And Embers Rise

[Tobias Stalt]

Walk with me, child.
Let me tell you the tale
of a man who had nothing.

The world gave him gold,
yet still he hungered.

He walked in lush fields,
yet he saw no beauty.

He drank from the waters,
yet his throat remained dry.

Many held out their hands,
yet he recoiled from their touch.

When ash licked his face
and all he saw was ruin,
he had given his greatest gift.

Beware the man who has nothing, child,
and take care
not to become him.

Solo.

[Tobias Stalt]

A raven cackled somewhere over the Testhan, deep under the veil of night. Torchlight imbued the raging river with a dim blush, enough to see floes of ice as they cracked against rock and raced out to sea. It was a moonless night like so many others in Salvar as clouds darkened the sky and salted the earth with fresh snow. Fortunately for the patrol, nature deigned not to assail them with blistery winds. Despite this, they hugged their furs close for warmth and chattered their teeth religiously.

"Do you suppose they'll be pleased with our take?" one of the guards inquired, daring to break the silence. A score of eyes darted to him, and a baleful expression to his left inspired instant regret. He cast his gaze toward his feet and pressed on. "Sorry I asked," he muttered. No one seemed to hear.

Hooves and feet imprinted the tundra as they pressed toward Knife's Edge, still an hour's march hence. A whimper from the caravan drew the attention of another guard, who struck the canvas with the butt of his spear. "Quiet," the man commanded. "You can plea your case before the clergy. If I hear so much as a cuss from you lot before then, I'll have your tongues out."

"I don't like this," the foreguard muttered to his partner. "Why are we rounding them up? Aren't we-"

"Don't ask questions," the other man chided, his voice hushed. "Don't let them hear you. Are you trying to-"

"Ogden, Wyatt," a stern voice interrupted. "Eyes forward, mouths shut. We're not out of danger yet. If we get attacked before Knife's Edge, so help me, I'll have your balls on a spit." Both men went rigid, and their throats dried out in unison. "Now, if you're done flirting, do something useful and scout ahead. We've heard nothing from the capital for a week- no telling what's between them and us."

"Aye, cap," Wyatt replied. He stared at Ogden accusingly. This is your fault, his eyes said.

Both men gripped the haft of their spears tightly as they plodded ahead of the group, which stopped and settled in to await their report. "Why do you have to open your mouth every time you get a bad feeling, Gerome?" Wyatt criticized the moment they were out of earshot. "Who cares why we're doing it- better them than us, isn't it? You ever thought of that? The All-Seeing Eye wants to round up witches, I say let 'em. While they're doing that, they're not offing us."

Ogden shook his head fiercely. "It ain't right, Marshall," he protested. "It just ain't right. We got no proof these people done anything, and they're gonna be executed in the middle of winter to set an example. You saw what they did the last time. You know there's no such thing as innocence in these trials. Ever since that time-"

"Fuck off, Gerome," Wyatt hissed. He rounded on the other man and took him by the cuff. "You never know who's listening, or where," his voice was low as he stared into the other man's eyes. "You know not to talk about that."

"How many things are they goin' to make us not talk about, Marshall?" he protested. "How many people are going to have to die before the Church decides the faith is strong again? Will it ever be strong enough for them?" His eyes welled up with frigid tears, but he did not resist the harsh grip of his compatriot. "Is this the Salvar you want for your children? Is this the legacy you hoped you'd leave-"

"Gods, you know it's not," Wyatt rasped as he tossed Ogden to the snow. The other man landed with an 'oof.' "I just want them to grow old enough to see for themselves what a shithole it is," he resigned himself with a huff. "And hope that they can change it in their lifetime. I know it won't be done in mine."

Ogden shuffled to his feet and dusted off the powder. "That's real convenient," he spat. "Pass the blame. Keep on passing it, one generation to the next, til no one ever does anything. That's how we got to where we are, ruled by fear and superstition." The slightly aged, dark haired guard trudged ahead.

"Hey, wait!" Wyatt called after him. "Where the hell are you going? We need to stay together, or-"

His words cut short as they liquefied and his throat filled with blood. The gargle startled Ogden, who began to turn as he called back. "I'm going to go back to Knife's Edge," he started, "and I'm going to- gods below, Wyatt!" His eyes widened in disbelief as he saw the line drawn in crimson across his friend's throat blossom into a fountain and leak out onto the snow. "Why the hell-"

The hooded figure pressed a finger to its lips, and Ogden felt compelled to fall silent. Despite this, he trembled despite the growing warmth in his pants. "W-who... are you?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

With a shake of its head, the murderer denied him answers. The dark clad assassin stepped backward into the night, and the haze swallowed it whole. "I have to warn the others," he muttered to himself. "I have to get word back, or they're going to walk right into this."

Ogden took off like a man possessed, sprinting full tilt toward the caravan. "Assassin!" he huffed loudly. "Murderer! He killed Wyatt-"

The Captain stepped forward and hissed loudly. "They can hear you across the valley, I expect," he chided. "And what's this about murder? Where is Wyatt? What's going on, Ogden- and you had best leave nothing out."

[Tobias Stalt]

"He was here," Ogden murmured.

The guard stared at the snow where he watched his friend die less than ten minutes before. "He moved the corpse," the guard turned to face the captain, his eyes crazed. "He had to have. I watched him die, Cap, you have to believe me." Ogden took a step toward his superior officer and grabbed him by the shoulder.

Captain Shevso sneered as he batted the frantic man aside. "You watched him die, did you?" he snorted. "A likely story. Are you covering for the man? Did you two share heartfelt tales of disillusionment and make a pact to desert?" He grabbed Ogden and pulled him close, so close that the guard could smell his putrid breath. "You are aware of the penalty for desertion, are you not?"

Their eyes locked for several heartbeats as the Captain searched him for fear. "I- I'm not," he shook his head, blinking away tears. "I swear I'm not lying, cap'n," he huffed. "He was right bloody there. I saw the bastard what cut his throat."

Shevso watched Ogden's face as he spoke. He listened to his words, weighed them, and made his decision. "If what you're saying is true," he replied softly. "Then we must reach Knife's Edge with haste and spur the watch. Killers on the road are a serious threat to the people. The guard nodded his head fiercely. "Did you see his face?" the captain questioned. "Can you tell me what the bastard looked like?"

"All black," Ogden shook his head as he was let down. He still shivered, still not from the cold. "His face was covered."

"Everyone, stay close." Shevso turned to address the company. All eyes fell on him. "We're less than an hour from home, and I won't lose another man. Keep the torches burning and don't stray far from their glow." A murmur rippled through the guards as they discussed the fate of their former comrade. The captain quelled it quickly. "Enough. Talk when you're in your bunks. We've got no time for it now."

They renewed their march solemnly, but in Wyatt's place, a scarlet haired woman moved shoulder to shoulder with Ogden. "Tell it true," she whispered. "Is Wyatt dead?" Her eyes flickered with concern, not doubt. Gerome smiled sadly.

"Aye lass," he nodded slightly. "And a death he didn't deserve, at that. I'm sorry, Charlotte- I know you were fond of the man."

Her eyes looked hollow as she turned to glance ahead. "He said we would marry, once his tenure was done." Her voice wavered, but her face remained hard. "His wife died from the flux not two years back. Both his children are like my own." She bit her lip, shook her head, then forced a smile. "How am I going to tell them?" she asked. "How do I tell them that their father is dead? Gods, this was supposed to be guard detail."

"I know," Gerome replied quietly. "I know."

The winds rose to slow their advance, and the guards watched as the river itself churned slower. In sight now, Knife's Edge loomed as bitter reminder of how close, yet far they were from home. "Do you ever think what we're doing is wrong, Gerome?" Charlotte asked suddenly. His eyes moved to her questioningly, and he tried to smile. "Do you?"

They trudged a bit further before the gale ripped across the canvas and tore it free. A scream ripped through those caged. Women and children, men cast in irons, and even ragged elders. No one, it appeared, was safe from the Inquisition. "Someone grab that fucking canvas," Shevso snapped. "And be quick about it!" He pointed toward where it tossed and glided.

"Wait!" Gerome screamed. "Wait, don't!"

"What are you about, man?" Shevso turned and glared at him. "That's a direct order-"

"He's still out there!" Ogden pleaded. "Call them back! Call them back now!"

"They'll be fine," the Captain protested as two guards hurried after the fabric. "We can't have the prisoners freezing to death before they stand trial."

"Captain, please-!"

"I've heard enough," Shevso seethed. "Fall in line and wait to march. I don't want to hear another word out of you, or I'll gut you myself. Am I clear, Ogden?"

The guard hung his head.

[Tobias Stalt]

It whipped and tossed in the winter wind, drifting further away from the caravan despite their best efforts. Both men raced fast as their legs could carry them through the snow. Steam roiled off their lips as their lungs fought for each crisp breath. Salvar robbed them of their endurance, but they pressed forward. Their efforts were rewarded when it finally snagged on a blackened limb, taunting them as it flapped far from the warmth of their entourage.

"I expect that he'll hang before noontime tomorrow," the younger of the two announced as he gripped the canvas triumphantly. "Does he take the Captain for a fool? Murder in the night, within sight of Knife's Edge? Only a fool of a Highwayman would dare to ply his trade in the river valley." He drew his hood tighter in hopes of staving off the elements. His breath was a poor substitute for the torches.

"Let's hurry back, Roark," the elder muttered as snow alighted in his silvery hair. "The night is bloody cold, and we're just as like to die from that than we are from the blades of bandits."

Roark thundered with laughter a moment later. "You don't believe the addled bastard, do you?" he rasped. "A month's pay says Wyatt is at the gates by now. They'll hold him til we arrive, then cast him in irons to await his trial. The captain'll see to it he burns, just to set an example-"

"You're still young, lad," the older soldier shook his head gravely. "Still plenty loyal to the cause." Roark furrowed his brow in confusion. "You'll grow out of it."

"What the hell are you saying, Abnett?" the boy growled. "You're talkin' like a dissenter. The Sway don't like dissenters, old man. Best to be careful who you spew those heresies to-"

"You fellows are a bit far from your friends, aren't you?" another voice startled Roark, and he spun around with his spear level. The black clad man held up his hands in surrender. "Easy now," he crooned. "You startled me is all."

"Lift your hood, cur," Roark barked. "Let me 'ave a look at your face."

"Let me have a look at yours," the other man countered. "It's colder than death out here."

"Keep your hands where I can see them," Roark prodded with his spear at the man's chest. He took a step backward, but his hands remained aloft. "And don't move too quick. That's right. Slow." He handed off the canvas to Abnett, who set about folding it to pack away. "What are you doing out in this weather? Only a madman travels by dark in Salvar."

"You're scared," the man tilted his head. "Something happened?"

"Answer the question."

The dark figure shrugged his shoulders and gestured toward the caravan. "I was hoping to travel with your group," he explained. "I sought shelter in this copse of trees, but the night is too brutal. I'm half frozen already." His attention seemed fixated on Roark, who fidgeted nervously. He glanced to Abnett, then returned to looking over the suspect.

"Bullshit," the guard spat. His body was wracked with shivers as he took a tighter grip on his weapon. "Think about it, Ab," the youth hissed as he took a step closer, but Abnett placed a hand on his shoulder. "Think about what Ogden said."

The elder guard leaned close and whispered to Roark. "Keep a cool head," he chided. "Not a minute before you didn't think there was anything out here."

Overhead, the caw of a Raven echoed through the valley. "All in black," the younger man murmured. "You bastard!" he cried out. The spearhead glanced his hood, but the man moved deftly away from the strike. Wind blasted his face and blew the cowl away, revealing a pair of gilded eyes that flickered with the distant glow of torches.

Silver danced from the folds of his robes and sank into the wooden haft. "You did it, didn't you!" Roark foamed at the mouth as he spun madly, flailing his weapon in futility. "You killed Wyatt!"

Abnett fumbled with his own weapon quickly as the two men struggled. Roark slammed the lengthy wood into the traveler, who stopped the impact with his arms crossed. "Stop this madness," the older man cried out as he got a proper grip on the spear. He thrust it between the two men. "What are you doing, Roark?" he hissed. "Why did you attack this man? Because he's wearing black? Get a grip, man!"

"Get out of the way, Ab!" he roared. "You fucking heretic! How dare you try to stop me?" Roark twisted his weapon round and thrust it deep. The old man gasped in surprise, his eyes wider than the river that raged next to them. "You should have stayed out of it, old man," the guard whimpered. He drove the spear through, up to the hilt. Tears welled up at the edge of his eyes. "You should have..."

Abnett reached up, his expression frozen in fear. "What have I done?" Roark asked suddenly. Salty streaks flushed his face. His hands numbed and he loosed his grip on the weapon. "Sway protect us," he whispered. "Ab-"

Roark let out a wet sound as he felt a sharp pain between his ribs. "They can't hear you," the golden eyed killer whispered in his ear. "You should have listened to Ogden." The young guard staggered forward and started to turn, and he saw the young face of his assailant. "You tell your gods when you see them," the man seized him suddenly and thrust him toward the Testhan. Roark stumbled, tripped, and splashed into the icy depths.

"Tell them Tobias Stalt sends his regards."

Tobias knelt next to Abnett and checked his pulse. Color had drained away rapidly, and his heart had gone silent. "I didn't think he would kill you when I set the glamour on him," the Dehlosian whispered balefully. "I'm deeply sorry, my friend. But I did hear you." He took the corpse under the arms and dragged him toward the river. "The tyranny of the Church has lingered far too long in this land."

Abnett stared at Tobias accusingly through empty eyes as he sank into the waters, and the currents bore him home.