Chapter XII:
The Siege Ends
Impatience
When Olver was slain, Cheftan Ponteris Oastirne summoned his step-son to his estate. There he greeted him with great joy and asked of him 'one small thing'.
'Kidnapping?' Sion said with disgust, when his task had been explained to him. 'Have you no hireling oafs to do such muddy deeds?'
'Nonetheless,' Ponteris said to him seriously, 'I can trust only my own kin.'
No greater testimony can be made of the strength of the sons of Galvahir, and of the valor of Cheft Biron, than the price that was paid to win over the allegiance of Cheft Ponteris. This is not to say that Ponteris was not wicked already, but to give such a worm the boldness and courage to set himself against the lord of the Galvahirne, it required a great deal of bribery, and a great deal of reassurance. Men such as Ponteris, however brave they may seem when they are surrounded by their friends and guardians, are the most unfaithful of allies. In the end, the luster of gold drew him into the plot against Dadron. This was accomplished, first, by the promise that Biron and the Galvahirne would be once and for all broken and removed from power. It was promised that he would have whatever protection he deemed necessary. This they gave to him in the form of a great mercenary force from Titalo and another from Daevaron. Some two-thousand burly and brainless men, well armed and without soul, were ever under his command, their purses lined with gold from the treasury of Amlaman.
In addition to this, he was promised, 'whatever it is that you might desire.' This last promise he laid claim upon when he made his visit to Marin. There he saw the great beauty of Lyris, the Marshall of the Eastern borders of Olgrost. The request was made, and Queen Marin quickly agreed, the reasons for which must find their place elsewhere. But nonetheless, it was not fully her will that Lyris be handed over needlessly to the 'Barbarian lord', as she termed Cheft Ponteris. There was still some reverence of her first mother's legacy within her, and she ordered that Lyris be kept on the northern island of Cebrost until it was clear that the Noras lord had made good upon his promises.
The coming of Lyris was eagerly anticipated by Cheft Ponteris, who insisted that no greater beauty had as yet set foot upon the earth. Much to his frustration he was told, after frequent inquiry, that he must wait in patience for his prize. When he pressed his hand, he was told, in very formal language, to keep his belt tightened until an end was made of the sons of Galvahir.
Thus it was with great frustration that Ponteris received the news that Daryas Galvahirne was still living, just hours after he had received the news of Olver's passing. Many things seemed to happen to him in that instant. A habit of pacing and swearing beneath his breath began at that hour. He grew troubled and all his humor and bravado left him. He made no more bold speeches about the folly of the clerics and the foolishness of pious old women. For all intents and purposes it might be said that he began to believe the prophecies of Rahdmus, though he prayed and worked against them, vainly. Also, remembering the words 'By your own flesh and blood shall your end come', he resolved to make an end of Sion, so that no harm might come to him.
Thinking himself rather clever, he resolved to eliminate two problems by means of a single solution. He meant to have Sion carry his prize secretly from Cebrost, and hopefully to perish in the attempt.
As time passed, Ponteris grew more and more impatient and desperate. At last he gave up on pleading altogether and openly threatened the safety of Sion's new family. 'What will you do, ingrate, will you stay in your bed forever, with your new wife that I have given to you? Nay, you are not the lord of Noras. You must arise, though the hour is late, and make some use of yourself. It was not for free that you were given the gem of your heart's longing. It was on faith; now make good on your end.'
'My end? I've done my part in sparing your life,' Sion retorted.
'Looking back,' Ponteris said, 'I don't recall feeling particularly threatened by you; not so threatened at least to justify giving you so great a prize.'
In the end, Sion was compelled to go, though he cursed every minute of that dreadful endeavor. It may well be said that in having already swallowed the lion's share of his pride, he had little remaining when the Ponteris made his demands. But though Ponteris wished Sion not to return from this dangerous endeavor, he did not want the mission itself to end in failure. To this end he sent also Bronning, one of his most trusted men.
Bronning was a dark and grim man, with a dark and grim reputation. It was said that for a price he would not hold back his blade from anything. Among his fellow mercenaries it was said that Bronning would cut his own throat if he were offered a high enough wage. Browning had under his command a band of forty men. They were men of Titalo, and had much knowledge of both the sea and the island of Cebrost to which they were sent. Sion, along with ten other men of Noras, were sent along as their 'commanders', though the greater authority was conferred, in secret, to the mercenaries.
Thus, in the beginning of that year, Sion and a crew of mercenaries set out from some small northern port for Titalo. There they hired a ship such as the pirates and mercenaries of Titalo are known to use, and they set out for the island of Cebrost. When at last, after several months of searching, they discovered the whereabouts of Lyris, they came upon that city under the darkness of night, slaying the guards and stealing away the Marshall of Marin, carrying her back to their ship bound and blindfolded. When they returned, however, and when Bronning was intended to take command of the ship by slaying the men of Noras, it was discovered that the men of Noras had not returned with them. A frantic search was made, but there was no time to discover what had become of them. Some, indeed, had fallen in the course of the raid, but six at least of them remained wholly unaccounted for, including the son of Ponteris. With many a curse, Bronning was forced to return to Noras with but one half of his task fulfilled.
'What matters it to you?' he bellowed at his employer, when Ponteris accused him of carelessness. 'You have both of your desires, Sion has fled, and he shall not set foot again in this forest. Set your heart upon your prize, and revile not those who most faithfully serve you.'
'You most faithfully serve your master the coin,' Ponteris said with desperation, 'I did not wish Sion gone, or exiled - exiled to return with vengeance - I wanted him slain.'
Bronning stood still for a moment, finally realizing the truth of the circumstance. A grin came across his face, 'You believe the old man,' he said coldly. 'You believe his prophecy! Master of cunning words, by priest-talk you have been silenced! Ha!'
'Begone from me!' Ponteris hollered, 'Here is your pay, here is double, but begone from me, and return not!'
Bronning and the False Prophet
Bronning, as has been said, had a reputation of being the sort of man that would do anything, however vile and wicked it might be, for the sake of wealth. When he left Cheftan Ponteris he traveled northeast toward the coast with his band of mercenaries. There, when night had fallen, he came across a peculiar scene. Thinking themselves to have come upon an encampment of brigands, and thinking they might despoil them of whatever they possessed, he commanded his men to approach the camp in secret and to await his signal ere they attack. But when they reached the camp, they were at once awestruck and tamed by what they saw.
In the center of the camp, under firelight, they saw a thin man dressed in crimson robes. This man had the look of a holy man, but he did not appear to be one of the priests of Pelas. His name, as was later discovered, was Lokhi, and he was a man of Dae-la. Born a peasant, he had no wealth and no heritage to speak of. Of all those who lived in Noras in those days, his household was one of the few that could say certainly that they had no relation whatsoever to any Cheftan at any time throughout all of the long history of that forest. But in such a state of poverty and dishonor, he arose among the people in that region as a prophet. Mimicking the words of Rahdmus, and in fact, claiming to have been sent by him, he had gathered to himself a great company of poor and dissatisfied
people. From these he exacted tribute from all that they possessed, so that in a very short while the prophet made himself quite wealthy, as was evidenced by his ridiculous attire.
Bronning and his men came upon them just as he began to speak to his people:
'Men of Noras, sons of darkness though ye be! Know ye not that the wicked shall be driven from these very woods and into the hills like the goblins of old? Do ye not see how the enemy of the gods has made himself king? And how he has taken from the poor and trampled truth under foot? How long, I say, how long can this continue unabated? Men of Noras, there will come an hour, when every one of ye must draw swords and fight against those who would be your oppressors. Soon it will be that Noras will be given over to the poor, and taken forever from the hands of fool Cheftans, be they of Galvahir, Cossa, Oastir or Dael. These have grown rich by the sweat of the weak.
Do ye not see how the wicked thrive and the good are destroyed? Is this not an absurdity? Shall it be like this forever, until men say at last that the gods have forsaken mankind?
No. I tell you truly, men of Noras, there will come a day when fire will rain down upon your heads, and every wicked man will be devoured. I have seen the world of flame; in a dream it was given to my eyes to behold. Hear me, men of Noras, and believe! There is a mountain of ice, such that if ye set foot upon it thy toes would freeze in an instant, and break from thy foot. But step away from this mountain, my dear men, and ye will set your foot in a valley of flame that would melt thine flesh in an instant. How will ye escape, oh wicked men? How will ye escape the torment of the mountain, or the hot burning flames of the valley? Turn ye, therefore, and pledge thy swords to the work of the gods. Be not destroyed with the wicked in that day! Turn ye to the gods, and you will find treasures abounding in the realm of the stars!'
As strange as it is to recount, something in that message struck terror deep into the heart of Bronning, and indeed, in the hearts of his men. In that hour they emerged from the woods almost in unison, weeping and pleading for the holy man to pray for them. 'Of what utility,' Bronning wept, 'is all the gold in the world, if I am to lose it all in the flames beneath the earth?'
So it was that Bronning and his mercenaries had found at last their final employer, and the promise of an incorruptible heavenly wealth became their last wage.
The Last Battle
By the end of fifteenth day of Paschest, when Daryas had fought against the monster Natham for the second time, the bodies of the people of Marin, Olgrost and Amlaman were lying in heaps, and beside them in heaps were the men of Dadron. All the efforts of Dadron's bravest could do no more than contain their enemies, and they contained them at great cost to their own numbers. Cries rent the night and weeping filled the city, such that even the soldiers of Marin and the warriors of Amlaman could scarcely hold back their own tears, both for their kinsmen who had fallen and for the women whose voices echoed down from the upper city, calling out to their husbands and their sons, not knowing whether they were living or dead. Indeed, it was reckoned that on that day, of all days in that terrible war, the greatest number of men had been slain.
The flood of tears was overcome, however, by a heavy rain, as if the heavens themselves burst forth in sorrow. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed, filling the city with darkness, wind and dread. The soldiers of Marin huddled together in cloth tents and market canopies such as they had occasion to find in the streets of the lower city. The men of Amlaman braved the rain and wind with stern faces, waiting for the end and for the dawn, when their ambitions might be renewed. They had been halted in that place for two days, but in their minds was little doubt but that the city would fall when at last their lord entered in. 'On the morrow,' they were assured, 'the king of Amlaman, that Fell Wolf of Heyan, shall ride in with banners and noise, and ride in to victory. Marin has had her hour, but now there is a war to be waged.'
But no new warriors came from Amlaman the next day, a very troubling fact, that took its toll on the warriors within the city, who for the first time considered failure to be a possibility. The battle began much in the same way as before, with the soldiers of Marin and the warriors of Amlaman attempting to break into the upper city, and the warriors of Noras and of Dadron attempting to drive them out, or to exterminate them where they stood.
In the chaos of the war, Daryas now did what he could to fulfill the advice of Rahdmus. He left the army of Marin unmolested, to what degree he was able, and focused his efforts on fighting the men of Amlaman. This he did with great reluctance, for he did not wish his contest with the monster to end in a draw. This sentiment he ascribed, in his heart, to the will of Lutrosis, who seemed to pine for more glorious warfare. But the greatest part of the day was spent encircling and slaying the many groups of Amlamani warriors that now haunted the eastern city.
Lord Kardian, however, focused his efforts on the army of Marin. Of them he slew personally some one hundred soldiers. But by the day's end he was driven away by the fierce anger of the monster, who cast him from his horse. He fell to the ground in a thud and found that both his wrists were broken. He fled into the city and vanished from the monster's sight. There he found some of his men, and made his way back to the upper city, to fight no longer in the war.
When this had finished, the monster, by some trick of light, caught sight of Daryas from afar, and thinking it would be advantageous to their strategy to cut down the leaders of their foes, he rushed like a storm wind into the east. Daryas' heart sunk at the sight of the monster, not so much for fear of death as for fear that Lutrosis would once more gain the ascendance.
'The one you seek is not here,' Daryas told the monster, 'Not a man in Dadron has knowledge of the one you accuse us of detaining.'
'What use are such words at this hour,' Natham roared, 'Save to halt the steps of the foolish. Did not your cities receive their due warning? Did not the Daevaron at every turn have a way of escape? Did not Olver, lord of this city, receive the report of my coming, and the demand that came with it?'
'Truly you have been lied to,' Daryas said, 'for Olver was not of this land, but of Noras, which lies far to the north.'
With those words spoken, circumstances forced them into combat. Several horsemen of Noras rode against the monster with spears uplifted. Of these he slew the first and used his body to swipe the others from their saddles. Also, the hirelings of Olgrost, remembering the wounds of their ally Arakai, came against Daryas with a fury. In a short time, these were slain, and Daryas and Natham found themselves once more in mortal combat.
The Sword of Pelas found its way past the monster's shield and cut deep into the Natham's shoulder. With a cry of anger and pain he swung his arm and knocked the helmet from Daryas' head. The whole world seemed to Daryas to turn white at that moment and every sound became a dull thud to his ears. He had scarcely recovered when Natham attempted to pierce him with his spear. He dropped to the ground and laid beneath the blow, barely evading it by more than an inch. Natham tried to crush him beneath his shield, but Daryas rolled backward and rose again to his feet. The shield and the spear again charged at him, like a furious bull, charging with pointed horns. But again Daryas dodged the attack. He leapt upon Natham's back and tried to cut his throat. But Natham grabbed him by the foot and lifted him, upside down, off of his shoulders. He hung him in from of his face and thrust the fell blade Skatos Ereg from beneath his cloak. Daryas, by luck, by skill or by fate, whirled his sword around, blocking the strike. He slashed at the monster's arm, cutting deeply into his wrist. The monster released him, and Daryas fell onto his back with a thud. The two swords clashed with one another again and again, Skatos Ereg seeming to carry within itself the night, and the sword of Pelas the day. But in the end the night triumphed. Skatos Ereg swung down hard, shattering the Sword of Pelas and cutting a deep wound into the Galvahirne's forehead, sending blood flowing over his eyes. Some later said that the dark blade itself laughed as it made an end of that famous blade. In that moment the sun itself seemed to flee from the
sky and lightning struck the city in many places, including, it was said, the Temple of Pelas itself. Almost as soon as it had occurred it was reported throughout the city that the Holy Sword had fallen.
Natham stepped forward for the kill, but Lutrosis at last gained the mastery and his blow was stopped. For the monster's mighty arm had been caught by Daryas who then turned and to the astonishment of all who watched, cast the monster over his shoulder as if he were a regular man.
Now fully under the power of Lutrosis, Daryas drew his Noras short sword from its sheath to strike a final blow. But ere his blade could fall, a shadow fell upon him, and a great bird descended from the sky, alighting upon the fallen monster. 'Maru?' Daryas said in great surprise, 'Twice you have stood between us, but to what end? You carry no message. Begone, for I cannot permit you to withstand me again. He raised the sword aloft, but his blow never came. A smaller bird fell from the sky and struck in him the chest, knocking him back. Then another bird fell, its beak like a dart, piercing his armor and cutting his chest. Soon a veritable rain of such foul was falling upon him. He fled beneath a ledge that had been built nearby and held a board over himself to guard his head from the birds. Amid all this the eagle turned toward Natham and gave a shriek.
'Natham,' Maru spoke, in words only the monster could perceive, 'What are you doing here?'
'Who are you, spirit of the air, that you address me by name?'
'I am Maru, lord of birds, and some time ago I was told to search for you. Now I have found you.'
'To what end?'
'To tell you at last the truth that has for all these years evaded you, but which the spirit-lords of Falsis have long known.'
Origin
'Twice betrayed are you,' Maru said, 'And by him who of all men ought never to have done so. A darkness lies upon your memory, but you must look beyond it.' With those words the haze that had long shadowed the monster's mind was lifted and he saw his whole past anew. 'A shame you were to your father, for two reasons. First and foremost, you were born to his father's maid, long before he took to himself a wife. Such a thing could have cost him both his honor and his title, and he would sacrifice neither. Heaped upon this circumstance was your form. As if to demonstrate to the world the heinousness of fathering a child by one's youngest maid, you came from the womb all in a tangle, one arm shriveled behind you, another coming as it were, straight from your heart. "Two heads! Two heads! The devil lives again!" your father bellowed in a drunken stupor.
'Death - your father had planned for you from the beginning. He wished you dead for the shame of his own sins. He deemed your life unworthy of living, and so he condemned you to the fire. "Who would wish to live a day in such a ghastly form?" he asked himself in terror.
'His negative answer to his own question was soon proved, when he ordered the child to be burnt on the altar of Pelas, even as infants were, in the dark days, offered to the god Agonistes, before the devil worshippers were driven from Noras. Half of you he burned indeed, as I deem your dark cloak conceals. But ere life was taken from you altogether, your mother, that poor young girl, plucked you from the flame and darted into the woods. There she hid, seeking aid among the peasants of that land. But none would help her, for the sight of you filled their superstitious hearts with fear.
'Starving, she made her way at last to the Yilnir river, and there she died, but not before handing you over to the first kind man she had, in all that time encountered. A Knarseman of Titalo he was, and I imagine from there you can piece together the narrative well enough.'
Natham looked into the eagle's sharp eyes and knew at once that his every word was true. 'Tell me, lord of birds,' he demanded, as he lifted himself to his knees. 'How is it that this man, my father, has twice betrayed me.'
'Even now,' Maru said, with sorrow in his voice, 'he has taken hold of that which you have long fought for.'
'What!?' Natham roared, rising to his feet and towering over the bird. 'Speak on!' he commanded.
'This very same Cheft Ponteris, who set flame to his own and only son, even now, this Cheftan Ponteris of Oastir-la, has taken for a prize, Lyris of Marin, whom you have long sought. Pay heed, Natham!' Maru said, 'Marin has lied to you from the beginning. Never did they mean for you to see the woman again, never did Olver Galvahirne so much as hear her name spoken, never did any man of that kindred set eyes upon her. It was to Cheftan Ponteris that she was promised as a prize, and this was kept secret that you might lend your heavy hand to the war against Dadron. Never, oh Natham, did even one of your many letters escape the spies of Marin and bring your demands to those cities you so mercilessly overthrew!'
When all this was said the face of the monster grew grim and cold. A roar rent the air, stopping every blade and giving every warrior a chill. This was the voice of Judan, and there was as much anger in it as there was sorrow, and enough sorrow, it was said, to fill the ocean twice over. His warriors rallied to his side, and all the soldiers of Marin that remained within the city walls. Without any question, and without any hesitation, all these warriors turned and followed him, seeming to have understood the whole from just that one lament. So fierce was his anger, and so dreadful his sorrow, that even many men of Amlaman turned and followed him.
This great host, nearly all those who remained within Dadron, now turned and departed from the city in a fury of passion, trampling all those that withstood them. Some sort of enchantment seemed to hang in the air, and at every instant the soldiers of Marin were choosing sides, some turning to follow the monster, and some setting themselves against him, to their doom.
A sudden peace came over the city, and the lower city was emptied into the upper city without danger. The second gates were then shut and Dadron the Great was safe from its assailants once more. But now it was the assailants themselves that were the besieged.
Pincer
Even as Natham led the warriors of Olgrost and the soldiers of Marin out of the city they were met by the combined forces of Amlaman and Marin. So great were their numbers that the thought came to them at once that this would be their last battle. But when their forces were about to clash, a trumpet call rang out and the army of Amlaman turned on their heels.
A sound like thunder rent the air, a thick smoke rose up in the distance, and many hundreds of Amlaman's warriors fell to the earth slain. So quick and so fierce was this new assault that many shouted out, 'Aggelos, even as the days of old!' But it was Dynamis, and the strange weapons he and his servants bore. Three more volleys of that piercing iron came into the ranks of the men of Amlaman ere they could gather their wits. Volthamir took the lead, and they rushed into the west, to face this new foe.
So it was that the armies of Ollitov and of Volthamir were sundered, the Marin soldiers facing the defected men and women of Natham, and the army of Amlaman facing the army of Galva, long exiled and full of fresh strength and courage. Divided and confused, they saw no hope but in retreat.
Ollitov and his guardians fled into the north, making their way across the Falsi River on ferries while their men held off the traitorous band of Natham. There fell Nerria along with all her guardians, and the greater portion of Ollitov's personal guard. Those who made it across the river were so distraught that they neglected even to return the boats to the other side. In this way, nearly half the army of Marin was trapped on the southern side of the river, with nothing to guard them from the wrath of the Vestron Monster.
At last, when he could find no other place to escape to, Ollitov turned and faced the monster. But no battle took place. Natham smacked Ollitov across the face, knocking him to the ground. He took his spear and broke it in two, and pulled the long crimson plume from his helmet.
'Do not be a fool, beast!' Ollitov shouted. 'Thou shalt not lay a finger upon the lord of Marin; upon the husband of the mighty queen!'
'Natham picked him up by the throat. 'I fear not any soul of Marin. Your empty threats cannot save you. I now know, and you know it too - I cannot be killed by any but my own hands. But
now, I have no interest in your pleading; you know your crimes, and I know there is nothing you can do to deter me from taking revenge.' With those words he broke his enemy's neck and cast his body into the river, where under the weight of his armor he sank without delay.
Perceiving now that all was lost, Volthamir led his army toward the Galva warriors, who were stationed atop a small ridge that rose some thirty feet above the field on the northwest side, very near the river. It was his hope that they might be able to ride them down and break through their lines ere too much damage was done. But the rain of iron continued, dropping hundreds of soldiers with every blast. When finally the armies met, the men of Amlaman were weary, wounded and terrified. It was a hard battle. The army of Amlaman had the advantage of numbers, but the Galva had the mastery in every other area. Volthamir alone on his side was able to stand against them without fear in his eyes.
Ultimately, however, the vast number of men forced the Galva army to abandon their position, and the army of Amlaman was able to begin their eastward flight toward the Amla Gap. But ere they left Agalan fields, Dynamis rode down with three thousand men to cut them off. Of these, some four hundred were on horseback. Volthamir sought out their commander and charged with all his fury at the son of Galvahir. Ten men he slew, ere he came to face Dynamis. Among those whom he slew there was Vallus Phoadirne, whose mighty axe had hewn the heads of many men of Amlaman. Vallus took a swing at the legs of Ghoras, Volthamir's horse, but the horse leapt into the air and so dodged his fatal blow. While yet in descent, Volthamir cut the throat of his enemy, dropping the hero of Galva to the ground in agony. The men of Galva rushed to his side and surrounded the King of Amlaman, but they could not contain him. There fell Cheft Aargo with his eldest son, Eron, who had fought so bravely for the sake of their homeland. The thick armor he had won in the contest at Ram-u-Nar served him not against the might of Volthamir. So fierce was his fury, and so tireless his arm, that the men of Galva let him loose and kept out of his path. This they did out of wisdom, not cowardice. In their hearts they desired to face him and meet death, but knowing it would serve no purpose, they relented and let the King of Amlaman free.
But as soon as he was let loose, he resumed his fiery pursuit of Dynamis, hoping to take his head as a prize ere he returned to Japhrian. The two met upon horseback, and the clash was like the butting of two strong bulls, and the sound of their swords was like thunder. Volthamir thrust his blade through the neck of Dynamis' horse, dropping the beast to the ground. He turned and made a charge, thinking it an easy thing to ride over and crush the barbarian beneath his horse. But Dynamis pulled a dagger from his boot and hurled it with great speed into Ghoras' forehead, felling that noble, but ill-mastered horse.
A pang of feeling rushed over the King, such as he had not felt for many years. The fury that came of this was unrelenting and he very nearly got the best of Biron's son. But in the end, when Volthamir had made a fierce downward strike at his foe, Dynamis stepped aside and put his boot on the flat of Volthamir's blade. Volthamir dropped the blade at once, and Dynamis stepped down upon it hard, but to no avail.
Volthamir ducked low and rolled under Dynamis' legs, knocking him to the ground and freeing his own blade from beneath his enemy. He rose with his sword in hand, even as Dynamis rose with his.
'That swordsmanship I have seen before,' Dynamis said, panting, 'but yours is much improved. I cannot yet tell whether you are the master or the pupil. Your youth says you must be the pupil, but your skill tells me otherwise.'
'Then it was you, barbarian,' Volthamir responded, 'who slew the mighty Lord Havoc upon the cliffs of the Daunrys.'
'So that was his name,' Dynamis said, 'and glad was I to see him slain. Many good and just men were slain by him ere his end came upon him.'
'Good and just, you say,' laughed Volthamir, 'as though such a thing were possible, or, as though such a thing were desirable.'
'You are mad,' Dynamis said, shaking his head. 'But where have your mad ambitions brought you? To flight and shame.'
With that Volthamir came once more against him, and the fury of their blows was renewed. Long they struggled against each other, but in the end, the men of Galva drew near and Volthamir was forced to turn and flee with those of his men that were able to escape. These passed into the coming night, pursuing the setting sun as hounds pursue the swift hare.
Peace in the City
Silence ruled over Dadron now, as the sun went down and the gates were fastened shut. Daryas, from atop a watch tower, could see the distant forms of his kinsmen, battling against the hordes of Amlaman. 'I trust you are safe, brother,' he whispered to himself. 'None can kill you, of that I am convinced, but I know that much of this is but hero worship. Worship? Yes, it must be admitted brother, that to some degree all men look to their brothers as if they were gods. What an honor, and what a responsibility. Happy am I that such a burden has not fallen on my weak shoulders. Happy also am I to have such a man as you for my kinsman. Never, in all my days, have I had anything to fear when you were at hand. Dynamis Galvahirne, you are in every way my better, yet in every way you have given me the better lot.'
Kardian greeted Daryas with gladness, saying, 'Hail the hero of Dadron! Who drove away the wrath of the monster!'
'Nay,' Daryas said, 'It was not I. I cannot say what happened. It was a marvel and a miracle; the work of the Lord of Birds that turned the monster's heart away from Dadron.'
'Nonetheless,' Kardian said, 'History will remember your three great battles, and how it was the gods alone that kept you from the greatest honors.'
'I would see little honor in killing a sorry soul like his,' Daryas said, looking to the north. 'In all ways he was more sincere than I, and it would have been a shame for him to perish so deceived.'
'Nonetheless, you have fought long and fought well for many innocent men.'
'Yet still I wonder how many more could have lived if we had headed the words of Rahdmus, who knew - he knew somehow, that the war would come to such a sudden end. What would have been, if we had not slain so many Marin warriors that day? Would there not be many thousands more of them under his command? Would they not have had an easier time driving away our enemies for us, when at last they turned their swords against their allies? And what of the rest of Daevaron? Fahsro, Daeva City, Libraeva, these must all be taken out of Marin's hand, ere this land will have peace. We will soon wish that we had left a greater portion of these soldiers alive. As it stands, they will meet their end in Solibree or Lak, and Marin will retain her fierce grip upon our land.'
'But have they not the monster?'
'My heart tells me,' Daryas said soberly, 'that they will not have him with them for long. When he cried out it sounded like the cry of a man bent on death.'