The Price of Freedom ~ Part III

[Letho]

FOREWORD


In its present state and form, the Corone Republic had existed for over a millennia. With no significant conflicts ravaging its soil since the Demon Wars and with relatively scarce internal tumults, the Corone Republic prospered and grew into one of the most powerful realms of the known world. With its dominion over the naval trade routes and wise foreign policy that formed neither allies nor enemies, it became the cornerstone of culture and a haven for all that sought justice and peace. The Assembly – a quintet of governing people chosen by the citizens, all experts in different areas – was a ruling body that successfully maintained the sovereignty and never led the Republic astray. And for that, they were loved by the people.

It is because of this that the death of two members of The Assembly threw the Republic in an upheaval. The Steward of Corone – Arno Erriades – and the Grand Marshal – Aidan Johnston – were assassinated in their homes, and according to intelligence gathered, it was the doing of local criminals. The remaining members of The Assembly reacted instantaneously, ordering the apprehension of any and all suspects that might’ve been related with the treacherous deed.

Tribunals were formed specifically for the process of questioning these suspects. Governed by the inscrutable Inquisitors, these relentless courts presided in all the major Corone cities. Many were brought before the justice of the tribunals, commoners and royalty alike, wheeled in like brigands in steely cages. In an unforeseeable turn of events, each and every one of them was found guilty for treason and sentenced to death by hanging. Some communities rebelled, others submitted silently, but no insurrection was more sanguineous then the one in the city of Gisela, where the outcry of the public was quietened by the blood of over three hundred rioters in an incident that would later be known as the “Gisela Massacre”.

Seeing these outbursts of violence as a direct assault at the stability of Corone, the remaining three members of the Assembly decreed that the current democratic government was too weak to fight the domestic enemies. The current system was abolished to make way for the uprising of the new power; The Corone Empire.

But there were some who resisted. At the very heart of the arboreal expanse of Concordia Forest, Corone Rangers made a stand against the tyranny in the city of Underwood. The numbers of these freedom fighters were scarce, their rebellion trapped by the newly established Empire from all sides, but the woodlands were their home. In it, they seemed untouchable. A campaign was started almost immediately after the treachery of the Empire, to fortify the four borders of the Concordia forest. Four Companies were formed and dispatched north, south, east and west. But the Empire reacted accordingly.

Out of the four regiments, three failed in their missions completely. The one failure that echoed across the lands the loudest was that of the North Company, where Marshal Letho Ravenheart lost the South Passage to the vastly superior foe, thus enabling the Empire unhindered transit through the Comb Mountains and into Concordia. In retaliation for these actions performed by the Rangers, the Corone Empire struck at their heart, torching down Underwood. Once a great City of Wood, Underwood was turned into charcoaled rubble in a single afternoon by the Empire’s magicks. It was the end of the Rangers. But it was also the beginning of something else.

Standing in the ashes of their lives, the townsfolk of Underwood pledged their allegiance to Marshal Ravenheart and the remnants of his Rangers. In order to train this new army away from the eyes of the enemy, Letho Ravenheart and Edward Stormcrow led their troops to the Cathedral Hill, the last refuge of freedom in the land crushed by the boot of the Empire. In the catacombs under the hill, the motley congregation trained, steeling themselves for the battles to come.

[Letho]

PROLOGUE


Though Cathedral Hill wasn’t a fort, it was still at least thrice as defendable as Underwood. The hill itself wasn’t really a hill; more of a slanted cliff stuck between two branches of a river. To the east, the Bradbury River was flowing wide and strong, its tumultuous waters cutting through the rocky landscape and cascading down sporadic drops. Farther downstream, Bradbury was wide and lazy, but while still amidst the trees of the Concordia Forest, it was wild, untamed, nothing like its counterpart that held the south side of the Hill. There, the Chester River was shallow and slow as it entered the delta, but it wasn’t its power that posed a threat to the attackers. It were the marshes that spread around it. One could row a boat for miles and miles upstream and find naught but greenish bogs, frogs the size of a human head and mosquitoes that slowly sucked the life out of one’s veins with each prick. Poised between these two vastly dissimilar rivers, the Cathedral Hill was in the tip of the triangle whose last remaining side was protected by thicket and young saplings.

Atop of this hill was the reason why this jagged rock was called Cathedral Hill. The massive church made of dark grey stone might’ve been magnificent once, but centuries of disuse left very little magnificence to the edifice. The thick stone walls and the heavyset columns faded to a pale shade of gray, holding up colonnades and arched windows whose stained glass was lost to the pages of history. The terracotta roof was gone as well, as were the supporting beams that once held it above the spacious main hall, leaving only the sturdy stone to remind the passersby of the former glory of the Cathedral of the Gray Order. Who or what exactly this Gray Order was, not even the oldest, wisest Rangers knew, though some claimed they were warrior monks that worshiped no gods, but instead believe in the Balance. It ultimately made little difference; they have departed so long ago that not even their bones remained in the underground catacombs.

The catacombs. When Letho first arrived to Cathedral Hill, he didn’t believe that they could be so extensive. Then, when he explored this underground labyrinth of passages and rooms carved into the white rock of the cliff, he started to wonder just how long the construction of something so complicated that took. Some of the passages exited on the far shore of the Bradbury, some tunnels led to underground rivers, some to chasms that seemed to have no bottom. Some they didn’t even get a chance to explore yet. The very fact that the catacombs could hold over a thousand people spoke of their size.

The thousand is the number of recruits the Marshal took with himself from the lot that so readily sworn allegiance to him back in Underwood. He could’ve taken more – at least five times as much – but that would’ve been counterproductive. A garrison of five thousand would’ve never fitted in the catacombs and even if they could’ve, Letho could hardly hope to feed five thousand mouths. Not to mention that a host of such size would’ve been difficult to conceal even in the ocean of trees such as Concordia. That was their advantage now. If the Empire was large and counted thousands upon thousands of soldiers, then they were also inert, exposed. By keeping his army small and cloaked, Letho could always count on an element of surprise.

They weren’t an army yet, though. Not a single day of the month they spent on the Cathedral Hill was squandered, but there was only so much you could train into a bunch of villagers and lumberjacks in such a short time. That was why Letho Ravenheart was standing on the small grassy plateau behind the ruinous church, spear in both of his hands as he demonstrated the technique to the circle of antsy onlookers. The piece of flat land used to be a graveyard of sorts, but by now the tombstones were so scarce and decrepit that they looked more like natural formations that the winds slowly abraded. The earth beneath his feet was soggy; the season was heavy with rainfall, announcing a snowy winter that could already be felt in the chilly air. The cloudy gloom of the sky was merciful today, though, holding back the precipitation for the time being.

“Always use the superior reach of your spear,” the Marshal spoke between deep misty breaths, thrusting the nihon shaft forward, pulling it back, then firing another thrust using just his right. “A spear isn’t a fencing weapon. It’s a preemptive weapon. It enables you to kill your enemy before he kills you. If you find yourself forced to parry strikes, then you’re obviously doing something wrong. Push your enemy back...” Even as he said so, his body spun, bringing the spear in a wide horizontal arc with an audible whoom!. “...keep him at a distance. And loose your weapon only in the most extreme of circumstances.”

Letho’s right tightened around the shaft, cocking it back over his shoulder and rifling it with all the might his muscles could provide. The spear was like a giant arrow, whistling as it flew past a pair of shocked faces with widely open mouths. It found a target in one of straw dolls that archers used for target practice, its prevalida tip impaling the figure made of canvas and burying itself deep in the wooden column behind it. Followed by every eye in the proximity, the Marshal walked to the target range to retrieve his weapon.

“Now, pick up your weapons and...” He never got a chance to finish his order. One of the runners – an eager, gangly youngling with black hair and a poor excuse of a beard – came trotting from the thicket. By the time he reached Letho, the teen stumbled over a remnant of a headstone, recovered clumsily and came to a heaving halt before the stalwart Marshal.

“Marshal... Marshal Ravenheart! There are...” The rapid breathing prevented him to voice the message properly at first, but after clasping his thighs and taking a few seconds to stabilize his obviously overworked system, the words came out without the interruptions. “The east sentries report a group advancing through the woods. They seem to be heading here!”

Letho didn’t like the sound of the news, but they were hardly an unexpected turn of events. Even though Cathedral Hill was leagues away from any trading routes and trodden roads, a huge ruin of a church perched on the top of the hill wasn’t an entirely inconspicuous place. Sooner or later someone was bound to stumble upon it, whether it was by chance or intention. The visit at hand seemed more like the former, but some outsiders wasn’t exactly the detailed report he had hoped for, nor one from which he could draw any coherent conclusions. Making a mental note to reprimand both the sentry and the messenger for not at least counting these wanderers, the Marshal summoned a nearby Deputy to abandon his classes with the militia and approach. Dionel Anrain, a wood elf whose long ears picked up the signs of trouble before Letho even gestured towards him, was quick to join his superior.

“The sentries report a group of possible intruders. Whoever they are, we can’t allow them to discover us,” Letho said, diverting his eyes from the fair man and to the motley congregation that did they best to file their rough edges. Less then half were honed for an actual battle and that was barely enough to hold their headquarters against even the most modest of hosts. No, Cathedral Hill wasn’t ready to become a battlefield yet. “We’ll go make sure that such a thing doesn’t happen.”

“Nathan!” the bearded Marshal shouted for the boy who finally came to terms with standing still. Nathan became somewhat of a squire to Letho in the last month, a shadow that the Marshal could scarcely lose. The youngster lost most of his family in the scorching of Underwood and opted for the Rangers as his next of kin. He was a good kid, hard-working and oddly disciplined for his age, even cut his black hair in the same soldierlike manner Letho did. He was pretty spry too for one who had a severe lack of coordination; he was next to the pair in attention in a matter of seconds. “Bring me my bow and alert Edward and Gandes that we might have a perimeter breach.”

The boy was off with a salute as soon as the order was uttered, and several minutes later so were Dionel and Letho, leaving the din of clattering weapons and grunting soldiers behind as they slipped past the line of young trees. The forest beyond was sodden with rain, making the soil underfoot spongy enough to silence their footfalls almost completely. No words were spoken, not even when they rendezvoused with the sentinel that alerted them of the intruding presence, turning the trio into little more then ghosts that crept between the tree trunks. This was their territory, where every rock, bough and sapling was memorized and charted in their minds, and where no outsider walked unnoticed.

It took them mere minutes to locate the wanderers. The lot of them seemed to be in no particular haste, sitting solemnly on their mounts and moving underneath the dark green canopy at walk speed. Moving directly towards Cathedral Hill, Letho ascertained as he monitored the group’s movement from behind a dense patch of ferns. His eyes deceived him at first, making him believe that it was Tenniel returning from his mission in Akashima, but as the horsemen drew closer, the Marshal could see that four of them were elves and that none of them was the diplomatic elven Ranger. He recognized one human face amidst about a dozen of them, though. Leading this small band of elves and men was Major Killian Jahaad, or rather Ranger Jahaad, depending on the side he was playing at the moment. The man sat on two chairs, holding a rank in both the CAF and the Rangers, but despite the fact that he aided the Rangers on one occasion, Letho wasn’t so certain in the allegiance of Killian Jahaad. The man looked like he changed sides more often then he changed his smallclothes.

Because of this uncertainty, the Marshal didn’t walk out in front of the group to greet them. Instead he pulled a single arrow from his quiver, knocked it into his composite bow, pushed aside some damp fern leaves and let the arrow fly. The powerful bow sent the projectile at such a speed that even the perceptive elves flinched as it whistled before the snouts of their horses and struck a birch next to them. Hands reached for weapons almost momentarily after the startle, but a gesture from Major Jahaad calmed everybody down.

“The next one goes between your eyes, Major, unless you state your business here!” Letho’s voice came from beyond the trees. As any experienced sniper would, the Marshal repositioned after the shot. Dionel and the sentry were at the ready as well, hidden near the flanks of the invaders.

“Is this how the Rangers greet their allies and their own soldiers nowadays?” Killian responded, his eyes wandering this way and that in vain attempts to locate the source of the voice. His elven friends were more sedate, their keen senses peaking as they scanned the obviously hostile surroundings. “Hold back your arrows. These elves hail from Raiaera who supports our cause, and these hired swords are amongst the finest I could find. They are here to aid your war effort. And so am I.”

“Raiaera’s support must’ve lessened of late,” the Marshal spoke, this time his voice embodied as he walked out of the protection of the flora and in front of the riders. Another arrow was resting on the tensed string of his bow, locked at the familiar face of the Major. “if they send but four to prove their commitment. And mercenaries? Their commitment is to the currency, not the cause.”

“Such hostility!” the Major feigned a shock with both his tone and his expression. “It’s unbecoming for the leader of Corone’s freemen.” When he continued, there was an overconfident smirk on his beardless face. “Lower your weapon, Marshal Ravenheart. I come bearing gifts that just might turn the tides of this war.”

“I somehow doubt that four elves, a motley crew and a turncloak can achieve such a feat.” Despite the obvious doubt in the sincerity of Killian Jahaad and the blatant acid in his tone, Letho removed the arrow and lowered his weapon. A pair of nods to each flank made his deputy and the sentry appear on each side of the group. The four elves didn’t even recoil, as if they knew all along that they were concealed and ready to spring the trap.

“That is because you don’t see much farther then your nose, Marshal,” Major Jahaad said with a tinge of bitterness as he dismounted his horse. Like his elven companions, Killian was clad in a simple gray cloak that protected him from the dampness, but below such unsightly attire rested the fancy dark blue uniform of the CAF officer. “Numbers seldom win wars. Tactics and information, however, can turn defeat into victory in a fortnight. And that’s what I bring to you. Information and tactical advice.”

[Kyo]

So many people profited from the tragedies of war. The merchants and their greedy, grubby hands as they sold their weapons, their armours and their various items to those that thought they needed it to protect themselves and their country. Economies always flourished during times of war, it was a wise politician that once said there was nothing like a good war for the economy and how true he was. The mercenaries profited from it, bought and sold to the highest trader, parting with their skills to give a side they cared nothing for an advantage over the other. Dogs of war. They nipped at its heels and followed it wherever it went, watching and waiting until they would be needed, never truly caring that this may be their last mission or their last battle and the money they’d been promised would never be spent. But there was a different category altogether within the mercenaries, the assassins. They were hired to deal only one thing; death.

Kyo was not like every other assassin and every dog of war. She did not blindly rush into the battle head first with her mind focused solely on her profits. No, she tried to pick which side to fight for, she tried to understand what it was she was being paid to represent. In the end with her, it was more about which side she believed in more than the money. She was going to get paid either way, after all that was a sure thing. What was not, were the morals and the reasoning behind the war and what it represented.

Admittedly, the ninja did not know a lot about what was occurring in Corone, though Akashima received its fair share of rumours. And having been away from the island nation for some time now with the Bandit Brotherhood, much of the recent activity was lost to her. From what she had been told, it was a band of Rangers that had defected and tried to overthrow the current body of government reigning over the nation. What reasons they had to do such a thing were beyond her and she was being told many different kinds of stories. Some were saying that a man by the name of Letho Ravenheart simply wanted to rule the nation himself, while others hinted at far more complex conspiracy theories that seemed too outrageous to be true.

In the end, she’d found herself meeting with a man named Leeahn Festian, some CAF member or whatever they called themselves. He was a recruiter nonetheless and someone that was seeking her skills.

“That’s a lot of money to pay an assassin, especially when you don’t want her to kill anyone for you.”

He didn’t smile, which she liked. He didn’t play this like it was some kind of game, like it was fun. Considering her last fiasco when she’d taken a job in Radasanth, Kyo was being a little weary on who hired her and for what. This was a bit of welcome change, despite her words. Taking on such a job would have few if any hazards, not to mention this was basically money in her pocket without having to stain her hands in the blood of anyone, Empire or Ranger alike. She knew too little about this war to truly side with either. Had he been hiring her to kill someone she may have turned him down, even with the fat purse he was offering.

“We merely need them found.” He leaned back in his chair as he said the words, his eyes never straying too far from her; she was the only thing of interest to look at after all.

They were in the backroom of some tavern. Through the thin wooden walls they could hear the muffled sounds of those outside, talking away their day and none the wiser to the more serious conversation going on feet away. Running the tips of her fingers across the dented, stained and worn wood of the table before her, the ninja allowed her eyes to stray from the man as she thought about this. They travelled across the room, from table to table and chair to chair. Light from the bright mid day sun was filtering in through the slightly dirty windows set along the far wall, illuminating everything within for no fires or candles burned. Odd how discussions like this always took place in the back room of some tavern.

“An army cannot hide for very long, even in the deep trees of Concordia. It’s only a matter of time before Letho and his men are found. We merely wish to expedite the process.” He continued, “Any information gathered about the current state of his military power would be extremely useful and greatly rewarded.”

She allowed a slight smirk to tug at the corner of her lips.

Of course it would.

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

Each step was carefully placed. The slightly hard but still flexible sole of her tabi gripping the rough bark of the trees as she silently stalked through them as nothing more than a shadow. She stayed within the highest points the branches would allow her, above the sentries that desperately scanned the forests they were becoming far more familiar with than they ever thought possible. She stayed beyond their peripheral view and moved as if she didn’t exist, her darkened clothing allowing her to blend in with the shadowed depths of the trees as each step took her one more foot, one more inch and one more centimetre towards her destination. She moved further distances when the wind blew and rustled the leaves, hiding the slightest noise that she would make from their ears. And when they seemed to become more attentive in her general direction she stilled and she waited, crouched sometimes even uncomfortably as the feeling slowly left her muscles and was replaced by the tingle and prick of something else. Patience had never been more of a virtue than now as she took her time knowing that one wrong step would have her discovered and her easy mission blown wide open.

It was by chance that she had noticed the faintest of traces from human activity, luck that the first sentry hadn’t noticed her and utter incredulity that this army had not been found yet. This was not exactly an inconspicuous place to hide within the forests of Concordia. Yet she had never even known of its existence and so doubted that many still alive remembered this place and what it might have stood for at one point in time.

The further she went the younger the trees were becoming, but still strong enough to hold her light weight and allow her to hide within them. She was just being far more cautious, for the closer she got the more people she could see milling about and the more the Cathedral came into her view. What was once a magnificent building was now clinging to its last legs of life as it struggled to stay standing, much like this army struggled against The Empire. Not even the roof remained atop the gloriously carved and worn grey stones that shot towards the sky yet still staying just within the confines of the canopy itself. Her approach could not have been more perfect. With a raging river on one side and a much calmer one on the other, seeping into the ground and creating nothing but marshes and wet muck for miles to come, the ninja had found herself on the only side clinging to the forest. Where the trees practically crept along the side of the Cathedral and extended their branches, caressing the stone.

As she watched, still creeping closer to the building and its inhabitants, she mentally began to tally the people she could. Her eyes were sweeping over the groups of them as they trained, real soldiers turning farmers and regular villagers into the warriors they never thought they’d be. She counted five hundred of them easily, but knew there must be more of them. Five hundred was hardly an army that The Empire could be worried about.

Suddenly some kind of action seemed to stir beneath her. The sudden sound of crunching and crashing branches snapping and breaking under hurried feet carried through the wind and to her ears, making her tense slightly and stop in her advance. Not too far from where she was hiding, a young man burst from the forest and carried himself, panting, through the group of training men to one in particular. She did not recognize him or see him as anything special above the others but for the fact that he wielded his weapon with skill and experience the others lacked. Words she couldn’t hear were exchanged and weapons were put to arms and then the men disappeared into the trees once more, beyond her line of sight. She considered following them to see what had caused such a raucous, but knew it would be foolhardy to lose the position she had just garnered. So she turned the attention of her ice blue eyes back to the soldiers training, looking for a possible way to get closer and possibly to the actual Cathedral itself.

[Call me J]

As Jame looked at the conversation between the Major and the Marshall, he had been startled that he could simultaneously agree and disagree with the same person so much. Generally, he hated mercenaries. He agreed with the Marshall, they were money grubbing enough to put their own life ahead of the pursuit of gold. With two honorable exceptions, Jame had been disgusted by every mercenary he had been forced to hire, work with or even spend time with in a bar. Though the Marshall couldn’t know it, Jame had arrived in Corone not a mercenary in any way other that his ties to the island were shallow at best. He was here to help the bladesingers.

In fact, Jame Kaosi was honored to be in Corone, despite the danger. The situation in Raiaera with Xem’zund had become desperate enough that the High Bard Council couldn’t afford to spare as many soldiers as they had once promised, and they had been forced to reach in any direction they could grasping at straws. Since Raiaera had few soldiers to spare, Jame received an appeal to help from none other than the Headmistress of Aglarlin. It was a request that Jame couldn’t deny, regardless of how he felt about going back to war.

He remained quiet, waiting with the bladesingers and mercenaries that had been collected by Killian Jahaad. Jame had been careful to observe the interplay between Marshall and Major, and though Major Jahaad’s body language as they had drawn closer had suggested the interplay between the two might be tense, the half dragon had expected at minimum, a grudging welcome. Regardless, he now followed the rest of the makeshift unit from Raiaera towards Cathedral Hill, hoping that the rank and file soldiers wouldn’t treat him the same way. Jame knew that sooner or later, he’d be relying on every last one of them for morale.

“I wonder how real mercenaries do it,” Jame thought as he moved closer to the wide doors of the cathedral. “Don’t they ever get tired of watching people die for reasons that they could’ve cared less about? Jame hadn’t asked any of his mercenary comrades how they got through day after day, even though he felt that he could have used the advice. Now that they had entered the large, ancient building, Jame could feel the awesome responsibility that he was about to undertake five times greater. He followed the Major as they entered down into the catacombs, glad to be out of the pews.

The moment that the group entered the area, they were welcomed. Jame smiled appreciatively. He was offered homemade stew and asked if any of his weapons had been damaged in the travel. It was a bit overwhelming, especially when others in the group kept insisting that he was the best amongst them, as one of the few people to have survived Xem’zund’s initial strike on Carnelost.

Jame sighed. He didn’t know why well regarded mercenaries and bladesingers would show such deference to him. Soon, he found out why. While the rest of the group was offered food and given an opportunity to rest, it was Jame that they came to for stories. They wanted to know what it was like to survive a battle like Carnelost, what it was like to lead a unit of soldiers that had all but ended up exterminated.

And now, Jame had no choice but to tell them. If he said nothing, it would seem like he didn’t care about the rest of the soldiers, and he and the rest of the group would be greated as outsiders. However, if his stories entertained, then they would be welcomed not only as comrades, but potentially saviors. That wasn’t a job that Jame wanted to take. The word “savior” had been applied to him too many times incorrectly for him to ever feel comfortable with it again. Still, he would be happy being seen as a source of hope. He knew that soldiers needed hope more than they needed weapons sometimes.

Thus, Jame began to tell the tale of Carnelost, and the way that the Tel Aglarim had assembled itself desperately to buy time for the rest of the army that was gathering in Eluriand. Adults and children alike listened, and the more that the half dragon told the story, the more comfortable he became with his surroundings. Jame was making his ties to the army, and by the time the Marshall next called on him, he would no longer be just another mercenary.

[Zephyriah]

(Extremely long post. Definitely sorry for the length but I had to lay the ground work.)

The tragic events of Underwood coated the minds of Coronians everywhere since it’d been the brutalized target of the Empire. The blood of its victims retreated to the earth, but their now bodiless souls screamed for justice in the hearts of all free- minded people. Anyone that’d scanned over newspaper text of the incident or glanced upon a posted excerpt on a tavern bulletin would’ve felt the cry of the rightfully resistant dead through mental snapshots of the lovers of the old Republic. Many who weren’t as brave as the Underwood heroes could only smile and nodded approvingly as they visualized such strong willed people fight for a cause that they truly believed in. It was a beautiful story, a fit topic for any poet that wished to chronicle the tale through the use of flowery script and allegories.

However, no aesthetic mind would even dare risk inking such a sensitive piece of work unless that individual was prepared to have his soul freed and his lacerated and maimed carcass dumped sloppily in the grimy back alleys of that inhabitant’s respective home town. Naïve men and women cringed at the thought, but such a morbid image had long become a reality.

The heartless executioners that treated life with that kind of contempt were known as the Blood Angels, and had made their stamp at the battle of Underwood. They were men and women adorned in snow-white attire with glistening silver armor that’d graciously gave their murderous blade to the authoritative, devouring Empire. The new government was ecstatic to receive additional aid especially when unexpected, but their acceptance of this special faction quickly transformed into infatuation with them. Each of these warriors killed mercilessly, thoroughly cleansing the city of any resistors of the new Empire like roaches in a cellar. High Ranking soldiers of the CAF gazed upon the carnage, baffled as to who these warriors were. When asked where they hailed from, their reply was simply, “Rune”.

The Rune Paladins. It all made sense. Zephyriah Ablione was a native of the religiously zealous city and had long gained infamy not only in Corone but also all over the world. The underbelly of the continent reveled in the fact that one of their own had obtained such notoriety, however the politicians, nobles, and military officials of the now defunct Republic hated it. Often, talks about sending men to assassinate the half drow came up in backroom conversation but was never carried out. To spend a large amount of money and resources just to capture a criminal that was tarnishing the reputation of Corone was not worth the risk involved. Not to mention that Zephyriah’s abilities were top notch and easily had the power to end the lives of Corone’s best. But with the Empire seeking to root out all traces of the old Republic and install continent wide authority and control, they were elated to have the skilled blades of the paladins on their side. Unfortunately, the convictions of the Blood Angels were not entirely the same within their home land.

Rune had been experiencing an internal civil war from the moment the Empire emerged. Z’elouyn Ablione, High Priestess and leader of the paladin city, was extremely fond of the Republic. Once she learned of Aidan Johnston and Arno Erriades death, it became evident that Corone as a whole would take a violent turn for the worst. She however, didn’t expect the people of Rune to create a rift and so rapidly adopt the ideals of the Empire. Such dissention among many of the people boiled and stewed long enough for an outright war to break loose in the city, claiming many lives in the process.

Those in favor of the Empire were rapidly rising in number. Such gripping pressure caused weak-minded allies of Z’elouyn and the Republic to either escape from Rune or side with Empire supporters in order to ensure that their lives would be spared. The High Priestess was a fighter though, determined not to relinquish control to blind, irrational, and power crazed fools that would do nothing more than tear Rune apart from its very core. But her eldest son Xirei, whom had been her closest advisor for several years, serving as a set of eyes in the back of her head, forcibly took her and fled to Concordian forests where tensions were not so hostile. Z’elouyn resisted in every way, seeing how she didn’t want to leave behind the defenseless people that counted on her strong leadership and compassion. Yet Xirei Fararion was much like his father and would not take no for an answer. The decision was final and was not subject to change until conditions were more favorable. But fighters never fell into a sedentary state even when on the losing end of a struggle.

* * *

A light breeze brushed by my cloak, managing to slightly lift it up by its ends as it passed along, ruffling the grass, bushes, and leaves of the Concordian forest. This day was far from pleasant, seeing as the cloudy gray sky cast an unseen force of misery and despair over its continental inhabitants. Surely a ruthless act by the Draconian Thayne, who I’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting first hand. Some probably would’ve marveled before the abomination, awe struck that a god would descend from its high perch to mingle with the lowly. Of course, I did not share such sentiments. The imbecilic Thayne filled nothing but pain and agony into my life, which was supposedly quite contrary to what a god was supposed to be. Nevertheless, the invaluable lesson learned was that to trust the Thaynes was to trust your enemy.

The evidence of Corone’s disorderly state was evidence of that fact. Neighbors and life long companions brawled over some affluent individual’s ideals, so much so that they willingly shed their blood for it. Thankfully my brother and mother were intelligent enough to evade that rudimentary trap, despite having to flee Rune.

While I was in Dheathain, Xirei had sent word out to me about the current situation and asked that I come meet with mother and him in Concordia. He didn't directly ask for help, but my brother never did. If he desired aid, he'd construct some workaround query, hoping that one would be able to read in between the lines of his question. It was all quite astonishing considering that he rarely contacted me for anything, even if his very life had been at stake. But the reasons for it were most likely rooted in the well being of mother and not him directly needing help from his younger brother. Truth be told, I couldn't have cared less about the land which I was born into, but Corone had served as a freedom land for my mother after she fled the clutches of a cold and inhospitable Alerar. If anybody wanted to protect the country and bolster it in these dark times, it was her. And for the simple desire to see happiness restored in my mother's face, I did not hesitate to offer my assistance.

The soles of my boots beat the dirt roads of the lush forest that I used to frequent. The ambiance treated its dwellers to a darker world than what those outside of the forest endured since thick branches high above interlocked in such a way that it shunned the light engulfing the outside region. Such a sight was fitting, especially since Concordia had been the only place that wasn’t under high surveillance. “He said he’d be around Claver’s Clearing.” The large grassy opening was one of the few areas in the great forest that had cabins free for any traveler to use. There were only three, but they were always in impeccable condition, for not many people ventured this far, fearful of the beasts that resided in the surrounding area.

Birds chirping, and wolves howling were the common sounds that stormed into my ears until I heard a whistle.

“Who’s there?” My response was sharp and in conjunction with my hand immediately rising to the hilt of my sword. However, a fellow donning white garbs and glossy silver armor came from the back of the middle cabin.

“It’s about time.”

“Heh, so now you wear a Rune paladin uniform? Ha! That’s comical!” Xirei never appreciated my utterances when it came to his decision to become a paladin. Such remarks often led to us arguing and then eventually clashing blades. This time however, Fararion simply shook his head and motioned for me to enter the lodge.

“We have certain things to discuss, but I’ll start with what takes precedence first.” The half elf sat down at a rickety wooden table. The cabin was small and rather empty, having only two beds at each of its far ends, an area rug in between the beds, and a small round table on top of that. The table that my brother and I sat it was near the far left bed.

“Where’s mother?” Her absence was most obvious.

“She is…..out somewhere. Probably picking flowers.” Xirei’s expression exhibited a great deal of concern. If there was something wrong he always sought to avoid talking about it, issuing some brief and curtailed statement that always imbued a certain level of indignation in me. “You hang around mother all day, and all of a sudden she’s out of your sight, picking flowers? Stop the ridiculous games, Xirei.”

Fararion sighed, leaning back in his chair as he frustratingly ran his fingers through his short and messy white hair. “She’s angry with me since I dragged her all the way out here. You know how she is. She’s always willing to sacrifice her life in a heartbeat to save the lives of others. But I couldn’t allow her to throw her life away like that. Rune may be overrun with supporters of the Empire for now, but we’ll have our day soon.” Hope set comfortably in his eyes, no doubt envisioning the shackles of this country being shattered and the hand of the Empire being severed. “Anyway, I’ve had some of my men gather intelligence on the Rangers. Apparently, a remnant of the group still exists and is located on Cathedral Hill. Letho Ravenheart leads the small faction and is trying to rally enough able bodies to counter the Empire. His numbers are small but they will be effective when the time comes to strike.”

Rubbing my chin, thoughts of the Marshal circulated in my mind as I recalled the Citadel battle in which we participated. “Is that so? Knowing him, he’s probably surrounded by a ragtag bunch, letting them drag him down,” Rising from my seat, I tightened the strings of my cloak, preparing to deal with a chilly afternoon that was on the cusp of turning into a frigid evening. “Ravenheart is a kind person, but he’s has to know when to cut the dead weight loose.”

“You know him personally?”

“We’ve met in battle and through that, I learned all that I needed to know about him.”

“Battle you say? I already don’t like the sound of this.” Fararion yet again shook his head as he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, along with a pen. “I don’t know when mother will return, but I’m leaving her a note. She might still be upset, but she’ll definitely want to know our whereabouts.”

Xirei folded the missive and sealed it in an envelope. Upon placing it in the center of the table, my brother and I exited the cabin and made our way to Cathedral Hill.

* * *

“So….this is where they’re hiding?” My eyes took in the ancient and decrepit edifice, pondering what the grand church looked like during a time when it was in all of its glory. Exhausted outcries though carried from the back of the cathedral to the front, seizing my attention. “The motley crew must be training. They sound pathetic.”

As we walked through the roofless structure, passed the pews and out of the back entrance, my original thoughts were confirmed, for I witnessed dingy, shoeless, half armored, straw-hat wearing faux soldiers thrusting a spear incessantly, as if their intentions were to actually puncture the air. Xirei and I watched quietly for a few moments before the sweaty fools slowly began shifting their eyes towards us.

“Men, practice isn’t over yet! Where is your intensity!?” A stout looking warrior took hold of a spear and demonstrated its proper use in a hasty and frustrated way that suggested he’d repeated himself many times before. However, he too fell under the same spell of suspicion that his subordinates did when he finally gazed upon us.

“A Blood Angel!” A lowly farmer pointed his spear in fear toward Xirei. Whistles blew in all directions, which apparently acted as an alarm as well as a signal for the men to assume battle formation.

The sound of rusty plate mail clanking produced a horrid noise similar to a child beating pans together. Xirei adopted that concerned countenance yet again the moment the soldiers commenced in drawing near.

“Blood Angel?” Turning a puzzled eye towards my brother awarded me no response. Instead, Fararion’s jaw clenched while his hand slowly migrated to his sword.

[Letho]

CHAPTER III
~
The Raiders of a Lost Cause


The mercenary outfit integrated itself into the ranks of the rebels far easier then Letho had expected. Unlike him, the training militia seemed to have little prejudice in their mind, little aforethought of any kind as they palavered with the newcomers. What they saw were swords rallied to their cause and, more importantly, seasoned men wielding them. Up until recently, the closest thing to a weapon most of Letho’s men have held was a hoe or a very wicked looking pick. These people that Killian Jahaad brought with him were seasoned veterans, carrying scars and telling tales of many a battle. Having such warriors around them made the folk feel more like warriors themselves, as if some of the experience would brush against them just by being in proximity. There was potential danger there also, Letho knew, especially if worst case scenario came true and the mercs switched sides or abandoned their plight. Something like that could certainly take the air from beneath the wings of soaring morale.

Though such betrayal was definitely a possibility, Letho couldn’t afford to dwell on it right now. That was like thinking about the step number fifty in their battle against the Empire while they were currently on step seven or eight. If such a thing occurred, he would deal with it accordingly. Right now, he had a war to plan and elves to deal with.

Major Jahaad and the foursome of bladesingers were eventually led into the inner sanctum of the cathedral, where the unofficial leaders of the resistance were a sight about as impressive as the makeshift council hall in which they greeted the small contingent of allies. Amidst the ruinous walls of the Cathedral, standing around a cracked, stone altar that doubled as a table, the three remaining Marshals eyed their visitors. Edward Stormcrow was in a most deplorable condition of the three, the middle-aged man looking genuinely ancient as he leant on a crutch that served in stead of his lost leg. Though he was gray when Letho first met him, the war stole what little dark hair he had on his head. Compared to the halt Ranger, Gandes Greenhawk was an antithesis, a blonde-haired half-elf who shaved his face clean and swooned many a lass with the golden curls of his locks and the teal hue of his eyes. By looks alone, one could almost mistake him for a lad just out of his teens, but there was depth to his eyes, the kind that only years bestowed upon a person. Between these two opposite sides of the spectrum, Letho Ravenheart stood, leant over the stone table and the map placed upon its slanted surface. Several other Deputies were lined up around the altar as well, but none other was admitted to the church hall.

The meeting was just about to start when the whistles and bells invaded the placidity of the inner cloister.

“What now?” Edward Stormcrow growled, the grizzly Marshal obviously irritated by all the day’s intrusions. An uneventful day was a good day for the rebellion. This one was turning up to be quite eventful indeed. One of the sentries posted outside the double doors of the sanctum nearly slammed the door open as he stumbled inside.

“Intruders! We have intruders! Blood Angels!” the guard exclaimed. “Two of them!”

Letho had heard of these hounds, these paladins of Rune that were paladins no more after siding with the newly risen Empire. After the invincible Scarlet Brigade, they were the most feared enemy of the renegades, bloodthirsty mongrels that cast away their beliefs just so they could serve as executioners for their tyrannous masters. The scorching of Underwood was their misdeed, as were a number of smaller incidents that involved high body counts and low survival rates. They were heralds of death and destruction, and they weren’t very fastidious when it came to their targets. And now they were at his doorstep.

“Arm yourselves! We have a battle on our hands!” Letho commanded, picking up his spear from where it was leant against the wall and marching out of the makeshift council chamber. The rest followed almost in suit, elves with their solemn gaits and calculating eyes, Edward limping at the rear with a crutch in one hand and a sword in the other. They stormed past the pews and towards the heart of all the clamoring that seemed to be coming from the graveyard. However, instead of a messy carnage, a tentative sort of stalemate seemed to be in power, with the fretful bunch of would-be soldiers surrounding a pair of placid interlopers. One of them wore the attire of the infamous order of fallen paladins that terrorized Corone. The other Letho recognized the moment he stepped outside the cathedral.

“Zephyriah?” That was bad news right there. The Marshal met with the half-elf only once before, in a rather heated Citadel battle with numerous adversaries. Zephyriah Albione was quite possibly one of the most powerful combatants in that lot, a deadly force that was not to be trifled with. During that battle he had shown signs of honor and loyalty and even cordiality, thus earning Letho’s respect. But he squandered all of it by siding with the Empire and their bloodhounds. “You one of the Empire’s dogs now? If so, you choose the wrong place to sniff around.”

It wasn’t an empty threat, but it was a bluff all the same. Letho didn’t want to fight Zephyriah, not now, not here where the red-skinned warrior could strike a deadly blow to the insurrection. Even if they managed to overcome the pair with the sheer strength of numbers, the victory would prove to be too pricey, perhaps even fatal. The presence of the bladesingers was there to help dissuade Zephyriah from hostility, the Raiaeran legendary warriors making a stand next to the Marshal. Around them, there was barely a sound to be heard, just an occasional sniffle or shuffling of restless feet that wanted to be somewhere else. They were all like jousters, sitting at the very edges of their patience, waiting for that flag to come down in order for them to charge at each other.

((So, here’s what I thought. Kyo uses the whole hubbub because of Zephyriah’s entrance to creep closer and climb the cathedral. But she like slips or steps on a loose rock somewhere on the roof of the church sending it tumbling down, and she’s heard, so she tries to run away. I figured Jame could chase after her, and Zephyriah could help him capture her and haul her back to Letho, possibly restrained. That way everybody gets a part of the fun. Let me know if this is OK with you.))

[Kyo]

Things were happening quickly within the camp.

It appeared that Kyosku was not the only one to arrive on this day. The men who had disappeared into the wood returned minutes later with more to add to their ranks. They were armoured men, carrying weapons in their hands that had seen battle and had spilt blood upon the ground. Mercenaries, hired help, just like her, searching to make some kind of money in this war and this situation. A dangerous thing was that, at least when one hired a ninja they could be sure that person would be loyal until the end. Mercenaries changed hands and sides more often than they changed clothes, all coming down to the amount of money they were being offered and though Kyo knew of some ninjas like that in her clan, running to the highest bidder, she was not like that. In her mind, she had yet to even pick a side in this war and didn’t plan on doing so. Not until she spilt blood in the name of The Empire, would she have taken a side and a stand. And she didn’t plan on doing so either, but somehow she still found herself helping one side over the other.

And unless her eyes deceived her there were elves in this little band of merry men. How very interesting. The small number of them made her wonder if they too were mercenaries, for surely if Raiaera were to rally a side and send help, they would send more than four elves.

The men they brought to help quickly integrated themselves into the small army, welcomed with warm smiles and opened arms. She recognized the hope that was dancing in the eyes of the farmers. It was such a fragile thing really, one that could be crushed with the slightest misstep. That did not appear to be all the excitement of the day though. As the ruckus over the mercenaries began to slowly ebb and calm, something else took its place. Fear. An option far more potent, one that could cloud a man’s mind and destroy rational thought, leaving nothing but a quaking void in its wake. It spread throughout the area like a disease and infected the men that had been training in the courtyard as voices rang out through the air one after another. Whatever a Blood Angel was, she didn’t know, but it seemed to greatly disturb those there and that hulk of a man who had brought back the mercenaries called for battle. Curious as to what exactly was going on, the ninja edged closer to the Cathedral.

The confusion and their turned eyes made it easy. Her darkened form slipped through the trees and made it as close as she could to the stone structure. Then, with one daring motion, she leapt from the closest branch and grabbed a hold of an old and weather worn statue. The hard soles of her tabi socks scraped along the rough and worn stone as her fingers clasped around the cool rock and desperately held on to the surface that may have been its face before. Once she was steady and sure the stone would not give way beneath her meagre weight, the ninja began to move. She slipped towards the edge of the statue’s platform and then jumped to the nearest opening, a window long since broken and leaving nothing but a gaping hole in the side of the building. From there she could see a group of three men, one of which was missing a leg, rushing through the inside of the Cathedral and moving towards the graveyard where their men practiced. Their faces were stern with worry and concern and something else, perhaps the rush of a battle to come. Still, all she could see from here was the small opening towards the back and a group of men, nothing more.

Glancing around her, Kyosku quickly began climbing the walls of the Cathedral. Her long, thin fingers easily found purchase in the small nooks between the rocks, as did the thin and hard soles along the bottom of her feet. It took her only a moment or two longer to climb to the top of the building, where the rocks were a little more unstable but she could freely cross the distance with much more ease.

Keeping her body in a low crouch, Kyo began making her way towards the back of the Cathedral where the soldiers and their trainers had gathered. When she peered over the edge of the stone, she met a sight that both confused and intrigued her. Surrounded by a group of farmers turned warriors, holding unsteady weapons and fearfully glancing from one another, stood two men. She knew of no reason why they seemed to be so scared of these men, but the one wearing white robes and glistening armour seemed particularly worried about this situation. His hand was resting on the pommel of his sword and his eyes were moving from face to face, as if unsure of what he should do. The other, the one with the blood red skin the white hair seemed far less perturbed, though she could still see that unease clouding his features.

A Drow? How interesting things are becoming.

The two of them looked like more than competent warriors, but against such a large group of men—even gravely untrained men—they would not be able to last for very long. The more she watched the situation unfold, the more Kyo was beginning to suspect that the rough looking larger fellow was the leader of this rebellion, which would make him the man Festian mentioned to her; Letho Ravenheart. He certainly had a certain air about him that marked him as a leader and the way the others gathered around him was quite admirable. He also appeared to know one of the men, though she guessed that judging by his words they were not friends, comrades or even allies.

Crouching down and taking a few steps closer, the ninja dislodged a few loose rocks from the section of the building, sending them tumbling down the side of the Cathedral. They crashed and smashed against the side of the wall, before slamming into the ground and creating far too much noise in the hollow room.

Kusa!

Her wide ice blue eyes, looked directly at the group of men below her as she noticed a few of their heads turn and look within the room, only to shoot up to the side of the building where she was hiding. Cursing her luck, Kyosku decided on a quick and hasty retreat. She stood and ran down the length of the wall as fast as her feet could carry her. Approaching the stone statue she had used an anchor, she took a deep calming breath and jumped off the edge of the roof. The fall seemed to take far too long, and the distance too great, but her body slammed against the hard and unforgiving stone feet below her. The shoulder of the carved creature dug into her stomach and another part of it slammed against her ribs, eliciting the slightest of grunts from the ninja. Narrowing her eyes and ignoring the sharp pain, she turned to the trees and jumped the distance. Branches and leaves lashed against her body and pulled at her hair, until she finally stopped her fall and wrapped her fingers around rough bark.

Knowing she would be far faster on the ground than in the trees, she dropped down to the forest floor, and then ran away from Cathedral Hill as fast as her legs could carry her.

[Zephyriah]

The incessant whistles surely performed their task with excellent proficiency, for the raggedy novice provincials’ encapsulation of my brother and I held us in place until the upper echelon of Cathedral Hill’s small garrison arrived. Terrified beady eyes in the heads of the squalid face faux warriors served as a distraction, so I wasn’t able to clearly observe the newcomers. However, those comprising the outer ring of the encirclement around us turned their heads and immediately acquired a feeling of relief. The presence of these leaders caused their subordinates who were in close proximity to them to part like split lands due to a fissure. Panicked panting transformed into cries of exultation with a sprinkling of clapping even thrown into the celebration. Xirei’s casual grip on the pommel of his blade grew tighter the closer these leaders approached, but not a nervous emotion seized control of any part of me. Instead I remained still, possessed with a quiet confidence.

With the way that my Blood Angel brother was looking, I was certain that he would spring forth at any moment and spill blood that would stain his wool colored garments, thus showing why the Rune Paladins had received their sordid nickname. But upon the last line of the surrounding men giving way, and my lavender eyes falling upon the face of one securely wrapped in crimson armor, I extended my arm horizontally, a foot away from Fararion’s chest which indicated to him to refrain doing whatever action he’d concocted mentally.

Marshal Ravenheart. The moniker struck my ears via the joyous whispers that spewed from excited so-called soldiers. “Hmph. Clearly these fools have only known Ravenheart through Coronian press clippings and tavern speak. How long have they actually been here with him?” With a slight turn of the head, my gaze scornfully fell on these pitiful men. The whispers began ceasing as peasant eyes locked onto mine, but they were spared fear when Ravenheart’s hostile inquiry recaptured my attention.

“And what if I am?” Leering at those that held their undisciplined and inexperienced swords out, I removed the hood of my cloak, chuckling. “Do you honestly believe that the combined strength of these filthy hayseeds could stop Xirei and I? I alone could melt the flesh off of their frames and scatter their bones all across this war-torn land. But with Fararion here, the destructive possibilities are endless!”

Silence had captivated the peasants. While my face might’ve not been a familiar one to the primitive, unsophisticated inhabitants of the Coronian countryside, the simple fact that I would so audaciously state such a claim in the presence of their heroic leader was enough for them to know that I was not bluffing in any shape, way, or form. Even the elven men that flanked the Marshal obtained a look of concern!

“Shut up, Zephyriah. As usual, you are only making things worse,” Xirei’s tension fleeted when he realized that the presence of Letho had quelled the dread of looming battle. His sights set on Ravenheart as he walked toward the Marshal with his sword safety tucked in its sheath. The loose folding of his arms displayed a willingness to seek trust and establish an environment of peace. “Marshal Ravenheart, you’re fury is understandable considering the conduct that many paladins of Rune have shown throughout Corone. Now while it is true that I hail from the same land as them, I’m not cut from the same cloth. Blood Angels do not deserve to be called Rune paladins, especially since they willingly offer their talents to the Empire. My brother and I are here today to extend a hand of companionship to your resistance and reestablish the old Republic. Please forgive our intrusion. We mean you nor your men any harm.”

Xirei’s typical attitude and condescending speech towards me spun a wheel of anger inwardly that was so hot, it could’ve melted steel. Instinct urged my hand to clasp my blade and fight with Fararion right here and now. However, rationality dominated and controlled my urges, thus keeping my arms at their sides and only permitting an irritated grimace to come forth. But these feelings were soon replaced with curiosity when I noticed how one of the elves that stood beside Ravenheart was looking at Xirei. Wide eyed, his profile screamed an infatuation of sorts like a fan having seen his favorite celebrity for the first time. “Xirei….Fararion?” Hearing his full name spoken, my brother shifted his gaze toward the caller.

“You know me?” Xirei inquired, somewhat puzzled.

“We thought you were….dead along with.......your father..”

Sudden shock overcame Xirei and I both. There was a subtle exchange of glances between us, but we attempted to uphold an exterior that hid our surprise. Fararion scanned the elf thoroughly before replying, and spotted a small sigil pinned on the collar of the warrior’s tunic. “He’s a….Turlin Bladesinger….” Fararion displayed an empty smile, certainly still hiding his true reaction. “I live to carry on my father’s name.”

He provided a brief answer. In the presence of the Raiaeran men, I found that now I was becoming tense, with nonstop images of my blade sliding through my brother’s father so long ago, bombarding my mind. Xirei and I had long come to terms over our heinous crimes, but such reconciliation surely wasn’t extended to the vast populace of Raiaera or even Corone for that matter. In this kind of predicament though, I wasn’t certain what my brother was thinking. Had he been harboring hatred for me all of this time, yet chose to suppress it in order to save mother added grief? But did he see this now as the perfect opportunity to do away with me? After all, he could have these elves kill me and at the opportune time, run back to mother, telling her that Turlin song mages had taken my life. What a strange turn of events. It’d been so long since I trotted elven ground that I wasn’t even sure if a bounty still remained over my head.

The elven soldier appeared as if had more to ask, but whatever he wished to inquire about was interrupted by the crashing of stones that came from the ruined cathedral. Dust billowed from the fresh wreckage, but out of the corner of my eye, the silhouette of an enigmatic figure sprung for the trees. My instincts were determined to avoid oppression this time, as they took control of my body and protracted my wings. The power of the flight appendages pushed wind that was strong enough to blow the still hair of nearby rag tag soldiers backwards. "Nothing" was drawn quickly, carrying the will to aid me in seizing the escapee.

Broken branches, fluttering leaves, and dragged dirt served as a sign that the fleeing individual was a novice at his or even her trade of espionage. “Has the Empire sent a spy?” The very idea was entirely valid, for it was common knowledge that there was a resistance that held the sole purpose of taking down the intrusive governing body of Corone.

It didn’t take long to catch up to the spy. “A female?” Soaring high over her head, her attire dismissed the notion of her being a spy for the Empire. Instead, she appeared to be nothing more than a mercenary that perhaps hailed from the land of Akashima. Where ever the origin mattered not. The next action taken was a swift swoop downward. When I was within range, Phase was instantly activated, causing me to instantly teleport right in front of her. The sudden appearance of a menacing crimson skinned figure startled the ninja to the point where her face became ghostly pale. A quick strike with the pommel of the blade handle was made to the side of her head, knocking her unconscious before she could make any moves.

With a slumped body over the shoulder and a short flight back to the populated area of Cathedral Hill, the presentation of a limp, lithe framed woman astonished everyone in attendance, especially those who believed my brother and I too be enemies.

“It seems somebody found your little hideout here,” I dropped the body before Ravenheart like a weighty knapsack. The entire chase and capture had to be sudden and unexpected as far as onlookers were concerned, but that was how I wanted it. Too much attention had been given to Xirei and I, and the last thing I needed was in inquisitive elf excavating old Raiaeran issues that’d long been buried. Controlling the thoughts and perceptions of the masses was of great importance if we were going to get anything accomplished, and labeling the prey as a scout for the Empire would do just the trick. “It’d be best to kill this spy now before she wakes up and causes unnecessary problems.”

(Bunnying approved.)