Monthly Archive

 As the sun rose over the eastern horizon it struck the gold-decorated helm on Neal Osborne’s head, making it shine in the light.  He sat astride his golden stallion in his red and gold armour, cutting a noble figure as he rode towards the front lines.  His troops parted in the ranks to create a path for their leader, and they were applauding and cheering as he paraded through their midst.  Neal waved to either side like a triumphant king, as if he had already won this battle.  In his mind, this was true.  He saw no way for Alex to defeat him.

            It had snowed again overnight, creating a clean field between their camp and the Outlander fortress-city.  All signs of the killings and the mud of the past two days had been covered under a white blanket, as if someone had turned to a fresh blank page in a book.  Well, let them write of today’s brave deeds!  Neal thought to himself, grinning.

            Neal carried a spear with a red banner sailing in the mild wind from just beneath its pointed head.  On his other arm he bore a magnificent shield, as sturdy as it was ornate, decorated with his golden lion.  He reached the front line and rode past it, stopping his horse in view of the broken wall.  Placing the spear in a sheath on his saddle, Neal removed his plumed helm and rested it in the crook of his arm against his hip.

            “I am here, in answer to Alexander’s challenge!  If he is brave enough to do battle, I will face him!”  He called out, and his army cheered behind him.

            He watched in silence as two of the wagons in the gap of the wall were pulled aside.  A figure on horseback emerged, and Neal had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.  Alexander’s horse looked like it had seen better days, and his armour was made of dull, undecorated steel forged by amateurs.  Alex was carrying his helmet as well, to show Neal that no one had taken his place.  He raised his spear and roared a challenge at his cousin, and then put the helm in place.

            Smiling, Neal affixed his own helmet and readied his spear.  Giving spurs to their horses, the two cousins charged towards each other with fury and speed, on a collision course that would decide the outcome of a war.  The Citadel army roared its encouragement, while the Outlander rebels on the walls of the city watched in hopeful, tense silence.  Ethan and Eve stood on one of the carts in the breach, watching the inevitable clash that had been coming since their childhood.

            As they came together, spears struck shields like hammers on anvils.  Both men rocked in their saddles, and as they crashed together there was an explosion of thunder and lightning in the sky.  The heavens opened and hail burst forth, icy pebbles falling on the battlefield.  It seemed as if the conflict on the earth below had brought a violent response from the very clouds.  Soldiers with shields were forced to raise them above their heads like sturdy umbrellas, and those that had no protection either ran for cover or huddled under with their comrades who did have shields. 

            Eve ignored the pellets of ice that occasionally struck her body or bounced off her shoulders.  She intently watched the duel on the field below her, and paid no account to Ethan’s insistence that she find some cover.

            Neal’s spear had broken on Alex’s shield, so he discarded the splintered shaft of wood in his gloved hands to draw his gleaming blade.  Alex rode past him to turn around for another pass with his spear, which was still in one piece.  Instead of charging at his cousin as Alex bore down on him, Neal held his horse steady, waiting.  Alex let loose a battle cry as he approached at full gallop, intent on sending his weapon into Neal’s heart.  Using the reckless speed of Alex’s horse against him, Neal did a swift turn with his stallion, sidestepping the charge to the right.  With impeccable timing he swung his shield with his left arm, clipping Alex and tumbling him from the saddle.

            Genevieve hardly reacted in the eyes of most bystanders, who had expected her to show some concern.  They saw only that she stood like a statue, her eyes concentrating on the fight.  Only Ethan, standing beside her, noticed the tightening of her jaw and the tensing of the muscles in her arms as her fists clenched.

            Alex picked himself up from the ground as quickly as he could, seeing that Neal was headed for him.  He paid no attention to the hail bouncing off his armour, but instead readied his sword, having dropped the spear in his fall.  Alex got his shield up just in time to prevent Neal from cleaving off his head, but the force of the blow caused him to fall backwards in the snow.  He struggled to his feet and waited for Neal’s next pass.

            Neal wheeled his horse about, laughing inwardly.  He had Alexander on the run now.  It was only a matter of time before he handily defeated this upstart.  Neal levelled his blade and pointed at Alex, eliciting a cheer from his men, as they knew he was signalling that he would make the killing blow this pass.  The horse bolted forward and Neal swung for his cousin’s head.

            Instead of using his shield to block the blow, Alexander ducked, powerfully swinging the shield into the legs of Neal’s fine horse.  It screamed, a high pitched sound that grated on the ears, as Alex’s clout hit at the exact right spot with the exact right timing that the shinbone was broken in mid-stride, crumpling as soon as the horse put its hoof down on the snowy ground.  This caused the golden stallion to topple, spilling Neal off his back and onto the ground.

            Alexander was manoeuvring around the fallen horse as quickly as he could in the snow, intent on reaching Neal before he could get to his feet.  He raised his sword for the killing blow, aiming for his cousin’s neck.

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 Neal stared at the piece of parchment in disbelief.  It lay on his map table beside the arrow that had delivered it.  Neal sat down in the nearest chair, hardly seeing the candlelight flickering in his pavilion.  He was lost in his own thoughts.

            “Well?” Simon Lamb said expectantly.  “What does it say?”

            Neal came back from his reverie and gestured for Lamb to pick it up.  Simon grabbed the paper and read for himself Alexander Rothrock’s challenge.  As he did, he saw that Neal was shaking.

            “Something wrong?”  He asked.

            Neal put his hand to his mouth and then burst out laughing, no longer able to contain his amusement.  He guffawed, his laughter filling the tent.  He laughed so hard his sides hurt.  Simon stood, waiting with feigned patience.  Inwardly he wanted to throttle the younger man.

            “That stupid little shit actually thinks he can beat me!”  Neal said when he finally regained his composure and wiped a tear from his eye.  “He’s dared to challenge me!  As if he thinks he can finally get the better of me and soothe his wounded pride.  I’ve been beating his sorry ass since we were little children, no matter what game we played.”

            “Be that as it may, Neal, this is no game.”  Lamb said insistently.  “There is a lot more at stake.  You aren’t seriously considering this idea?”

            “And why not?”  Neal asked, smiling.  “I’ve never lost to him, and I’m not about to now.  He’s been on the run for seven years.  Seven years of exhaustion, hunger and hard living.  While I’ve been living in optimum conditions and training daily.”

            “We’re going to win this war anyway.”  Simon persisted.  “What will this prove?”

            “It’s good strategy, Simon!  We can win tomorrow morning.  Not next week, not next month, but tomorrow.  And at a minimum loss of life, so we’ll have them working for us instead of buried.  We get more for a minimum of effort.  You were a businessman, isn’t that good economics?  Maximum gain for least effort?”

            Neal was smiling, possessed of a manic energy.  He was absolutely thrilled by this turn of events.

            “But what if he wins?  What if he kills you, even if it’s some lucky fluke?  We lose everything.”  Simon reminded him.  “We will win in a matter of weeks, if not days.  Why take the risk?”

            “To put him in his place.”  Neal said with finality, rising and leaving the tent.

            Donovan Reza stepped out of the shadows in the corner and stood behind Lamb’s chair, silent as the grave.

            “His pride could ruin everything.”  Lamb said.  “Ensure that it doesn’t.”

            Donovan only smiled in response.

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 We arose before dawn to find that it had snowed again in the night.  Gwen cooked breakfast while Alexander began putting on his armour.  This morning he was not wearing his riding armour from before, but a full set of elaborate design.  In their preparations for war, the Outlanders had toyed with the idea of a fully armoured cavalry like that of the Middle Ages.  They had not the time or resources to fulfill this vision, but a few suits of armour had been made.  Now Alex was strapping on a set so that he could ride out to face his archenemy.

            “You don’t have to do this.”  Genevieve said, standing by a window with her arms around herself, seeking the comfort Alex was not giving.  When he did not answer, she continued.  “There are other warriors.  There’s Ethan, with his sword…  Why does it have to be you?”

            With every point she made, Eve raised her voice a little and received only silence in return.  Alexander was staring into the distance as he sat in a sturdy chair, attaching greaves to his legs and tightening their straps.

            “We need your leadership, win or lose.  We can’t do this without you.  I can’t do this without you.”  Eve continued, getting frustrated with his continued obstinate refusal to acknowledge her.  Alex just picked up the plate for his chest.  He looked at me expectantly.

            “Don’t look at me.  I will not help you kill.”  I said firmly.  “I agree with my sister.”

            Alexander glared at me and walked out to the porch, and through the window Evie and I could see him gesturing for one of the men to come help him.  As the soldier rushed forward to assist, Genevieve ran out to the porch and grabbed Alex’s arm.  I followed slowly, shaking my head.

            “Please don’t do this!”  She said, tears forming in her eyes.  “You’ve got nothing to prove.  Neal isn’t worth this.  I picked you, I love you!  Why do you have to care about childhood rivalries?  Let it go!”

            Alexander glared at her.  “This has nothing to do with you.”  He held out his arms so his assistant could attach the front plate and tighten it.

            “Then why?”  Eve cried.

            “I have to know.  I have to know if I can beat him for once in our lives.  I’ve always been too afraid to try, and so I have lived in his shadow.  If I let someone else fight him and we won, and there was peace, I would always wonder whether I could have bested him.  I can’t live like that.  I have to be free of his shadow or die trying.”  Alex spoke slowly, still staring into the distance.  The weight of decades was in his words, the years where he had been forced to follow Neal’s lead at the cost of his own self-respect.

            “Damn your pride!”  Genevieve shouted at him.  “Damn yours and damn his!  You’re both alike!”  She stormed back into the house, tears streaming down her cheeks.

            Alexander did not even look in her direction.  He kept his eyes forward as he walked through the muddy street towards the stables for his horse, so that he could ride out to meet his fate.

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 It seemed to happen in slow motion.  We rushed forward in the torrents of rain, muscles springing into action.  Alex called out to nearby soldiers to help defend the breach in the wall, hollering as loud as he could.  Enemy troops began pouring through the gap as we splashed through mud and puddles towards them.  I drew my sword, afire with white light, and plunged into the chaos.

            I blocked spear-thrusts and countered with a holy blow, I dodged the swipe of a sword and then pierced my attacker with God’s love.  Men around me collapsed and then opened their eyes to join our side.  The battle raged on as tears fell from Heaven, soaking us to the skin.  I saw Eve block a man’s attack with her sword, and then stab him in the ribs with her knife in the other hand.   I lost her in the bedlam of struggling bodies, and saw Alexander fighting with poise and skill and fury.  Everywhere lay the dead and dying.

            We fought them back from the wall, at least for the moment.  Our archers had moved into position so that they could fire into the enemy, which forced them to move out of range.  I waved at one archer in thanks, and he lifted his compound bow in salute.  I marvelled at this; sometimes I forgot that these were twenty-first century men.  After all, the battle itself was something out of a medieval siege.

            Alexander put this brief respite to good use, calling for men to block the breach in the wall with sandbags, wooden carts, and anything else they could find to create a makeshift wall.  In the distance we could hear more thunderous explosions, indicating to us that our foes were attempting to create more breaches in the wall with their catapults.

            “This is bad.”  Genevieve said, leaning against Alexander as we rested on their porch.  “They outnumber us, and if they start attacking from multiple sides there’s no way we can keep them out of the city.”

            Gwen and Zoë brought us food and water, doing their part as non-combatants to support the fighters.  My sister sat quietly beside me.  I smiled with thanks as I ate some spiced potatoes and some kind of meat.  I did not bother to ask what it was, afraid that the answer would be dog or horse instead of beef or chicken.  I hated the idea of eating someone’s pet, but knew that it had become necessary since the world had fallen into shadow.

            “If they get in we all die, don’t we?” Gwen asked.

            “Barring a miracle,” Alexander said, somewhat sarcastically.  Then he looked at me, and the sword at my side, “Though perhaps that possibility is not as fantastical a notion as I used to think.”

            “I can’t fight an army single-handed.  I’ve been trying.”  I said, my shoulders still aching from hours of swordplay.  “The best I can manage is one soldier at a time.”

            Alex’s eyes widened as I said this, and he stood up, injected with energy as some idea occurred to him.

            “One at a time!”  He said, almost laughing.  “It’s perfect.”

            “What are you talking about?”  Genevieve asked.

            “Do you remember David and Goliath?  How Goliath challenged the Israelites to a one-on-one duel, winner take all?  Him against their best champion?”  Alexander asked, animated with his insight.

            “Of course I do.  Everyone knows that story.  But there’s no Goliath here, there’s an entire army trying to break in.”  My sister responded.

            “No, but they do have Neal.  And he could never back down from a challenge.”  Alex rushed out into the rain, striding across the muddy street.

            “Where are you going?”  Zoë called out.

            Alexander ran to the breach in the wall, jumping up on top of a wagon and holding onto the wall beside it for balance.  He knew that he was beyond arrow range, but even so he was taking a risk.  We rushed to follow, and as we caught up, Alex began yelling out at the enemy army.  As he began to speak, the rain began to let up, going from pouring torrents to a drizzle and then to nothing during his speech.

            “HEAR ME!  TELL YOUR LEADER THAT I WILL FACE HIM ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE TOMORROW AT DAWN.  MY NAME IS ALEXANDER ROTHROCK AND I CHALLENGE NEAL OSBORNE TO DUEL TO THE DEATH!  IF HE WINS, WE WILL SURRENDER TO HIM.  IF WE WIN, YOU LEAVE!”  Alex hollered into the darkness.

            “Taking quite the risk there, aren’t you?”  Eve asked him sternly, hands on her hips.  I knew that she didn’t want him risking his life.  She loved him, I could understand her concern.

            “It’s a fifty-fifty chance.  That’s better than the certain doom we face when the walls crumble.”  Alex said, walking past her and signalling a guard.  “I’d rather risk my life to save everyone else than do nothing.”

            The guard approached and saluted. 

            “Have pamphlets written with the same message on them that I just shouted.  Fire them on arrows out there, so that we make sure Neal gets them.”  Alex commanded.  The soldier nodded and rushed off.  Alex headed in the opposite direction to check on the stability of the wall in other parts of the city.

            “Is anyone else concerned that he’s the Goliath of this scenario?”  I asked, staring after him.  “Goliath issued the challenge.”

            “Yeah.  And little David kicked his ass.”  Gwen responded.

            Genevieve glared at both of us and headed into the house.

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 A few hours after what would have been sunset, had we been able to see the sun, we heard new rumblings.  Lower and less intense than the booms of thunder that still echoed through the sky, these sounded too regular.

            “Wheels?”  I asked.  “Big heavy ones?”  I whispered directly into Alex’s ear, not wanting to shout.

            He merely nodded, straining to see through the rain.  Something was going on out there, but we could not see what.  The sound grew louder as the source grew closer, each moment an agony of tense waiting. The men on the wall began to get antsy, shuffling in their spots, gripping their weapons and setting their teeth.  They wanted a fight, and were getting impatient.

            I think, in retrospect, they would have preferred the wait over what happened next.  There was silence, and listening only to the rain was worse than the regular progression of oncoming sound.  It meant that, whatever it was, the source of the sound had arrived at its destination.  On edge, we peered into the darkness.  There was a sudden flurry of motion and a great metal ball collided with the rampart, crushing mortar and men under it.

            The ball crashed directly beside us, forcing me to leap and grab hold of Genevieve as I spilled off the side of the ledge.  We tumbled onto the wooden shed protecting the gear mechanism for the gate, and slid down its surface in the rain.  Alex came rolling after us, and I was forced to reach out quickly and snag his arm before he fell off the rooftop.  My own position was rather precarious, holding on to a crack in between two planks, and the rain was making it decidedly slippery. 

            Eve found a handhold of her own and let go of me, and then helped me pull Alex back up onto the roof, gasping for air.

            “CATAPULT!”  She said, giving the name to the weapon arrayed against us.  I nodded and so did Alex as water streamed down his face.  I looked back at the rampart over my shoulder, and saw another dark mass arching to collide with the wall coming swiftly through the rainy darkness.

            This second ball collided near the first, indicating that they had not yet changed their trajectory.  In fact, it struck the first ball as it descended, and what followed seemed like another bolt of lightning and thunder.  When the explosion blew us off the roof and obliterated a section of the wall, I realized that something flammable had been in the two missiles.

            We found ourselves buried under burning lumber as the shed had collapsed over us, and we struggled to get out before smoke or flames could overwhelm us.  Bruised and singed around the edges, Alex and Genevieve helped me to my feet and together we limped through the rain to a safer vantage point.  We looked back, and even through the downpour we could see a massive gap in the top of the wall, as if some giant had walked along and bit through it from above. 

            “I wonder how they did that.”  I asked aloud.  “Nitro in one or both?  Maybe the first one was filled with gasoline, and the other ignited it…”

            “We’re lucky the first one didn’t ignite until the second one hit it, whatever they used.”  Alex said, brushing dirt and soot off his legs.  “We shouldn’t even be alive.”

            More collisions occurred in the same spot, causing the wall to crumble down to the ground at that location, spilling soldiers and weaponry like dropped toys.  Now the gates were unnecessary.

            “It looks like we won’t be alive much longer.”  Eve said, drawing her sword.  “They’re coming.”

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 They fell back for the day, staying outside arrow range.  We watched from the ramparts as they camped out in clear view, just waiting.  I guessed that they would attack at dark once again, but wondered what their plan was.  So far as I could tell they had no means of breaching the walls.

            We prepared all day, filling barrels and pots and cauldrons with water, and building unlit fires around them.  When the time was right, we would light the fires to boil the water, and drop it on the enemy if they stormed the walls.  Archers took their positions, while cavalry and infantry tried to get plenty of sleep.  I watched it all from the house they had given to my sister.

            “I never thought we’d end up in a place like this.”  She said, hugging me as I stared out the window.

            “I’m afraid I did.”  I said quietly, staring intently as troops ran by the house carrying supplies or weapons, a flurry of activity moving throughout the fortress-city.  Evie looked up at me expectantly.

            “I just mean that I often dreamed of heroic deeds.”  I said.  “Far-off quests, mighty battles, damsels in distress…”

            “Well, you showed up at the right time to save your sisters.”  She said with a tired grin.  “Come on, hero, you need your sleep.”

            “I’m waiting for Gwen.  I haven’t seen her yet.”  I explained.

            “She’s been in the infirmary all day, helping Zoë with the wounded soldiers.  I don’t think they know that you’re even here.”

            “You didn’t tell them?”

            “I thought maybe you’d like for it to be a surprise.”  Evie said with a smile.

            “Well, now’s our chance to find out.  They’re coming up the street.”  I indicated with a nod of my head.

            “Sit there, in that corner with the rocking chair.  I’ll pretend like it’s an ordinary day, we’ll see if they notice.”  Genevieve said playfully, her eyes lighting up as they did during our childhood games.  She sat down at the table, pretending to peruse maps that she and Alex had left there, while I took my assigned position in a comfortable rocker.

            “Evie, I’m home!”  Gwen called as she came through the door, looking like a younger version of Eve.  Even in these dismal times and this dreary place, her eyes held the sparkle of her childhood and her smile still curved to one side like mine.  She embraced her sister about the shoulders from behind, and I knew she mustered all the enthusiasm she had in order to keep Evie’s spirits up, and that she did it every day.  I marvelled at my baby sister’s bravery.

            “Good to see you, too.”  Eve laughed, hugging back.  “Gwen, we have a visitor.”

            “Oh my God!” Zoë said, coming in behind my baby sister, her eyes wide with happy shock.  “Ethan!”

            Gwen turned in my direction and stopped short, her eyes, identical to mine, going wide.  There was a moment of stunned silence, and then she rushed forward with enthusiastic speed to embrace me wordlessly.  After a long moment of holding my baby sister in my arms for the first time in fourteen years, I pulled back and took a good look at her.

            “How did you know it was me and not the other one?” I asked her with a smile.

            “Because you’re you.”  She shrugged.  “No one could fake your kind eyes.  From what Evie told me, the impostor could only mimic your solitary nature.”

            “Sounds like you’ve given it some thought.” Genevieve suggested from her seat.  Gwendolyn turned towards her.

            “Well, I did spend some time thinking about it once, how I could know who I was dealing with.  But it’s him.”  She grinned, tugging on my beard.  “Though I don’t think I like this.”

            “Maybe I’ll consider a shave…” I began.  At that moment there was a tremendous flash of lightning and a clap of thunder, and in an instant there were sheets of pouring rain filling the world outside our window.

            “What the…?”  Zoë said.  “The sky was clear a moment ago…”

            Soldiers scurried every which way, searching for cover, throwing tarps over carts of weapons, leading in horses from the street towards stables, and generally just getting out of the damp.  I saw little from this vantage point, as the rain was coming down in such a torrent as to block out the view on the other side of the street.

            “I’m going up on the wall, to see if Alex needs any help.”  I said, grabbing my well-worn cloak.  “I’m guessing our friends outside the walls might see this as an opportunity.”

            “I’m coming with you.”  Genevieve said, grabbing a cloak of her own.

            “How strange.”  Gwen said quietly.  “A thunderstorm in the winter.”

            We headed out the door, barely registering her words, and rushed across the already muddy street towards the wall.  Genevieve clambered up the wooden steps leading to the rampart with me close behind.  We reached the top and carefully negotiated along the high ledge, moving past soldiers with ginger steps so as not to knock someone over.  We found Alex by the front gate.

            “ANY NEWS?”  Evie hollered to be heard over the rain and thunder.

            “NOT SO FAR!”  Alexander answered.  “THEY’RE JUST STANDING THERE.”  He gestured, and I could see even in the hammering rainfall that there was a huge mass of manpower below us on the field waiting to end all our lives in one fell swoop.

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 They ran forward with weapons bared, and we wearily readied ourselves for the attack.  Men who could barely walk hefted heavy shields, drew their blades and stood ready to face the charge.  I raised my blade to offer one last cheering cry to rouse them to battle, and my voice was joined by the groaning of the gates behind us.

            From within the city came our cavalry, as Alexander led a galloping charge out headlong into the midst of the enemy.  His horsemen had the advantage of surprise and of height, as they fought on horseback.  The ring of steel on steel rose over the battlefield as they engaged their foes and dealt death upon them with mighty fury.  I felt tears on my cheeks as I witnessed men from both sides cut down.

            “To the other horses!” I directed those around me.  “Head into the city, and safety, quick as you can!”

            The fatigued men around me mounted up on the horses of the cavalry we had just converted, heading back towards the Outlander city.  Some horses carried two riders, or even a third slumped across the laps of his friends.  I grabbed a horse of my own, but headed in the opposite direction.  Exhausted as I was, I had to go back out there.  I had to save as many lives as possible.

            I went from side to side with my flashing sword, cutting a swath through the men around me, leaving them standing in a daze, and then befriending men that, moments before, they had been trying to kill.  I thanked God for this miraculous weapon that healed instead of hurt, and showed men the error of their ways.  I fought till my arm went numb, and then I changed hands to fight some more.

            Ahead of me I could see Alex in mismatched armour that fit oddly, as it had been scavenged from countless other skirmishes.  He still cut a noble figure however, fighting like a legend against all challengers.  I marvelled at his energy and skill, as he out-duelled everyone around him.  He carved his way through the infantry, which bought my companions time to get to the city, and then he ordered his men to fall back.

            We rushed back the way we had come, leaving hundreds of dead in our wake.  I had tried my best, but I had saved very few from a bloody and useless death.  I caught up a wounded man from my horse at a gallop, and carried him inside with me.  I had to save everyone I could, no matter the risk.  As I handed him down to waiting soldiers, I turned my horse to go back only to see men closing the great gates.

            “NO!”  I bellowed as they clanged shut.  “There are still more out there!”

            “And we have to leave them.”  I heard a voice, familiar and dear to me despite its tired timbre.  I looked down to see my sister Genevieve, and I leapt from my horse to embrace her.

            “Evie!”  I said delightedly.  Her arms closed about me tightly, as if she could hardly believe I was real and wanted to be sure I did not leave her again.

            “Oh, Ethan!”  She said simply, and then she was crying.  I held her as she sobbed, trying to comfort her.

            “You’ve grown a beard.” She smiled once she recovered herself.  Eve touched it tentatively.  “And your hair is so long.”

            “It’s been awhile since I met a barber.”  I shrugged, which brought a quiet laugh out of her.  “How long has it been?”

            “Seven years since you saw Gwen.  Fourteen since the last time I saw you, I think.”  Her eyes were filled with great sadness at the memory of those years.  “I missed you so much!”

            I clutched her tightly, silently returning the same sentiment.  There was no way to express the relief both of us felt, reunited after so many years and so much hardship.  I don’t know if anyone could find the right words to say in a moment so profound.  My little sister had changed so much, and I had missed all of that.  There had been so many struggles for her, and I was not there to protect her.

            When we broke from our embrace I had the chance to get a good look at her.  Genevieve had lines around her eyes, as if she had not slept well in ages, and she was far too thin.  Years of living on the run had made her gaunt, and her hands bore calluses from hard work and battle.  She looked so tired.

            “What took you so long to send aid?” I asked Alex as he approached us, having dismounted from his horse and given orders to his men before walking over to join our little reunion. 

            “We knew that the cavalry was just a minor sortie.  A feint.  We suspected they had even more in reserve.  I had to wait until the infantry was in play to show our hand, once I saw that our men outside the walls were being slaughtered.  I was not about to give up the advantage of surprise.”

            “Surprise?  Those men were mighty surprised to be murdered as they slept!”  I said.  “And the rest, to be abandoned on the field!”

            “What would you have me do, Ethan?”  Alex shouted back.  “Sacrifice the few cavalry men we have in a vain attempt to save the handful who didn’t die in the first few minutes?”

            “There should have been guards on the wall, warning, something!”  I said in response.  “Why wasn’t anyone watching?”

            “We had guards.  They were killed in the night.”  Genevieve said quietly.  “Someone found a way to scale the wall and killed them in silence.”

            “I didn’t know.  I’m sorry.”  I said, rebuked, my righteous anger deflating.  “I saw men dying and thought someone should help.  I didn’t realize you had troubles of your own in here, Alex.  I apologize.”  I held out my hand to him, offering to make peace.

            He shook it with a grin.  “It’s okay.  I’m just glad you’re back.”

            “Me too.”  I smiled, clapping him on the shoulder.  “So how do you plan to win this war?”

            “I think we can just wait them out.  We have supplies, while they were foolish enough to besiege us in winter.  They cannot live off the land.  We can let the weather kill them, and help out with arrows from the walls,” Eve said.

            “I have to question Neal’s tactics.”  Alex said.  “Fighting in the snow, besieging a city without a means of getting in, he’s not planning this well.”

            “Isn’t that a good thing?” Eve asked.

            “No.  It means I wonder what he has up his sleeve.”

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 We had built a makeshift wall of broken wagons and carts during the night, and stood behind them, our weapons at the ready.  The Citadel cavalry roared at us, attempting to be intimidating as they beat their weapons against their shields.  I was reminded of scenes in every epic movie I had ever watched, where a force that outnumbers them surrounds the heroes. Like in Zulu.  The fierce enemy taunts the heroes, and then attacks.  I set myself for the assault.

            Whether it was the Alamo or Zulu, in the films the good guys just stood waiting to be attacked.  Sometimes they won, sometimes they lost, but they always waited.  I knew that it was childish to think in terms of “good guy/bad guy” in this situation, where the men in my camp belonged to both sides, but they had all developed a viewpoint that was determined to preserve life overnight.  I was not about to give up on them.

            “Men,” I said loudly, turning towards the circle, “We are surrounded.  We are outnumbered.  We have seen friends die tonight, and it is possible we will see more before this day is over.  But I ask you now, in the name of God, to follow me!”

            I shouted that last sentence, and then turned and drew my sword with my right hand, leaping over the cart behind me by pushing off its top with my left hand.  I had apparently chosen the perfect moment, for that is when the cavalry chose to charge.  My sword blazed with a piercing white radiance as the enemy roared and came forward at full speed.  I roared back, and found that mine was not the only voice.  Every single one of the saved men came to my side as we collided with the horsed company of the Citadel army.

            Leading our desperate charge, I swung my sword from side to side, slashing at our foes with inspired fervour.  I felt my sinews strain as I let loose blow after blow, achieving a level of concentration that felt meditative, as if God were helping me in the battle.  As I looked at each soldier who fell before me, I saw that they were not wounded by my blows.  Instead, they sat up and joined our side, pulling Citadel troops from their horses.

            They fought bravely, only working to disarm their foes, wrestling the cavalry to the ground even as they were pierced by spears and swords.  I wept as men about me died following me, and worked all the harder with my sword.  It shone with a blazing intensity, and in its wake my fallen men rose up again, unharmed.  I felt God’s love surge through my body even as I reached a point where I should have been physically exhausted, and it kept me going.

            The sun rose over us as I knocked over yet another horseman and pierced him with my shining blade, leaving him unwounded yet changed.  I looked up as the sun kissed the earth, and smiled.  Everyone around me was on our side, no one was an enemy anymore.  No one was hurt, no one was dead, and we all began laughing and embracing each other.

            That’s when I heard an angry roar, and looked to the west.  An enormous infantry had approached during the night, thousands strong.  I realized what the thunder had been in the night, as they stomped their feet up and down as they marched towards us.  They were at least twenty times our number, and there was no way we could fight all of them as tired as we were, even if we had greater numbers.

            The enemy bore down on us with murder in their eyes, and all I could do was stand and watch them come.

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 I found myself immersed in chaos.  All around me were the sounds of battle, as men strived to kill each other with swords and spears and axes.  The smell of burning canvas and flesh assaulted my nostrils, and I saw tents on fire.  In the smoky light I could perceive the silhouettes of struggling soldiers.

            I felt adrenalin surge through my body, and I knew that I had to do something, that I was here for some purpose.  However, I did not know whose side I should be on, who I should help.  I could not even see their faces in the dark.  The moon had passed behind dark clouds; the only source of illumination came from the fires around me.  I prayed to God that, if He had some purpose for me here, I be granted the wisdom to discern it.

            I took a moment to acclimate myself to my surroundings.  I seemed to be wearing warm furs and even some light leather armour.  Someone had known that I would need winter gear, even remembering the boots.  Having angelic protectors sure came in handy sometimes.  I mouthed a silent “thank you,” and thought especially of my Mara.  I felt warmed, and then turned to the battle.

            I hefted my white sword in my hand, and walked with purpose towards the nearest struggling figures.  As I reached them, the sword blazed with a bright white light, illuminating both men.  They were intent upon killing each other as they struggled to break each other’s grip on the spear between them.

            I grabbed one of them by the scruff of the neck, pulling them apart with a mighty heave.  They both were knocked off-balance and plopped down in the snow.  They looked up at me in shock.  I let the blade of my glowing sword rest between the two of them, so that they got a good look at it.  It seemed to make an impression, as the bloodlust vanished from their eyes.

            “Play nice.”  I told them firmly, and then walked on. 

            I walked towards the city walls, determining that they must be the defenders against the attack.  For now, it was a safe bet that a defender was less likely to be the aggressor.  It was possible that they were in the wrong, but I was unconcerned with this possibility.  I had no care for who was right or wrong, who started it, or who had justice on their side.  Such things could be decided later.  I was more interested in saving lives.

            I found one man wounded by a sword slash across his chest, but he was not dead yet.  He would be by the dawn if someone didn’t help him, however, so I threw him over my shoulders in a fireman’s carry and hauled him towards the gate.  I walked unmolested, perhaps because of my bright sword, which refused to stop shining, but perhaps it was just luck.

            Though, by now, I don’t honestly believe in luck.

            Near the gates I found someone’s overturned cart, and rested my passenger against its sturdy wooden frame.  He was unconscious anyway, so he certainly did not complain about his accommodations.  I banged on the great gate with the hilt of my sword.

            “There’s a wounded man here!”  I shouted.

            I heard derisive laughter from the ramparts on the wall above me. 

            “Yeah, there’s a lot more than just that one!  We ain’t opening the gate, buddy.  It’s the only thing between us in here and them out there.”  Someone shouted down to me.  I turned away in disgust and set about making a fire for my wounded companion out of nearby materials from tents and broken weapons.  I took off my cloak and wrapped it about his shoulders.

            “I wish I could help you, friend.”  I said.

            My sword flared with even brighter intensity, and then returned to its previous lustre.  The man groaned and looked up at me.

            “Where am I?  What’s happening?”  He asked groggily.

            “What’s the last thing you remember?”  I asked, trying to control my shock that he appeared to be healed.  Inwardly, I praised God.

            “I remember riding towards the city, and then attacking it…” He said, perplexed.  “I wanted to kill them all.  I wanted them dead.”  He sounded surprised, as if such bloodthirsty thoughts had no place in his life.  “That’s awful!”

            “It certainly is.”  I agreed, as perplexed as he was.  “Do you still want to do that?”

            “NO!”  he said vehemently.  “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

            “Then help me find more people.  No one else has to die.”

            In the light of the fire and my sword I finally got a good look at the man.  He was dressed in a damaged set of furs and a blue uniform under his armour, a uniform I recognized from my visions as that of the Citadel guards.  He was on the side of some of the most vicious men ever to walk the planet, and somehow he had miraculously had a complete conversion from that path.

            Together we searched the nearby area around the gate, bringing more men back to our fire.  No matter what side they had been on, Outlanders or Citadel, they all were cleansed by the sword’s holy power, and then all of them worked cooperatively to find more and bring them back to the circle of campfires we were building.  Soon we had a small camp of our own in the midst of the battle.  I sent out patrols of men, and though they might come back with a few wounds, they were under orders not to kill anyone unless absolutely necessary.  They were only to bring the wounded, unless someone wanted to come of their own free will.

            It was not long before the Outlander troops were falling back into the safety of the fires, assuming that they must belong to their compatriots since they were so close to their gate.  Not long after that, the Citadel troops moved to outflank the circle, surrounding it on every side with cavalry.  I looked around and saw perhaps a hundred men in the circle, all with spears or swords up as they surveyed the surrounding enemy.  One of the men had told me there were thousands out on the plain in the tent city, but now they were either embroiled in fights of their own or they were dead.

            “What are they waiting for?” One man hissed, getting a grip on his spear.  “It’s almost dawn.”

            “Hold fast.”  I said.  “Expect anything.  Only act in self-defence or the defence of another.  I don’t want anyone to die unnecessarily.”

            In the distance I heard something that sounded like rolling thunder.  It sort of reminded me of trains, a low rumble.  I gripped my sword tighter as I saw the cavalry surrounding us stir.  Whatever it was, it was coming towards us.

<<Previous   Next>>

 A tired sentry yawned on the ramparts of the city, leaning against his spear.  He itched his cheek and rubbed his eyes.  There was no duty more boring than night watch.  You couldn’t even see anything, for God’s sake!  Clouds covered the moon.

            He heard a low rumble, like thunder in the distance, and then took a second look at those clouds.  He wondered if there could be thunderstorms in the winter.  He had seen no lightning.  It was then, as he stared at the sky, that the cloud cover broke enough for the moon to shine forth.  He smiled as the darkness was brightened, but that smile was wiped from his face when he looked out on the plains beneath him again.

            Galloping at full speed rode an armoured cavalry, bearing down on the helpless, sleeping tents of the army.  Their hooves were the thunder he had heard, and now he heard their hearty battle cries coming over the fields as they began to beat spears or swords against their shields.

            “KILL THEM ALL!”  Neal roared as he led the charge, inciting others to add their voices to the tumult.

            The guard ran, dropping his spear, and headed for the nearest warning bell.  He had to rouse his fellows, had to warn them…

            He screamed and took several steps back as he approached the bell in its small hutch on the wall.  Out of its shadows stepped a white figure like a ghost that stalked towards him.  He turned to run, scrambling with fear, and felt a thin sharp pain in his lower back.  He fell to the ground, unable to feel his legs, but trying to crawl using his hands.  He cried out as the white spectre put a foot in his back and pulled the knife from his spine.  This was no ghost, unfortunately, this was a very solid and real foe.

            “Naughty, naughty.”  A voice clucked in his ear, scolding him.  “I didn’t ride hard to be the first one here for the fun just so you could ruin our surprise.  No, that wouldn’t do at all.”  The voice was void of all emotion.

            The guard felt his assailant rolling him over and held up his hands to protect his face.  He saw a white masked face with fierce black designs around the eyes.  He was at the mercy of a fiend, a tiger, a monster.  He prepared to scream, but the man gripped his throat tightly and then showed him a wickedly sharp knife. 

            “This is the last thing you’ll ever see.”  He was told, and then the malevolent evil that had him in its clutches shoved the blade into his eye and through his head.

            On the ground beneath them, the cavalry had just reached the tents of the slumbering soldiery, and were riding down the sleeping men inside.  Some of the attackers found the cooking fires and started torches, and then used them to begin burning tents and people.  Screams rang out in the night, and this awoke the soldiers closer to the walls.  They ran for the gates to raise the alarm.

            Though they had been planning their war for months and had hoped to attack the Citadel come spring, it appeared that their enemy had come to their very doorstep.

<<Previous   Next>>

 Neal smiled as he looked to the east.  He used a telescope that once belonged to a child with an avid interest in astronomy in the times before shadows walked the land.  Now, it afforded Neal Osborne with the ability to see his prey.

            “They are ripe for the picking!”  He said to Lamb, enthused.  “A city of tents has been built outside their gates, where most of their warriors sleep.  If we ride on them now, while they are unaware, we can obliterate most of their force.  We can crush them under our hooves.”

            “We should wait for sunset.  To obscure our approach.”  Lamb suggested.  “That gives the infantry time to rest and prepare, they marched all night to reach this place.”

            “Yes, you’re right.  My only concern is that they might have scouts or patrols.”  Neal said to him as they walked back towards their camp.  Breath snaked out of their nostrils and mouths in a fog, as the winter chill surrounded them.

            “Don’t worry.  I have Ethan out there in case of that eventuality.  His cavalry patrol our northern, southern and western edges.”

            “And what of the east?”

            “Oh, the east.”  Lamb smiled.  “He wanted the privilege of guarding that himself.”

            The area was extremely flat, but that did not mean it lacked for cover.  Meteor showers had left dents and craters in the earth, not to mention boulders across the fields.  Copses of trees lay here and there in the region, and the camp was more than a day’s march from the city, well out of visual range.  Now, covered in snow, there were a million hiding places out there.  Neal and Lamb had ridden closer to use the telescope and survey the terrain, and guessed that, though it would take a day to walk there with infantry, their cavalry could hit the tents before dawn.

            But now, just before sunset, a dark shadow was flitting from boulder to tree, lying in wait in trenches and craters.  He used the terrain itself as a disguise, stalking the horse he could hear with every fall of its hooves on the snow.  Reza was on the prowl, and he had the trail of his quarry.  The rider had stopped and, from the sound of his sword-hilt on ice, Donovan knew that he was cracking the surface of a small stream so his horse could drink.  He smiled at the scout’s naïveté; as such cold water was not good for an active animal.  Reza crept closer, keeping himself low in the snow as he nestled against a boulder not far from the stream.

            Donovan lifted himself onto the boulder, creeping onto the top with the agility of a cat.  His white clothing let him blend in, and he buried himself in the snow on top of the rock.  He listened closely, and so he heard the horse approaching.  He tensed himself, ready for the attack, and then sprang forward in ambush, leaping lithely through the air.

            He struck the rider hard, tackling him to the ground, burying his knife to the hilt in the scout’s ribcage before he knew what hit him.  Reza covered the man’s mouth with a gloved hand to silence him, just in case, and watched his eyes as the life seeped out of them and they grew dim.  The scout was a youth, probably no older than twenty, which explained the mistakes he had made.

            Reza wiped his blade on the boy’s clothes and then kicked snow over the body.  When he looked up, he pulled off his white mask with the dark slashes of black around the eyes.  Donovan smiled as he saw the rider’s horse galloping away towards the city.  It raced as if the devil were at its heels, snorting in the cold evening air and sending up a plume of steam from its nostrils.

            “Time for our war.”  He grinned, and then he raced to get his own horse from its nearby hiding place.

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 The wind was harsh, biting at the flesh.  The rider used one hand to wrap his scarf more firmly across his face while the other held fast to the reins of his galloping pale white horse.  Its hooves crunched on the hard packed snow, and steam snorted from the horse’s nostrils, its warm breath mingling with the freezing night air.  The rider seemed indifferent, but his steed shivered and hoped this journey would be over soon.  They had been riding for weeks to find this lonely outpost.

            The snow around them seemed painted with violets and blues as it reflected back the night sky and the full moon high overhead.  The rider had chosen a good time for his journey, for the winter blizzards had not yet started and the sky was clear.

            The horse and his rider soon crested the top of a large hill and then looked down on the small valley below.  It contained a large encampment of men in huts, a large bonfire burning at its centre.  The rider spurred his horse on, and it rushed down the hillside into the encampment.  He passed several of the warriors within, who seemed drunk and dazed, unable and unwilling to stop him.  He headed for the largest of the huts and dismounted.

            “Who goes there?”  A voice said as he approached the door.  It seemed slurred and slow, and the rider was certain that it came from another of the drunken soldiers.

            “Out of my way.”  He said coldly, grabbing the warrior and easily tossing him into the snow.  Blood streamed from his throat, killed by a smooth knife thrust he never saw.  His able killer then strode purposefully into the hut.

            He entered into a room lit by a fire in the middle and by candles placed randomly.  Off to one side there was a large bed of furs, and soft moans were coming from within.  He walked over and ripped the furs off the bed, causing the woman underneath them to scream.  She scurried past him to wrap the fallen furs around her naked frame, while her man lay prone on the bed, alone and naked.

            “What the devil!”  He shouted loudly, startled and angry that someone had dared to interrupt.  He was rather chubby, almost bordering on obese, and had a somewhat piggish face.  His anger seemed more comical than threatening.

            “Not quite, Todey.”  The rider said.  “I’m not the prince of darkness, just one of his favourite apprentices.”

            “Lord Reza!”  Todey said subserviently, quivering before the rider.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

            His voice was nervous, and so were his eyes as they looked at the man towering over him.  It was partially due to the man’s state of undress and the natural vulnerability this caused, but it was also because he feared the dark rider.

            “My master sends me.  He feels you are wasting his time up here.  I, frankly, agree with him.  I find no sentries on my way into your encampment, your warriors drunk and disorderly, obviously with no discipline, and I find you with a woman, here in a war camp.  This is wholly unacceptable.”  Reza had no emotion as he spoke, delivering the words dispassionately.

            “Please, milord, let me explain…”  Todey begged, cowering before Reza.

            “No explanations are necessary.”  Reza smiled.  “I am my master’s messenger.  You owe me no explanations.”

            “Then what is his message?”  Todey said, almost relieved.  Reza’s words led him to believe that he was safe until the warrior returned to his master, and for this he was glad.  Reza was reputed to be even more violent than his famed master, Drake, and Todey would rather suffer Drake’s vengeance than his disciple’s sadistic ways.

            “He said to tell you that I am his judge, his jury, and…”  Again he smiled, causing Todey’s skin to crawl, “…His executioner.”

            Todey screamed as Reza laid hold of him by his hair and commenced dragging him outside, naked, into the biting wind and snow.  He soon found himself lashed by his feet to the saddle of a horse, and then Reza was dragging him behind the horse through the snow at full gallop.  The night air seemed to cut at his skin, and he screamed in agony as Reza dragged him out of the valley.

            The tortured ride soon stopped, leaving Todey in the snow thanking any gods that would listen for their divine mercy.

            “Oh, I wouldn’t be thanking anyone just yet.”

            Todey looked up to see Reza standing before him, a large mace in his hands.  The look in Reza’s eyes was one of true malevolence, and Todey felt fear stab through him like a dagger, wounding his very soul.

            “Please, I beg of you…” Todey said weakly, his strength waning as the cold ate at him.

            Reza ignored his pleas and began breaking the man’s legs with the mace, leaving them a bloody pulp on the snow.  The man screamed until he lost his voice, while he felt muscles tear, bones break and tendons snap.  The screams and the blood did nothing to avert Reza’s execution of his master’s justice.  In fact, they seemed to drive him on.  Todey realized his attacker enjoyed them.

            “If you can crawl back to camp, I’ll let you live.”  Reza said simply when he had finished.  He smiled again, and Todey felt himself die.  Oh, his body might still live, but his mind knew with certainty that he was doomed.

            The dark warrior leaped astride his horse and rode away, leaving Todey to the harsh wind that was biting at his flesh.  Todey’s hands clawed at the hard packed snow as he tried to crawl.  His breath steamed from his nostrils as its warmth mingled with the freezing night air.  Todey shivered and hoped it would all be over soon.  The snow around him seemed painted with red, as his broken legs left a smear of his life’s blood behind him.  The night sky and the full moon looked down on the pathetic, crawling figure.  He had not chosen a good time for this painful journey.  The clouds were gathering, and the winter blizzards were about to start.

<<Previous   Next>>

 They made camp in a town south of the Citadel city at dusk.  They were travelling down the coast towards a wider pass in the mountains, as the path once taken by Eve and Gwen could not efficiently transport an army.  In a day or two they would be following one of the old highways built by the civilization that came before them, though its asphalt and concrete had given way to dirt and rock.

            In the centre of the small city of army tents, Neal’s pavilion was a dark red with golden designs on its face, lions and eagles in majestic splendour.  He sat at an ornate wooden table with a map of the area, planning their journey.  Lamb and Reza sat with him, eating dinner.

            “We do not have all our troops.”  Neal said, perturbed.  “Not everyone answered the call.”

            “It’s Todey and his men.  We had them out scouting and building outposts.  He probably forgot to head back.”  Simon suggested.

            “Ethan, I need you to ride out to their encampment and get them moving towards our target.  We will rendezvous here,” Neal pointed at the map, showing a position not far from the city in the Outlands their scouts said was preparing for war, “And then make further plans.  You’re our fastest rider, and Todey will listen to you.”

            “Certainly, Neal.”  Reza smiled.  He turned to leave.

            “Hold on a moment, Ethan.”  Simon said, hurrying after him.  They both exited the tent together, standing in the evening gloom to talk.  All around them were the sounds of the army, as troops cooked dinner, ate together, talking and joking the way soldiers do. 

            “What can I do for you, Simon Drake Lamb?”  Reza asked.

            “I suspect that Todey didn’t just forget to attend today’s ceremonies.  I think he’s getting fat and lazy on our money, and I think he’s been growing lax in his duties.  Show the entire army that we don’t stand for such insubordination.  Fall on him with the fury of a whirlwind, show him the price of disobedience and sloth.  Send him a message from the Drake.”  Simon said, his voice lethal as he bared his teeth like a dragon smiling.

            Reza bowed with a sly smile of his own.  He did enjoy working with this beast.

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 Neal sat astride a golden charger, his velvet-gloved hands stroking through the stallion’s white-blond mane.  He wore rich burgundy fabric under elaborate gold and red armour, a jewelled sword at his hip.  Neal stroked his hand through the golden beard on his chin, and then saluted his troops.  They cheered for him loudly, earning a wide grin from their leader.  Their king.

            “Today, we begin the last leg of a journey.”  He told them.  “We have struggled for years against out-riders, bandits, thugs and thieves.  Today, we march towards their safe haven, to prove that nowhere is safe for them!”

            His army cheered again, lifting their fists to the sky, certain of their triumph.  Neal smiled broadly, pumping his fist in the air in time to their cheers.  Behind him on a fine black horse, dressed in finely tailored brown riding gear, Simon Lamb looked on nodding his approval.

            “Look at that posturing fool.”  A cold voice said beside him.  Lamb looked down and saw Reza standing at the flank of his horse, his eyes filled with malice as he looked upon Neal, giving the order to march to his troops.

            “Yes, but he is a useful fool.  Let him have his moment in the sun.  It will set when the time is right.”  Lamb said.  “What of the sun on Evan Kimball?”

            “It has gone down in the west unto darkness.”  Reza smiled.  “He will not be joining us on this expedition.”

            “What’s that?” Neal asked, as he jogged his horse up to them.  “Evan isn’t coming?”

            “He felt that his lack of experience would hinder us in battle, and I think he does not savour the hard ride, nor sleeping in tents.”  Reza told Neal.  “He would rather stay here with his golden hoard.”

            Neal laughed.  “Well, it’s his prerogative, should he wish to miss out on all the fun.  We ride, men!”  He directed this last comment to the soldiery, and the column began to march.  The stomping rhythm of thousands of booted feet echoed through the streets as the army began its long walk to the home of its enemies.

            Reza mounted upon his pale white horse, and joined Neal and Lamb at the head of the cavalry.  They paraded through the streets of the city, resplendent in their armour and finery.  Neal seemed in good spirits for a man who had just begun a war.

            “You lift the morale of our troops, Neal.”  Lamb said to him.  “You spoke well.”

            “Why shouldn’t they have good morale?”  Neal laughed.  “We’re going to win.  I only told them what I believe.”

            “Such confidence.”  Reza said simply.

            “Why shouldn’t I be confident?  Look at this army!  All who see it will tremble.”  Neal’s voice became less light and amiable, and became darker.  His eyes brooded.  “Our enemies will know our wrath.  That we are not to be taken lightly.”

            “I know how hard it has been for you, to see your soldiers ineffective thus far.”  Donovan said.

            “Ineffective?”  Neal glared at him.

            “Well, certainly.  For seven years you’ve been pursuing them, and they elude you at every turn.  I am certain you must relish this opportunity to corner them like trapped animals.  It must bring a certain self-satisfaction.”

            “I fight this war for the good of our people.”  Neal said flatly.

            “You and I both know you fight this war because Alex and Genevieve spoke out against you.”  Donovan said in a low voice only audible to Lamb and Neal.  His eyes were cold as he continued.  “You seek to pay them back for betrayal.  I know this war is about their slap in your face, for every small victory their band of freedom fighters has scored against you and your vaunted leadership skills.  I know that you fight this war because every night she sleeps in his bed and not yours.  This is about pride.”

            “That’s enough!” Neal bellowed, raising his hand as if to strike Reza.  Donovan simply caught his eye and held it.  That empty, murderous gaze caused an almost imperceptible backing down, as Neal’s eyes lost their ferocity and filled with a quiet fear.  His hand returned to the reins of his horse.

             After a few moments of riding in silence, Neal found his voice again.

            “Your words accuse me, Ethan.”  He said quietly.

            “Your words were false.  You might be able to convince your soldiers with your flowery speeches, Neal my boy, but we know you better than that.”  Simon told him.  “You need not play the hero with us.  We do not disagree with your motivations, we think you are right to strike down this rebellion and get your vengeance.  Just don’t pretend to us that you do this for higher purposes.”

            “I chose my words carefully, Neal Osborne.”  Donovan told him.  “If you go into this battle laughing, you will choke on the enemy’s arrows.  We need your confidence, your pride, to lead these men in a war, and for that we need your anger at their treatment foremost in your mind.  Consider my words a spur to coax you on to greater fury.”

            “You’re right.”  Neal said softly.  His hands were slack on his reins, but now they tightened in a fierce grip.  “You’re absolutely right!”  He said more confidently.  “They will feel the iron grip of this army squeeze them tight about the throat, and they will look in my eyes and see no mercy.  No quarter.  I will have their heads on a plate!”

            Reza stifled laughter at this cliché as Neal directed his horse into a faster canter so he could encourage the men marching ahead.  He turned to Lamb and they both smiled.

            “You see how we make the fool our puppet?” 

           <<Previous   Next>>

 Evan sat in the vast vaults of the treasury in the depths of the Citadel.  He spent a lot of time here every night by himself, counting money.  Not counting it for accounting purposes, they had people to do that, but for the sake of feeling the coins slide through his fingers.  They had stopped using paper money a long time ago, having lost the means to produce it, but coins were not that difficult.  Gold, copper, iron, they had piles of it by now.  Some of the vaults had heavy-duty shelves for jewels and sculpture, vases and other items of value confiscated by their soldiers.  But the money, that they had been forced to pile up into shimmering, sparkling mountains.  Fourteen years of oppressive dictatorship could collect a lot of treasure.  And Evan got to spend his nights revelling in it.

            He had promised himself as a child that he would never be poor, and that he would make all the boys who made fun of his hand-me-down clothes feel sorry.  Now he was one of the richest men in the world, he and his friends ruled an empire.  A covetous grin, like a weasel’s, crossed his face as Evan chuckled, letting the coins sift through his ringed fingers.  No one could mock him now.

            Evan heard sudden derisive laughter and whirled around.  Coins fell from his fingers to rattle like bullet-fire on the cold stone floor, echoing in the immense chambers.  He was startled to find that, for once, he was not alone down here.  He saw the fighting form of a man in black with light armour on the chest and shoulders, gauntlets on his hands.  He looked prepared for this war.

            “Ethan, what are you doing down here?” He asked.  Evan instinctively backed up, his hand resting against a nearby wall as if it could provide him strength.

            “I think we can call me by my name, Evan.  We are alone, after all.  No need to keep up pretences, is there?”  His unwelcome visitor said.

            “You’re right of course, Reza.”  Evan tried to smile.  The monster before him always made him nervous.  Had ever since Lamb had included him in their inner circle.  “What can I do for you?”

            “Neal and Simon want to know if you’re coming with us.  For the war.  We begin our march at dawn, so that we might reach the enemy camp before the winter.”

            “I’m not a warrior.”  Evan said.  “I don’t see what use I would be.”

            “That’s true.”  Donovan smiled, still standing in the same spot.  He had not moved since he arrived, merely appraising Evan, who stood against the wall like a cornered rat.  “Am I making you nervous?”

            “What?”  Evan sputtered.  “No, no, of course not.”  Even as he said it, Evan knew he sounded like he was afraid. 

            Reza seemed to ignore it, and instead surveyed the chamber with his eyes.

            “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been down here.”

            “Most people don’t bother.  It’s dark and dusty, usually it’s just me.”  Evan explained.  “It’s actually kind of funny, I mean, we’ve accumulated all this wealth and only I seem to appreciate it…”

            Evan finally let go of the wall, walking among his piles of money, his hands unconsciously brushing over them with affection.  His eyes were glazed over with a lusting, enraptured look that brought a sneer of disdain to Reza’s face.  Evan’s attention had shifted entirely, his mind preoccupied with the glittering prizes around him. 

            “You’re quite proud of this place, aren’t you?” Donovan said as Evan admired his collection.  “Of the way you helped make us wealthy.”

            “Of course I am!”  Evan grinned, spreading his arms towards his treasures.  “Just look at this place!”

            “So you must be proud of the way you did it, then.  Stealing from taxpayers, having guards kill families so you could seize their heirlooms, smuggling food using the black-market, gouging customers with high prices in the stores you own, pinching every penny.  You must be proud that there are children who starve so you can make a few more pieces of silver.”

            Evan had turned his back on Donovan, but now whirled around, furious. 

            “What are you saying?  I made us rich!  I built this place, equipped that army, put food on our table.  We are the most powerful men in the world!”

            “Powerful?  You think it’s power to build up these treasures?”  Donovan said derisively.  “You sit in the dark, counting your coins and masturbating over your own corruption and thievery, and you call that power?  You weren’t the one murdering people, risking your neck, and you weren’t the one who built this place.  You have this money because of the army, we have that army because people trusted us, because Jason had a healing power.  Life and death, that’s where our power comes from.”

            Evan prepared an outburst, but felt himself deflate when Reza took a step forward, his hand on the hilt of his knife on his belt.  He backed up when the dark man’s shadow touched his feet.  He felt as if he would be sucked into its void if he let it catch up to him.  It flickered and stretched in the light of the torches, seeming like a living thing.

            “You hide here in the Citadel, safe within its walls, while the rest of us fight and die and kill.  You did nothing, risk nothing, are nothing.”  Reza spat out.  “So stay here within your walls while we fight a war.”  With that, Donovan spun on his heel and headed towards the door that led to the stairs up away from the vaults.

            Evan breathed a sigh of relief, running one hand over his mouth and resting the other on a nearby shelf.  His pulse raced, and he struggled to calm the knots in his stomach.  For a moment, he had been certain that Reza was about to strike him.

            “But I’m safe now.  Safe here.”  He whispered to himself.

            “Yes, you should be safe in here forever.”  Reza rasped in his ear, having snuck up as silent as a stalking cat.  His lithe and powerful arm wrapped around Evan’s neck, and he hauled him one-armed away from the shelf.  Evan struggled and kicked, trying to break free, but was no match for Donovan’s steely strength.  He felt himself tossed like a child or a doll, and his body slammed through a pile of coins and into the wall behind it.  The sparkling money tinkled like metallic rain on the floor, falling on him like heavy hail.  Evan covered his head with his arms, but felt the pile bury his legs. 

            He was certain he could get out; it was just like being buried in sand.  Evan had to scramble and push the small coins aside, but he could get up.  As he struggled to get to a kneeling position, he looked up to see one of the shelves tipping towards him.  It was made of heavy metal to hold jewels and candlesticks, sculptures and antiques.  It crashed down, pinning him at his waist to the floor.  Evan strained to push it up, and found himself incapable.  The weight squeezed his chest, and he knew some of his bones were broken.  When he spat blood, he realized he was bleeding internally.

            Gasping for air, Evan felt sweat beading on his forehead as he strained to hear Donovan.  He was so afraid.  There was no sound at all.  The torchlight flickered against the walls of the chamber, he could hear his own pounding heart and ragged breath, but nothing else was discernible.  He looked up and saw the ceiling above him.  He tilted his head to look around the room, but he saw stone and piles of gold.  Nothing else.

            Evan groaned as he tried once again to lift the shelf, getting nowhere.  All he accomplished was more heavy breathing.  He began to whimper, knowing that he was trapped and that his assailant was probably still out there. He cried out when the first torch went out, off on one side.  That part of the room was cast into shadow, leaving only two nearby torches to illuminate the chamber.

            “Shit, Donovan!  I know you’re out there.  Please, please don’t kill me.”  Evan whined.  “I’ll do anything, pay you anything.  FUCK!”  He screamed.  “Just please…”

            Another torch went out, as if a wind had gone past it.  Evan saw motion out of his peripheral vision as it went out, but the darkness that fell there came so swiftly he could not be sure.  He swivelled his eyes from side to side, trying to peer into the darkness.  He put his cheek on the floor and stared at the last torch, on his right, knowing that it would be all over if it went out.  The spark of his life was bound to be extinguished not long after the torch, if he knew Reza.

            Evan stared at it for a long time, the light floating in his eyes like a hazy bright spot that left him unable to really see anything else after awhile.  If he blinked, there were dark spots floating on his eyelids, and he felt his sweat trickling off his temples and forehead, running down to the ground.  Some of it got in his eyes, making him blink all the more as he struggled to keep his eyes on the torch.

            So intent was he upon that last source of light that Evan was unaware of Reza until the killer’s hand was around his throat.  Taken completely by surprise, Evan found himself incapable of speech as Donovan squeezed his throat to silence.  The shadow’s hollow voice whispered in his ear lethally.

            “Do you really think I’d be bought off?”  He snarled.  “Did you think you could beg and pay for your life, if I wanted you dead?  Can you put a price on life or death, Evan Kimball?  Can you decide what they’re worth?”

            Evan moaned as his eyes began to see red while his life was choked out of him.  He began to weep as well, tears rolling down his cheeks.  He tried to hit Reza’s hand and arm, tried to break free of that iron grip, but he did not have the strength.

            When the hand released him of its own accord, it took Evan a moment to realize he could breathe again.  He took great gasping gulps of air, his chest heaving, the sound echoing loudly in the darkened vault.  Evan put his own hands around his throat, trying to soothe the ache there.

            “I’m leaving now.”  Reza said in the darkness.  “I’ll leave you here with your treasures in your vault.  Let it be your tomb.”

            The final torch blew out, and Evan was cast into eternal darkness.  The last sound he heard besides his own wheezing breath was the door as it slammed shut with finality.

<<Previous   Next>>

 Jason stood in the shadows of the doorway leading to the balcony, looking down over the massed crowd as he hugged the wall.  His face was grim, and he seemed to need the wall’s support to even stand.  Far beneath him was the assembled army of the Citadel, standing with shields and spears in long rows and columns of massed death.  Jay shook as he backed away from the sight and fell down into a chair in the Hall of Elders.

            Has it come to this?  What are we doing?  Fighting a war against people we set out to protect so many years ago?  Against our friends and family?  He rested his head in his hands, trembling.  He was so tired.  He knew that they were wrong, that everything they did was wrong, that he should have followed Alex and Eve seven years ago, but he wasn’t as strong as them.  He didn’t have the courage.  Jay was afraid.  Not just afraid of the war, but afraid of standing up and saying anything against it.  Of expressing any doubt in Neal’s leadership.  He was afraid to even leave, for he suspected that they would track him down.  His healing power was integral to their work here, even if it was growing increasingly ineffective.

            He knew it was because of his faith.  Or, to be honest, his lack thereof.  Jay would lay hands on people and know that, for whatever reason, they would have wounds and diseases healed.  But he also knew that they would be back within a week or a month with a new problem.  Nothing he did mattered, so with most things he stopped trying.  At first he had been certain that the healings were a gift, but then he realized that, once they had started, his prophetic visions had disappeared.  He had felt like he had been cast into darkness, and despair clutched at his heart.  Prayer, worship, church, none of these things made him feel the presence of God anymore, and he wondered if he had ever felt it.

            Jay gradually got to his feet and shuffled down the corridor, his shoulder leaning into the stone wall as he made his way to the stairs and headed up to the floor with his rooms.  He wished he knew how to pray again, wished he knew that God was listening, or even existed.  He knew deep in his heart that they had forsaken God a long time ago.  He had been able to ignore the signs at first, overlook Dan’s promiscuity, look the other way when he saw Owen or Evan hand someone money surreptitiously during a meeting, a chance encounter in a hallway, or during services.  He could justify their taxation of the land, as they were the only government, he could pretend that Neal was a principled and trustworthy leader, but now he could not hide from the truth.

            When your best friends raise up a bloodthirsty army whose sole purpose is to march out and destroy everything in its path, it is extremely difficult to pretend that your friends are not murderers.

            He slumped down on the sumptuous couch in his apartments, leaning back and putting his feet up.  Jay was always tired now, whether he exerted himself or not.  It felt as if he had a stone tied around his neck, dragging him down.  It felt like drowning most of the time, like he just kept sinking deeper and deeper.

            Because of him, people had trusted their church.  They had called him a miracle-worker, a gift of God, and the congregation swelled.  It bought them authority, publicity, and brought them the riches and power that surrounded him now.  Without him, it would never have happened.  He might not have planned it, put together the organizational structure, led their troops, committed the murders, but he had stood by and let it all happen, and all of it happened only because people trusted his healing power.

            Jason held his head in his hands, his fingers tangling in his thinning blond hair, and he began to weep.  Sobs wracked his skinny body as he sat there alone in the dark.  Without friends, without courage, without hope, without God.  Some people would have given in to their despair, ended their lives.  Not Jay.  After all, he was the type of person who could never do anything.  He ran from his friends, his responsibilities, his God.  He just suffered through it, and watched evil happen.  Allowed it to occur.

<<Previous   Next>>

 I think I might like it here.  We just finished a huge party, which the people of the city held in our honour upon our arrival.  I haven’t seen such a celebration in my whole life.  Of course I don’t expect things like that to happen a lot, but what was important was that I saw hope in people for the first time in a long time.  That for once they looked forward to the future.  It was nice to see that again.

            It was startling to walk up to the city itself.  I think this area used to be Manitoba, as we walked across a long flat plain but we’re not that far from the Ontario border I remembered from my journey with Genevieve more than six years ago.  The city brooded on the horizon for a day’s march, and when we got there it was astonishing to see the high walls built from the wreckage of buildings, trees and rocks.  They had constructed towers for archers, and a massive wooden gate on a gear and pulley system.  They looked ready for a siege.  I was reminded of the “Mad Max:  Road Warrior” movies I had watched in my childhood.  More astonishing still was the gathering army.

            Like us, many had come from great distances, carrying only bare necessities and perhaps a weapon.  Farmers who had seen crops burned, husbands who had seen wives raped and murdered, brothers who had lost sisters or seen baby children thrown to the ground, sons avenging their parents.  There was a tent village surrounding the city, as these desperate men camped out waiting for their war.

            I question if it’s even necessary.  This city is well defended, the enemy is far away.  I won’t say anything to Genevieve, who has lived almost seven years in preparation for this moment, but I am tired of seeing people die.  She keeps saying that it’s the right thing to do, that someone has to fight back against their evil, and that Ethan would do the same.  I sometimes wonder.  I know he would fight, I don’t dispute that.  Ethan would take on the world if he thought he was doing the right thing.  But Eve has this zealous need to strike back, I think she wants to kill them.  Ethan might do it, if he had to, but I think he would hate that it was necessary.  I think he would weep over them.  I think Genevieve wants to dance on their graves.

            I spend each night praying.  Praying for her, that God might open her heart.  I pray for Ethan, that he come home safe.  I pray for our soldiers, these brave men who sacrifice their lives for something they believe in.  I even pray for Neal and Evan and Jay and Lamb, who have wandered so far from God that they need Him to find them.  I also pray for myself, that God guide me and give me the strength to do the right thing.

            I just hope He’s listening.

<<Previous   Next>>

 We’ve been on the road for eighteen days.  Men, women, children, and even a cat.  I have no idea where Flora found it, but that little girl won’t let it go.  I thought all the pets had starved a long time ago, but I guess there are still people who love their pets so much that they make sacrifices.  Whatever the case, somebody kept this kitty alive.  We made a rest stop in an abandoned town last week, and when we left, Flora was carrying the cat in her little arms.  It had nearly starved, so it must have lost its owner, but there used to be someone who loved it.  I hope their end was swift.  In these dark days, sometimes that’s all you can hope for.  That the dying don’t suffer.

            It’s getting colder.  I expect that winter will come any day now.  We left the mountains and are heading east.  The further we get from the Citadel the better, if you ask me.  Genevieve’s runners came back in the early autumn, bearing glad tidings.  Towns in the east were organizing, gathering forces, building up strength.  It had begun as defence against bandits; two towns would gather together and fortify one village against attack.  Outlying peasants would flock to the safety of the newly walled town.  Then there was a loose confederacy of communities working together, until their area was well protected against brigands.  Patrols, watch towers, actual defences.

            As Genevieve had learned six years ago, the Citadel army had been scouting the Outlands, stealing from farmers there, and murdering as they went.  Now the towns were joining together for a greater purpose than just defence from outlaws, now they fully intended to destroy this greater enemy.  They welcomed our messengers with open arms when they heard that Alex and Eve could provide them with maps of the area, details about forces, weaponry, the Citadel’s defences and good strategies and tactics.  The Outlanders were enthusiastic about getting some revenge, but had no military skill.  Defending against rag-tag raiders was one thing, but fighting a war was another.

            So we left our mountain base to join them, so Alexander and Genevieve could organize an army.  It’s been a hard march for some of us.  The children often need to be carried, or put on the few horse drawn carts.  So far we haven’t seen any sign of the enemy, but that makes Evie even more nervous.  I don’t think she’s slept hardly three hours a night since we left the mountains, and those hours come from exhaustion, not because she lies down to rest.

            I don’t know how she does it.  The rest of us are always tired, plodding along.  It’s so far.  Not just getting to this place, but our quest itself.  It’s such a long and lonely road, to fight for what’s still right and good in the world.  All the odds are against us, and there seems to be little hope.  I don’t know what will happen next, I don’t know what to do, other than keep my feet moving, one step at a time.

            I have to go.  We’re breaking camp, and we’ll march the rest of the day.

<<Previous   Next>>

 We lost six men yesterday.  I started keeping this journal so that there would be a record, just in case anyone needed to remember someday.  In case there were once again children taking history classes.  I would want them to know what happened.  I would want them to know that yesterday, Steve Fischoff died trying to defend my sister.  I would want them to remember that Mike Jost sacrificed himself to keep Alex alive.  I want them to know that Willis Mulder and Allan Dalton and Matthew Vark defended the left flank when the ambush hit.  I don’t want anyone to forget that Brandon Amirhault got hit from behind when he tried to help James Johnson get to his feet after being stabbed in the belly.  James died this morning, we couldn’t save him.  So I guess that’s really seven.  

            I am tired of this war.  Yesterday was a scouting mission. We were just looking for food.  We’ve been living in the forests, hiding in the mountains, for six years.  It’s not like we’re much of a threat to them anymore.  They hunt us like animals.  I’m tired of watching people die.  We won’t give up though, not so long as there’s even one of us still alive.  We can’t.  We’re the only people fighting for what’s right in the world.

            At first we did well.  In the first year, we won battles in every town.  Villagers were ready to rise up, and strike back at the lazy, fat soldiers that were living off their hard work.  It was easy, because the soldiers had gotten used to their soft lives.  They had never expected their sheep to become angry wolves.  We gained new troops in every town, and then we tried to attack the Citadel itself.  The real troops showed up that day.  Neal or Evan or somebody had sent word to all the best fighters, the ones who went on patrol in the Fringes, the battle-hardened soldiers.  These ones weren’t like the others.  The ones we fought before saw soldiery as a cushy job with lots of food.  The others were killers to the core.  They destroyed us.  For every one Citadel trooper we killed, I’m sure four or five farmers fell.  Since then we’ve been on the run.

            Summer is the worst.  In the winter they stay close to home, and leave us in the mountains.  Spring is kind of the same, with all the rain.  But in the summer, we need to find food to lay in a supply for the winter, and they can travel better and faster.  After all, they don’t have to use their horses for food.  I fully expect that there will be more casualties today, as Alex led a patrol out this morning.  I hope they bring back something good to eat.

            I’m glad Alex is with us.  He’s a great motivator and tactician, whenever we win a skirmish it’s because of his strategies and Genevieve’s refusal to give up.  I think he’s all that keeps her from going insane, too.  They’ve been lovers for a long time now, after she realized Neal wasn’t coming to help us.  That he was just as corrupt as the others.  Alex is good to her, and makes her happy.  Neal hadn’t done that since before their wedding.

            Genevieve has been sending out messengers lately, to the towns in the Fringe and the Outlands.  She knows the people there have no love for the Citadel, and hopes that perhaps they’ll join our cause.  We were on the run so long no one thought of going outside the area for help, but now we have a much safer base of operations in a well-hidden mountain valley.  It means that we have time to rest and plan, instead of just scrambling for survival.  We lived like animals for a long time, scavenging for food and water, nomads without a place to call our own.

            I hope the messengers come back soon.  I hope help comes.

<<Previous   Next>>

 They rode all night long.  Alexander led the way, making sure the path was safe.  Zoë came next, fearing the uncertainty of their future.  Genevieve and Gwen rode on the same horse, as the young girl was too tired after weeks on the road to even sit upright.  Her elder sister held her close to keep her from falling out of the saddle while she slept.  Alex directed their steeds down the darkened streets of the city, and out into the countryside.

            They found an abandoned farmhouse near daybreak.  Alex opened the door with his shoulder, and they entered its lonely dim interior cautiously.  They were so tired from their hurried departure that they didn’t even bother to go upstairs and look for beds, but rather fell asleep on dusty, moth-eaten couches, and, in Alex’s case, on the floor.  He slept across the door with his sword in his hands.

            Genevieve woke up first, and stepped quietly over Alex to go out onto the porch of the dilapidated house to get some fresh air and to think.  There were some holes in the floorboards, and several pieces of the wooden railing were broken, and all of them had chipped paint.  She attempted to sit on the porch swing, but its rusted chains creaked under her weight and broke, dumping her unceremoniously onto the wooden floor.  Rubbing her sore tailbone, she settled for sitting on the steps instead, resting her chin in her hand.

            “Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Gwen asked when she found her sister sitting there about a half hour later.  She plunked down beside Evie and tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear.

            “I don’t know what to do next.”  Eve confided.  “I have no idea where to go, or anything.  I’m tired and I’m dirty and I’m hungry.  I just want to sleep for a month.”

            “Speaking of hunger, we don’t have any food.”  Gwendolyn said.  “Somebody’s going to have to go into town and buy some.”

            Eve sighed deeply.  “I can’t even think straight enough to remember necessary details like that.  How am I supposed to lead a war?”

            “You don’t have to do it by yourself.”  Gwen said.  “We’re here too.  And Alex has military experience now.  And I can go get lunch.  I mean, it’s probably best that the three of you not get seen right now, but no one could possibly recognize me.”

            “Oh no, I’m not letting you go anywhere by yourself.”  Genevieve disagreed.  “In case you haven’t noticed, the world’s not a safe place anymore.  If it ever was.”

            “Well, I suppose you look so dirty and run down that no one would know it was you.”  Gwen teased, poking her sister in the ribs.  Eve giggled and tickled her back.

            “I would kill for a hot bath.”  Evie said when they both got their breath back after the laughter subsided.  “I have never felt so dirty in my life.”

            “We could see about finding water, and then starting a fire to heat it.”  Gwen suggested. 

            “That sounds like work.”  Eve complained, pouting like a child.  “I miss the little things, like running water and electricity.  The things you take for granted till they’re gone.  Let’s get some food first, we’ll worry about that afterwards.”

            They walked down the old road to town together.  The sisters walked in near silence, as Gwen could sense that her sister needed time to think about things.  Their life had grown increasingly dangerous of late and there was a lot to plan.  When they entered the town, the younger sister looked around for the obligatory general store.

            “You wait here, and I’ll be back in a moment.”  She said as she and Genevieve reached a fountain in the middle of town.  Gwen figured her sister could use some more time alone to ponder their next course of action, and she could grab them some supplies in the meantime.

            Evie took a seat on a bench by the fountain, and guessed that this had been a park before the turmoil of recent years.  The fountain was dry, and much of it was cracked or chipped.  The grass, once well tended, had given over to weeds.  She looked across the road and saw her sister enter the store with a wave.  She was glad Gwen had kept her smile despite the recent craziness; having her around kept Eve’s spirits up.

            From her position she could see most of the main street of the town, which had some light traffic, pedestrians and a few horses.  Everyone seemed run down, tired, dejected.  She couldn’t blame them.  They lived in rough times.  Only a few yards from where she sat, Genevieve could see a young boy leading an old woman down the street by the arm.  She guessed that the woman was his grandmother, or perhaps a great aunt, from the tenderness and care that he had for his task.  It reminded her of Ethan, who had always been considerate of their Gran, and this memory brought a smile to her lips.

            The old woman seemed addled, rolling her head from side to side.  Her mouth was somewhat slack, giving her the appearance of senility.  Eve felt sorry for her, living to see such times and exist in such a state.  It was entirely a surprise to her when the woman swivelled her head in Genevieve’s direction, and then ran towards her excitedly, breaking free of her young guide’s grasp.

            “Trista, Trista!”  The woman babbled enthusiastically.  She flung her arms about Eve in an awkward embrace, as Genevieve tried to extricate herself from the woman’s arms as politely as she could.

            “I’m sorry, miss.”  The boy said, getting his grandmother away with a gentle tug.  She looked at a bird singing on a nearby tree, and Eve realized her vacant mind was easily distracted.  “She mistook you for my sister.  You kind of look like her.”

            “It’s quite alright,” Eve said to him.  “It was startling, but no harm done.  Is she okay?”

            “Well, this is about as okay as she gets.  Her mind broke last year when my sister died.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry.”  Genevieve said apologetically, her hand going to her mouth.  “I didn’t realize…” Her heart went out to the old woman, who had simply hoped to be reunited with a lost loved one.  “What happened?”

            The boy wrinkled his brow with remembered pain.  “She was found murdered in a ditch.  No one knows who did it.  But my dad says it was one of them.”  He pointed, his voice disdainful.

            Eve turned to look, and saw two soldiers in Citadel uniforms exit a nearby tavern, loosening their sword-belts.  They seemed to have ample time to eat and drink in this quiet farming town.  Genevieve could see that the boy and the old woman were stick thin, and felt an angry flutter in her chest.  These men were here to protect the innocent, and instead exploited them for their own benefit.  It disgusted her.

            “Yeah, there was a big party one night at that pub.”  The boy continued.  “Some general or something was riding through, and he called for a feast.  My sister worked as a waitress there, and some say she found favour in his eyes.  She weren’t seen again after that night, so my dad figured either he or one of his men done something.”

            The child’s voice was bitter, and Genevieve’s thoughts matched.  Her fists tightened.  The only general that could have been was Daniel, and suddenly she could understand where these soldiers had learned how to abuse those they “protected.”

            The men were walking on t