his own silence. Markus would announce their arrival to anybody near enough to hear anyway. Nevertheless, Dere kept his quiet as he moved, for the principle of it, if nothing else.


    With time, and an embarrassing amount of noise, they reached the walls, by some miracle still undetected. Dere and Arlette hugged against the stone while Markus reached into his pack and withdrew a grappling hook. Swinging it in a circle, he built enough momentum and flipped it into the air. It hit the top with a soft clang and clung to the edge of the parapet. Dere gestured for Arlette to go. She shook her head. ¡°What are you doing?¡± He whispered.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going first. Not with you two down here. One of you go first. I¡¯ll go last.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Markus hissed, impatience bristling underneath his tone.


    Arlette gave him an incredulous look.


    Understanding dawned on Dere¡¯s sleep deprived mind. ¡°You know what Arlette? I¡¯m wounded that you would think of me that way. Wounded. Markus, I understand, but me?¡± Arlette shook her head, and Dere grinned. With no more hesitation, he grabbed the rope and hoisted himself up the twenty-five foot climb in a matter of seconds. With inhuman dexterity, he vaulted onto the top of the wall, landing with impossible silence. He looked around for any patrols and almost immediately found himself face to face with a young man in soldier¡¯s garb.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The man, the kid really, blinked his eyes twice. He had been sleeping against the wall, oblivious to the world around him. His helmet sat on the floor and his strawberry blond hair was padded down from the flat surface of the stone. At first, the kid didn¡¯t really seem to understand what he was looking at. He and Dere merely gaped at each other, both equally surprised. Then, he came to a sudden realization. He opened his mouth to scream but never had the chance. Dere¡¯s sword whipped out at blinding speed, slicing the kid¡¯s neck and stifling the scream in his throat. For a horrifying second, he met Dere¡¯s eyes, more confused than anything, and then, he simply tumbled over the wall, landing in the city below with an almost imperceptible thump.


    His body laid at an impossible angle, broken and twisted on the ground. Dere locked his eyes onto it, unable to move them away. He didn¡¯t know how long he stood there, watching the poor kid¡¯s dying twitches, until he heard Arlette behind him. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± She asked, oblivious to what just happened.


    He closed his eyes for a second then turned around. Arlette stood behind him, looking at him quizzically. Markus hunched behind her, hauling the rope back up into his pack. Dere smiled, trying his best to make it look normal. ¡°Nothing.¡±


    Arlette inclined her head a tad, as if she wanted to ask something more, but she thought better of it.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Markus said, after he finished stowing the grappling hook. ¡°We stick to Maurius¡¯ plan. Arlette, you infiltrate the Western gate and open it for the army to get through. He and I will loop around towards the castle. We find Randas, kill him, and then rescue Marcella. You move around the other side once you¡¯re done at the gate and meet up with us.¡± Arlette pursed her lips, unhappy with the plan. Markus took a deep breath. ¡°Look¡­ I¡­ I know. But, I agree with Maurius that this is the best path forward. You¡¯re our best chance at getting that gate open.¡±


    ¡°He could do it.¡± She responded, nodding her head in Dere¡¯s direction.


    Markus sighed. ¡°We need him for Randas.¡±


    Dere, who had been engrossed by something at the base of the wall, entered the argument. ¡°I still don¡¯t get why killing Randas is in this plan at all. Our job was to help Marcella escape. I fail to see how opening the gate or dealing with this Randas fellow has anything to do with that.¡±


    ¡°Maurius thinks¡­¡± Markus began.


    ¡°Oh, forget Maurius. It¡¯s not my job to help him, nor is it yours. We don¡¯t need Karn. He does.¡±


    ¡°Helping Maurius helps Marcella. Karn¡¯s a strategically important point. It allows us to launch an invasion from the North.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a deathtrap is what it is.¡± Dere hissed. ¡°Whether we open those gates or not, Maurius is leading his army to slaughter. For what? So he can hold off Duval¡¯s eventual assault for two weeks instead of a day? Marcella needs those men, and, more importantly, I need Marcella to have those men.¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Arlette said before Markus could respond. ¡°This is the wrong time to argue about this, and you know it. We¡¯ll stick to the plan. I¡¯ll deal with the gate. You two deal with Randas. We meet back at the castle, if I¡¯m quick. If not, get out of there with Marcella as fast as possible.¡±


    Neither Markus or Dere looked particularly happy, but they each succumbed to the inevitable. ¡°Fine.¡± Dere muttered. He turned away in the direction of the castle.


    Arlette grabbed him by the arm and twisted him around again. Her blue eyes met his grey ones. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know you, not really. I don¡¯t know your name. I don¡¯t know where you came from. I¡¯m not even really certain what you are. But, I¡¯m choosing to trust you. I can¡¯t be there to save her. You will be. Promise me. Promise me you¡¯ll get her out.¡±


    Dere hated promises. Meaningless, really, his promise would never change his actions. There was something about the intensity with which she stared at him, though. The desperation in her pale eyes. How much she needed his word, however irrelevant it might be. ¡°Okay.¡± He said. It was all he was willing to say. Arlette¡¯s eyes glittered with gratitude, nonetheless.


    She stepped back from him and gave the two of them a nod. Then, she just disappeared. If Dere looked close, he could maybe spot a slight distortion in the shape of a woman, but it looked as much like a trick of the eye as anything else.


    ¡°We should go.¡± Markus said, his impatience underlying the tone.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Dere took one last downward glance into the city. Strawberry blond hair dotted with red blood glistened in the moonlight. With a feeling he didn¡¯t quite understand settling uncomfortably in his stomach, he walked away.

 Chapter 21: Men Who Feel no Pain

    Dere peered over the edge of the wall and at the castle. It was square, ugly, and grey. In truth, castle might be a generous descriptor. There was very little about it that seemed habitable. No, the thing was a fortress. Ugly, sure, but almost impenetrable. Dere couldn¡¯t decide which idea he liked less, living there or trying to take the damn thing. Behind him, Markus shook his head, equally impressed by the structure. ¡°How do we get in?¡± He mused.


    Dere looked the building over. Almost every part was impenetrable and sheer. The smooth grey walls didn¡¯t grant any handholds. There was only once conceivable route in. ¡°There.¡± He pointed to a window on the third floor about fifty feet from them, one of the castle¡¯s few decorative elements. ¡°Can the hook reach?¡±


    Markus scratched his chin. ¡°Sure, the hook can reach, but it would take some kind of throw. That little lip it¡¯s got is all that the hook might attach to.¡±


    ¡°If you can get it there, I can get across. Can you do it?¡±


    Markus shrugged. ¡°Sure, it¡¯s not my ass on the line.¡± He withdrew the hook from his bag and spun it around to build speed. Narrowing his eyes, he focused on the distant window. Then, with a casual flick, he sent the rope flying out over the wall and towards the castle. By some miracle, it managed to both get to the window and cling to the little edge on top of the glass.


    Dere lifted an eyebrow. ¡°I have to admit. I¡¯m a little impressed.¡±


    Markus¡¯ stony face twisted into a smile, but, otherwise, he didn¡¯t say anything. Dere walked past him and grabbed the rope, giving it a tug to test its steadiness. It held without too much visible shakiness.


    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s good enough. Hold it.¡± Dere said. Markus nodded and crouched low, pulling the rope taut. Dere took a deep breath and another. After steeling himself, he took a few steps back then sprinted forward and vaulted off the wall. For several breathless seconds, he hung in the air. Then, outstretched feet made contact with the rope, and he let his momentum carry him forward into a full sprint. The rope bounced underneath him. He could hear Markus grunting with the strain. One light bound after another, Dere¡¯s legs carried him forward. He was thirty feet away, then twenty, then fifteen. The hook shifted and moved. It was going to fall. Dere gathered his strength and bounded from the swaying rope with all his might. The metal hook broke off the edge, but Dere was already in the air. He hit the stone next to the window with a painful crash. His fingers searched desperately for a grip, for anything to arrest his imminent fall. Nothing. He started sliding, but then, his right hand found the top of the window and he clung to it for dear life. Slowly, he sidled over until he managed to place his right foot then his left on the window sill.


    Now, at least somewhat secure, Dere started fumbling for a latch. He found one near the right side of the window. It was locked. He grabbed it and snapped the metal chain, allowing him to open the window from the outside. With a sigh relief, he entered the keep.


    After quickly checking to see that there were no guards in the immediate vicinity, he turned around and looked back out the window. Markus waited on the wall, twirling the hook in a circle. Dere gestured, and Markus sent it flying again. The hook tumbled through the window. Dere grabbed part of the rope, and Markus tied the other end around the stone parapet. Cursing under his breath, Markus clung to the rope from the bottom and started sliding himself along. Compared to Dere, he moved agonizingly slow. Dere¡¯s arms ached with the effort required to hold him up. After what seemed like an eternity, Markus dropped off the rope and looked around. ¡°Couldn¡¯t have gone any quicker?¡± Dere asked, rubbing his arms to alleviate some of the pain.


    ¡°And risk a repeat of your performance? No thanks.¡±


    ¡°I really did consider dropping you.¡±


    ¡°Yet, you didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Already regretting it.¡± To Dere¡¯s surprise, Markus laughed. It sounded somewhat normal, actually, like the laugh of a man who did it often.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Markus said as his laughter died down. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Dere considered for a second. ¡°I¡¯ll scout ahead. You stick behind me at a distance.¡± Markus nodded in agreement, so Dere crouched low and crept down the hall.


    The inside of the keep was as sparsely decorated as the outside. No paintings lined the walls. Plain lanterns provided the only light. The few windows it had were all square, ugly, and purely functional. The floor and walls were constructed of plain gray stone, without a single carpet or tapestry to break the endless monotony. It felt wrong, devoid of human life, or for that matter any life. No birds chirped. No bugs crept along and between the stone. No cobwebs threaded between the narrow hallways. The place was dead.


    A chill worked its way into Dere¡¯s bones, and he had to fight back a shiver. He glanced back at Markus, some fifteen yards away. He seemed even more ill at ease, looking around as if he expected something, anything, to jump out of the shadows.


    For some time, they crept around the third floor, passing identical room after identical room. Then, Dere spotted something. A guard, appearing around a corner and approaching them. Dere turned and gestured for Markus to duck into a room. Markus obeyed without question. For his part, Dere slid into a nearby shadow, watching and waiting. The guard¡¯s footsteps came closer and closer. His heavy strides went past Dere¡¯s shadow, allowing Dere a closer look at the man. He seemed off. There was something wrong with the way he walked, the perfect rhythm that he marched to.


    Dere shrugged it off as nothing and allowed the man to walk by. He marched past Dere without issue, but when he reached the room Markus hid in, he halted. Had Markus been found out? The guard walked over to the doorway, forcing Dere into action. He leaned in closer to the wall and disappeared into the shadow. A moment later, he reappeared behind the man, in a shadow cast by the flickering lanterns. With a breathless sigh, he drew his sword and plunged it through the man¡¯s neck. The guard stopped moving, and Dere withdrew the blade, feeling oddly regretful. The kid back at the wall had thrown him off. Shaking his head, Dere started sheathing his weapon, until he saw the guard¡¯s own blade whirling around at blinding speed towards his neck. Dere ducked under it and leapt back, shocked that the man could still move.


    Discolored blood poured from a slit in the guard¡¯s neck. No normal man could stay up with that kind of wound. Dere didn¡¯t have time to ponder it much further, though. The guard lunged at him, sword seeking Dere¡¯s unarmored chest. Dere held his sword up to block the cut. The force of the blades colliding numbed Dere¡¯s sword arm and sent a shock through his body. Barely able to react, Dere dived back just in time as the man¡¯s sword slashed at his neck again. It cut through the air where Dere had been a moment before. The momentum of the swing disrupted the guard¡¯s balance and sent him staggering. Seeing a chance, Dere counterattacked. His numb arm lashed out and his blade bit into the guard¡¯s leg, cutting open a heavy wound and spilling black blood onto the floor. Black blood? A disturbing revelation worked its way to the forefront of Dere¡¯s mind. He looked up at the man¡¯s face. He wore a helmet, but Dere could spot where the eyes were supposed to be. The man had none. Blank skin covered the eye sockets. The Faceless Men were in Karn.


    Dere knew he had to finish this quickly. The thing came at him again, inhuman strength propelling its sword through the air. The blade missed a dodging Dere by half a foot. Dere let the blade soar past before slashing his own weapon downward, cutting off the thing¡¯s sword arm in one easy motion. The monster didn¡¯t even react. Instead, it tried to grab Dere with its remaining arm. Dere met the groping arm with another slash of his blade. The severed arm tumbled to the floor, limp and useless. Seemingly unbothered by its missing limbs, it charged forward, once more. Dere raised his sword, preparing to strike at the thing¡¯s neck, but he never had the chance. Markus burst from the doorway and behind the creature. With one simple chop of his massive blade, he cleaved the thing in half. Fire flew from his slash and scorched the skin of the monster beyond recognition. Even still, it waddled around on the floor, no arms, no legs, trying desperately to kill the two of them. Markus stood above it, looking at the thing dead in its featureless face. With a grunt of contempt, he sent his blade down once more, flames flying outward from the sword. The thing¡¯s head split and partially melted. Only then did its relentless assault finally stop.


    Markus and Dere sucked in air. Neither spoke for some time. They each looked down at the beast, it¡¯s various body parts strewn around haphazardly. ¡°So, that¡¯s what they are.¡± Markus murmured, through sharp breaths.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Markus shook his head. ¡°How many do you think are here?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t the slightest clue. Might be one, might be a thousand.¡±


    Markus pondered for a while, transfixed by the puddle of black blood pooling on the floor. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.¡± He eventually said. ¡°We¡¯re here for Marcella, and I¡¯m not leaving without her. We get her, we get out, warn Maurius if we can. Forget Randas.¡±


    Dere smiled. ¡°So, you are capable of individual thought.¡±


    Markus grunted. ¡°The keep¡¯s too big for us to stick together. You go up, I go down?¡±


    Dere shrugged. ¡°Fine by me.¡±


    Markus offered his hand. ¡°Good luck.¡±


    Dere shook it. ¡°Good luck.¡±

 Chapter 23: Light in a Lifeless Place

    It didn¡¯t take him long to find out who was inside. In fact, as soon as he opened the door, he saw her.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Marcella asked. She had been leaning against the wood and nearly tumbled out when Dere opened it.


    ¡°That¡¯s a fine way to thank me.¡±


    ¡°Hard to thank you when I¡¯m not sure whether to be glad or worried that you¡¯re here.¡±


    Dere, still in quite a bit of pain, managed to crack a smile. ¡°Relax, I¡¯m here to get you out.¡±


    ¡°In that case, thank you.¡± She paused to examine his face, bruised from impact with a certain stone wall. ¡°But, why?¡±


    ¡°Long story short, I need your help. We should be going.¡±


    Marcella nodded and peered past him. ¡°Is Simone¡­¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s dead.¡± A peculiar expression flickered across Marcella¡¯s face. She looked almost sad. ¡°Should I not have killed her?¡±


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s just¡­¡± She frowned. ¡°She didn¡¯t seem like the bad sort.¡±


    Dere shrugged. ¡°Very few actually are. War is killing a bunch of people who probably don¡¯t deserve it.¡± Dere thought back, once again, to that strawberry blond hair dotted with blood.


    Marcella frowned and Dere took the opportunity to get a good look at her. She looked, somehow, totally fine, healthy even. She wore a simple yet comfortable looking white dress and her golden hair looked recently combed. Curious, Dere looked behind her, into the room. It had a plush bed, fine carpet, decorated window, wooden furniture, all the commodities that a captured Queen might need. Her prison was somehow nicer than any other room in the keep. ¡°Royals¡­ even as war prisoners you live in luxury.¡±


    ¡°Yes, because I¡¯m thrilled to be a prisoner. All this makes things so much better.¡±


    Dere smiled goodnaturedly. ¡°It¡¯s better than the alternative, I can assure you of that. You could be fifty meters below ground, feeding the rats."


    Marcella shook her head then sighed. ¡°Believe it or not, I¡¯m really glad to see you. You¡¯re not a friendly face but at least you¡¯re a familiar one.¡± She paused, scared to ask whatever was on her mind. She took a breath. ¡°Is Markus okay? I haven¡¯t seen him since we were ambushed.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, Markus is doing just fine. He¡¯s actually down on the bottom floors, bashing some heads in and searching for you.¡±


    Marcella laughed. ¡°That sounds like him. How about Arlette? She was with you.¡±


    ¡°Also fine.¡±


    Visible relief flashed across her face. ¡°Thanks be to the gods.¡± She paused one last time, unsure about the next one. ¡°What about Lucroy?¡±


    Dere thought back to the tall, red-haired man he¡¯d met what seemed like forever ago. He didn¡¯t even know his name at the time. It was hard to feel remorse for a man he didn¡¯t know, but Dere certainly didn¡¯t want to deliver the news. He cleared his throat. ¡°Well... I''m not entirely certain... but¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°He¡¯s dead.¡± Her voice stayed remarkably steady.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    She closed her eyes and drew upon some hidden reservoir. ¡°Okay.¡± She opened them again. ¡°We should go.¡± Dere, uneager to continue the awkward conversation, nodded to show his agreement. Without hesitation, he turned and walked back down the hall, over the prone suit of armor, past the broken window, and around a dozen or so swords, lying on the ground. Marcella took one last long glance into the room she¡¯d been kept in. Then, she turned her back on it forever and followed Dere down the hall. She glanced with interest at the armor and swords but stopped when she reached the window. Dere, who had already reached the stairs, turned around to see what was keeping her. Marcella stared out the window but didn¡¯t look down, not eager to see what laid below.


    ¡°So, this is how you got her.¡± Her voice sounded distant, detached. Dere, a little confused, merely nodded. ¡°Clever.¡± She murmured.


    ¡°Not really.¡± It was all Dere could think to say. He didn¡¯t know why they were still here. He wanted to get moving. Luckily, it seemed Marcella agreed with him. She closed her eyes and turned away from the window. Together, they descended the stairs down to the fifth floor. Marcella did as Markus had done before, followed Dere at a distance while he checked for any guards. Thankfully, Dere had already dealt with most of them on the way up. The way was largely clear, except for the decapitated corpses of those monsters.


    They passed the one Dere had killed before ascending to the sixth floor. It remained where it had been, its head several yards away from the rest of its chopped up body. Dere walked around it without a second thought, but Marcella hunched over to examine it closer when she reached it.


    ¡°You really did a number on it.¡± Some of the usual color had returned to her voice. Dere could feel her curiosity punctuating the tone.


    ¡°Had to,¡± He said, stopping and turning but not walking back towards her. ¡°They¡¯re somewhat difficult to kill, as you might imagine.¡±


    ¡°What,¡± She smiled. ¡°No nearby cliffs to trick them into walking off of.¡±


    Dere returned the grin. ¡°It was good advice then, and it¡¯s good advice now. They¡¯re stupid and predictable. Always act several steps ahead of them. Or, I suppose you could just be Markus and bludgeon them with a flaming sword.¡±


    Her light laugh filled up the lifeless halls. ¡°Equally effective options, I guess.¡±


    ¡°If anything, Markus¡¯ is a little more effective, but that¡¯s not the point.¡±


    Marcella laughed again. She looked alive and well for several moments, but something seemed to latch onto her mind and the laughter died. ¡°You know? She hated these things, Randas too.¡±


    ¡°Simone?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. We talked a few times. I think we both got a little lonely up there. She thought these things were vile. Hated the idea of being allied with them.¡±


    Dere paused. ¡°I didn¡¯t have a choice Marcella¡­¡±


    ¡°I know. I know. If I had the chance, I would have pushed her out a window too. It¡¯s just¡­ I don¡¯t know. She seemed, like a person, I guess. Worshipped the ground Randas walked on. They all do. His soldiers love him, hang on his every word like he¡¯s a medium for the gods.¡± She paused and looked at Dere. ¡°Are you going to kill him?¡±


    Dere shook his head. ¡°Maurius would like me to, but I don¡¯t feel particularly inclined. Seems far too much like pointless politics for my liking. I need your help. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here. I don¡¯t need Randas dead. He would just be another meaningless casualty in all the meaningless wars you lot like to have.¡±


    ¡°I was worried for a second that you had changed.¡± She grinned, but Dere could tell it was fake. She was no longer in the mood for smiling.


    ¡°That¡¯s one of the things about my kind, we don¡¯t change.¡± Dere stared down at the monster on the floor, thinking about something else.


    ¡°Your kind?¡±


    Dere focused back on her. ¡°We should go.¡±


    Marcella gave him an odd look but nodded her agreement. They turned their back on the dead monster and descended down another flight of stairs. They made it through the fourth floor without incident, Dere leading the way. When they got onto the third floor, though, something interrupted them. Nothing in front of them, no. Instead, they heard a loud crash below followed by a violent shaking of the foundations. The earth and stone itself seemed to move. Dere inclined his head, listening. Then, he heard the roar of fire, coming from the same place.


    His eyes and Marcella¡¯s met. ¡°Is that Markus?¡± She asked, knowing full well the answer but hoping for another one.


    ¡°It seems like he and Randas have found each other.¡±