Wartune

  * * *

  The nurse walked into the room and scowled.

  “He’s gone, lady.”

  Yannick looked at the nurse, confused. He turned to Sophia and saw her eyes slowly open. She stared at Yannick.

  “What…what have you done? He goes to his death!” He cried.

  She stared at him for a moment longer, then spoke slowly, every word visibly racking pain through her body. “Perhaps. But thus far he has lived a half-life. There is a sickness in him, a disease that prevents him from taking action. Today, he will be tested. He will defeat that sickness, or he will die and no longer be a burden.”

  Yannick gawked. “But…you are his friend. You were the one who defended him, who showed me his trials with the orphans. You showed me the good in him, despite his weakness!”

  “There are hard times coming. The people need a warrior. I need a warrior. These wounds were not intentional, I assure you. He is the best choice, but not the only one. He will become worthy of the task, or he will die. There is no other way.”

  “You’re a monster!”

  “I am what I must be. Now I must ask that you leave me. I need to get dressed.”

  Yannick, still stunned, watched as she grimaced from the pain of rising.

  “Tut, tut.” The nurse said with a gentle shove. “Might still be time to watch the excitement.” She pushed Yannick through the door.

  “That could have been done with a bit more tact, my lady.” The nurse said after she heard him shut the front door.

  “I have no patience left for that man,” she replied, “He was sober, though. I am impressed with that. Maybe he, too, has hope.”

  The nurse tutted again, and then no more words were spoken. They quickly dressed Sophia in a loose fitting gown, elegant, but practical, and headed to the town square.

  When they arrived Jerome was already dead. Sophia allowed herself a small smile, and sighed with relief when she saw Muda, sword in hand. In that moment, she saw their salvation.

  She hid from the crowd until the battle was finished. Even as he expunged the darkness from his body, she stood by, and let the people see what he was, what he had become.

  Cleansed.

  The people stood, staring at him, unsure if he still lived. Sophia removed her hood and walked forward. She placed her hand on the shoulders of those in front of her, and when they turned around to see who she was, each would quickly back away. Soon there was an open path.

  When she approached the center of the group, she walked past Trig’s fallen corpse, and placed her hands upon Muda. She whispered a silent prayer to the goddess, then stood up to look at her people. She looked down once more at Muda, then began to speak.

  “We are a people lost,” she began, “We are a people who have forgotten nobility, and honor. We have grown fat, and deceptive, attacking in the dark and whispering lies, instead of standing up and fighting. Here lies a foreigner. Not a stranger, but a friend, who has shown us what we have forgotten. He is not of our land, but he embodies what we should be, what we once were. He is not of our land, but I name him my champion!” Sophia drove her arms into the air and the people cried out their approval in a torrent of cheers. When they quieted, she continued.

  “I claim my role as your leader, with the champion Muda at my side. Together, we will fight the coming evil. Together, we will guide Sikeran to glory!” Cheers broke out again.

  Sophia then bent down, and began to lift Muda. The people nearby rushed to help her, and they hoisted him above their heads, making sure to avoid the black sick that he had expelled.

  Alkorn and Erik watched from the fringes as they carried him out of the square, and considered their next move.

  Debra, Yaros

  Debra sipped her wine. She had spent the day interrogating witnesses to Alkorn's escape, but all her efforts had earned were the names of more witnesses and a pile of corpses. A witness who was not killed, or at least seriously maimed preventing Alkorn's disappearance must themselves be a traitor, and she would not tolerate traitors.

  They had seen two full moons since the chaos. The city had returned to normal, more or less. Farmers dribbled into the city to sell their grain, merchants once again hawked their wares in the streets, the nobles played their games of intrigue. She had tripled the city guard, and this meant many of them were undisciplined, but this was the cost of protection.

  And of course, there were the refugees. They came by the thousands, begging for food and aid. Those that found work were allowed to stay, and those that couldn't were put in the dungeons and left to starve. She had no patience for freeloaders.

  There was still a tenseness about the city, but...it was itself again.

  She took another sip, then walked to a nearby window to see her city. It was quiet now, curfew had already been in effect for several bells, and she relished the silence.

  "This city was meant to shine. It was meant to be a beacon, to show that humanity is not unworthy of salvation. It was meant to prove that you are capable of beauty and grace, to be a refuge for those who are weak, and a symbol for those who are strong. Is it these things, do you think?"

  Debra's voice cracked. "Lord Yaros, we are in a small time of distress..."

  "You have been in distress since the day I gifted you the power to slay the king and his family, and that distress has ruined this place. Now you have lost the greatest general in this pathetic world? Misplaced him?"

  Debra coughed. "We tracked him until he reached Sikeran, there is no way that they would have given passage to the Yaloran, and even if they had, there is no way that they would have the means to house them and feed them!”

  “Where are your spies? Why do you give me theories instead of facts? Is this why you murder any that come into your service? Because they report unwanted truths?”

  Debra looked confused and lost, then her face twisted into rage. “I have never killed an innocent! They were traitors, every one. They lied and deceived and worked to destroy me.”

  Yaros stared down at her. Then he raised his hand and stroked her long blond hair. "I tire of your incompetence," he said, "I will be leaving for some time. When I return, I will see improvements, or I will see you dead."

  He left, and Debra began to scream. The guards that were outside the door rushed in, but when they saw her alone they quickly backed out.

  When she had calmed herself, Debra poured herself another glass of wine and drank it in two mouthfuls, then marched out the door. The two guards stood at attention, clearly frightened. She would have to find out why. She gathered her retinue and went down the winding stairs, past portraits of former rulers and heroes, until she finally reached the dungeons.

  Two guards looked at Debra, not unsurprised, then knocked. The door opened to reveal a pale man, who might have been handsome if it were not for the perverse he stared at people, like they were another victim. He had been the dungeon-master since Debra was little, and the two were well acquainted.

  “Take me to the handmaid," Debra commanded.

  “She’s got not more to tell ya, m’lady.” The man said as he started to walk away. “Just rambles on about princes and poison all day long.”

  Debra took a torch from the wall and followed afterward, impatient but unwilling to pass him for fear she would lose her way. The dungeon master never hurried. She had threatened on several occasions to put him in one of his own machines, but he had just chuckled and said he was familiar enough with them already.

  After a dozen twists and turns they arrived a rotting wooden door. There was no window or handle, just a small keyhole. The handmaid had long ago grown too weak to fight, so the dungeon-master would bring her a meal once a day, never afraid that opening the door would allow her to escape.

  The pale man pulled out a single key and slid it into the lock. Debra heard a whimper from inside. He then jiggled it a moment, then found the spot and turned it with a loud thunk. He pulled the door open, and then said, "Sweetlet my sweetlet, you have a guest." He stepped
back and bowed, gesturing Debra inwards.

  In the corner lay a small, trembling women. She was more bone than flesh, and her body was covered in scabs. Her deep blue eyes were almost entirely obscured by stringy hair hanging down in front of her face.

  "What has this terrible man been doing to you?" Debra exclaimed. "I told him to take better care of you. Mage, quickly, get in here and help this poor girl! And you there, take off her shackles."

  The mage rushed in and began to cast simple healing spells on the prisoner. With each one the girl would sigh a gasp of relief, and Debra's face would grow more and more concerned. When the mage had finished Debra knelt down and stroked the girl's face.

  "Leave us," Debra commanded. The room in seconds. Debra pushed back the girl's hair to reveal her face. She took a comb and used it to tie back the girl's hair. By the time she had finished, the girl was sobbing.

  "Now, now," Debra said. "There's hardly a need for that. If you give me the answer I want there won't be any pain. Maybe we'll even let you outside for a little while."

  The girl's sobs intensified, and Debra wiped away some of the tears.

  "What happened to the boy?" She said finally.

  The girl looked up, terrified. "My lady...please my lady...I've already told you...please..." She whimpered.

  "You gave him the poison, but he did not die. You did not give him all of it, that I now know for certain, but what happened to him afterward? Where did Yannick take him?"

  "I don't know my lady...please...please my lady...."

  Debra's face turned sour for just a moment, but it was long enough for the girl to see that this time would be no different from any other. She desperately tried to back away, but her weakened muscles could not even be used to drag her across the room. Debra stood up and stared at the girl.

  "I did not want to do it this way...but as always, you leave me no choice. There is some detail you have not told me yet. I know it, and I will hear it."