The Last Light (The Wandering Inn, #5)

by Pirateaba

“What are you thinking, Pawn?” “Nothing, Tersk. I am praying.” “Oh.” After a while, the Prognugator spoke. “Would you teach me how?” Pawn smiled. “It is very simple. All you have to do is have faith. And believe.” “In what?” The Worker turned and looked across the hilltop. Soldiers raised their heads, looking at him. They all knew the answer. “Us.”

“Just go in, you daft coward!” Someone shouted in her ear. Then Ivolethe kicked Ryoka in the back of the head. “Ow.” Ryoka swatted at the Frost Faerie. Ivolethe flew around her and glared at Ryoka. “Stop dithering. I grow bored with every passing moment ye stay out here, and my kind watches trees grow for sport.”

A girl who couldn’t fight and two parents who worried about her. It was a story for this world. In any other world, Garia could live while relying on law enforcement, but here the law ended at the gates, and sometimes didn’t even work within a city.

“Did I tell ye to stop looking? Look at the wind, you bleeding idiot!” “There’s nothing to see!” “Exactly! So look at nothing and see where it goes!”

“Why not? Because it’s secret?” “No, because there are no words for it. It is magic, Ryoka Griffin. Magic. It is something you understand in here, not here.” She flew over and tapped Ryoka’s chest, then flew up and tapped her head. Ryoka nodded slowly. “Instinct? I have to get a feel for it, that’s what you’re saying. Then if I keep practicing—” “No.” Ivolethe sighed. She rubbed at her face, frowning hard. She shook her head. “It is not instinct. You cannot learn this by practicing.” “But you said—” “It is grace, mortal. Grace and naught else. Grace and wonder. A moment. It is not something ye can learn in a book. It is not something you can keep trying to do. You will learn it in a moment of purest understanding—or never.”

“How shall I explain? That is magic. Tamed, and bent for use, yes, but it is still magic. But it is not my magic. Not the magic of the fae. Not deep magic, which runs wild. If ye wish to study that magic, practice. Understand, by all means. But ye shall never see the wind if you think of it as something to be understood, to be learned. The wind is the wind. I ask you to see it, Ryoka. Not understand the why of it.” Ryoka struggled to make sense of this. On one level she got what Ivolethe was saying. On another…how could you stare at something and not want to know why it was? But that was magic. Ivolethe’s magic. A moment of grace. “Back to trying. Try and if you cannot see it, we shall try later. But this is the first step, Ryoka. The only step. Learn to do this, and ye shall see all in time.”

To her surprise, there were tears in the faerie’s eyes. “What’s wrong?” The small Frost Faerie shook her head. “Ah. I did not know. I did not know what else Humans came up with. I lived with a body like yours for years, but this?” She did a corkscrew in the air, flipping over, a perfect copy of the move Ryoka had done. Ivolethe laughed. “This! This is new. This is something else. And for this, Ryoka Griffin, I thank you. For showing me something I have never seen.” She landed on the ground, and took a few steps. Ivolethe kicked up into the air and backflipped up past Ryoka, into the sky. Her laughter was all Ryoka heard. It filled the world as Ivolethe flipped upwards, not flying, but borne by the wind. Ryoka stared as the faerie flew and whispered one word. “Grace.”

Tales of glory and fame on the battlefield were all very well if everyone was humming the same tune, but Quallet had learnt to be the one dissenting voice in the crowd. And people listened to the one odd voice.

“It’s a war, Ken. Believe me, wars are never safe.”

“So they’re just gonna keep tearing each other apart until one side starts winning? Sounds like the dumbest war in the world.” “Sounds like every war.”

Unlike Dullahans and Lizardfolk, the third predominant species of Baleros, Centaurs, were neither taciturn nor talkative. They probably fit between both Lizardfolk and Dullahan temperaments when it came to how social they could be, but, and this was a big but, they had a temper. Collectively. As a species. If there was a ranking for bad-tempered species, Centaurs would probably be at the top of that list, competing for first place with Drakes and Minotaurs, although Ken had never met representatives of those species.

“Captain Quallet. May I ask a question?” “What?” “You are a smart captain. You are experienced as a leader. You heard us arguing. So…” Ken hesitated. He looked at Quallet. “…Did you tell the Dullahans that our friends would try to run away last night?” Aiko gasped. Luan’s eyes widened. Quallet just stared at Ken, and then he turned away. Ken stared at his back, and then he walked out of the tent.

“I am not brave like Ken or Luan. I…I do not like fighting. But I have been sitting in camp, and I see so many hurt people…I want to help them. Do you think I can?” Her question struck Geneva in her heart. It was a reflection, an echo of what Geneva had thought as a girl. She stared at Aiko, and then nodded. It wasn’t just the determination that swayed Geneva, made her take a chance on Aiko. It was the compassion. Aiko was breathing heavily as she looked at the blood. She’d been pale-faced staring at the wounded. She looked at Geneva, wavering. “I am sorry. I know I am a coward—I am afraid of blood and guts—” Geneva reached out. Her hand was covered in blood and she stopped. But then she reached out and touched Aiko lightly on the shoulder. The girl’s eyes turned to the blood, but she didn’t flinch away. “Unwilling to fight doesn’t mean ‘coward’. If you have the stomach for it, I’d welcome a second pair of hands.” “I will try.”

Calectus spoke when they were gone. “Dullahans never bow that low.” He was staring at the direction they’d gone. Ken nodded. The Dullahans had shown more emotion, more deference in that moment then he’d ever seen Xor give Quallet. “That was extraordinary, wasn’t it?” Calectus hesitated. “It was impossible. A spell might have saved that Dullahan—but no potion, aside from the ones a Named Adventurer would use. But a single person did that. Geneva did. With her Skills.” He turned, shaking his head. “It might not have been a good thing to save him. But I could not stop her. She will level from this, I have no doubt. And yet…” “What?” Calectus turned to Ken. “She saved a War Walker, someone deemed dead by his enemies. She changed the battlefield, preserved a part of the Razorshard Armor company’s strength. She is no longer a small asset, something that can be ignored. Now she is a powerful ally…or a dangerous enemy.”

“She is savable, but there are five patients that will die immediately without my help.” “You would put her life ahead of—” “I do not take sides.” Geneva snapped up at the Centaur, making him back down a step. She looked at the others. “I will save your [Captain] if I can. I will do everything in my power to save her. But I can save other lives first. You will wait with her over there—my assistant will tell you how to keep her stable in the meantime. But you will wait and if you threaten or harm anyone in my camp, I will not help her.” She met the Centaur’s eyes. “I am a [Doctor]. I am on everyone’s side and no one’s side. Do you understand?” He wavered. Geneva walked back into her tent. She saved the Dullahan’s life, failed to save two others who came after him. She saved the rest, and the [Captain]. When it was done, the Centaurs stood around their Captain, who had the strength to actually stand and move, however weakly. Geneva had told her to rest, but the Centaurs were adamant they had to bring her back to their camp. It would not be safe to leave her here, they told Geneva. The son of the [Captain] cantered over to Geneva with Calectus watching warily. He stared down at her, and then awkwardly knelt in front of her. He had tears in his eyes when his mother had walked out of the operating room. “I will remember this.”

“Luan, I have an idea.” “Does it involve us risking our lives?” Ken nodded. Luan blew out his cheeks. Then he looked at the battlefield, at the wounded. “It is worth dying for?” “Nothing is worth dying for. But this—this is worth living for.”

“They are brave. Is that a thing Humans do? Save each other? Save the wounded?” “Not all Humans. But it’s what we used to do. We still do it.” “There is no sense to it.” Etretta shook her head. Daly nodded. The Dullahan nodded as well. “But there is something noble about it. Foolish, and noble.” “Yeah.” Daly was smiling. He stared at Luan as he and Ken collapsed by their camp. He couldn’t see too well from here, but he thought they were laughing. “It’s crazy. But I guess they thought it was worth dying for.”

“I warned you. This world is not yours, Geneva. There is no mercy here. No quarter. Your world is gentler, nobler, I think.” Geneva stared at the burning camp. She felt something wild, hysterical, bubbling up inside her. She laughed. “No. It’s the same. The exact same.” The same as the worst of her world. How could she have thought it would be otherwise? They bombed a hospital. Just like her country had. They attacked the wounded. Just like they did during the war. Every war. Snipers shooting medics. It was exactly the same.

“No.” Geneva caught her right arm. She heard Okasha cry out, felt the Selphid try to override her. Geneva didn’t let her. She clamped down on every muscle in her body, overriding Okasha’s desperate attempts to move with sheer will. “I swore an oath.” The Dullahan was cursing. Geneva turned and saw the first one striding towards her. It wasn’t a he after all, but a she. The Dullahan had dark red armor and a shortsword in one hand. “What oath?” She looked at Geneva curiously. Geneva spread her arms wide. She felt her world melting around her. Despair was in her heart. “I will do no harm. I will not let my patients come to harm. I will do what I can to save lives.” “Noble.” The female Dullahan nodded. She looked at Geneva and shook her head. “But flawed. This is war. And in war, we do what we must.”

“Can you hold on? Will Geneva-san die or—or bleed?” He stared into her stomach, at the red wounds. There was…something there. Something vaguely orange, blocking the wounds, just inside of the body. The Selphid? Ken shuddered as it slowly undulated. Geneva’s voice replied, cold and distant. “Geneva Scala cannot die. I will not let her.”

“I can do it, Calectus.” “How? If you’re spotted—” “I have stealth Skills. And I’ll do it from above.” Everyone looked up as Okasha pointed at the branches. She looked at Calectus, then flicked her glance towards Ken and the others. Ken thought she was worried about them hearing, but the situation must have warranted it, so Okasha spoke. “I’ll exceed Geneva’s limits. I can leap from tree to tree. I did it with my last body. I can do it with hers. Let me do it, Calectus.” “Leap?” Luan stared up incredulously at the treetops. The branches were thick and could probably hold someone’s weight, true, but jumping from one to the next would require inhuman strength! Or maybe the athleticism of a trained Olympian, neither of which Geneva had. However, that wasn’t an issue, as Okasha explained to the Humans. “We can exceed our limits for a brief period. It is a trick that pushes a body’s muscles and nerves past their physical threshold. Other species can do it in times of dire need, but we have no such limitations of the mind. The cost, however, is that the body we inhabit will degrade and break down far, far more quickly.” “Yes, and doing that to a living body would be painful—” Calectus was frowning and objecting, but Geneva interrupted. She looked from Calectus to the trees, to the other Humans. “Let’s do it. If it means no fighting, I can bear the pain. Okasha, go ahead.”

“Are you alright Geneva, Okasha?” “Fine. We could use a bit of the healing potion.” Calectus handed the quarter of a bottle over, cautioning Okasha to be sparing. A few drops and Geneva’s expression of pain eased. She stood up, legs fully recovered from the muscle strain. Calectus shook her head as she studied Geneva. “The ability to stop bleeding, move a body when critically injured and heal each injury with such precision…this is why it was made forbidden. It is too powerful. Too dangerous. Two souls in one body. Two minds, each with their own set of classes and Skills. An army of such warriors would be unstoppable.” “Not if the entire world is after you.”

They stared at her. They recognized her. How could they not? They might not have ever seen Geneva’s face themselves, but how many soldiers had they met who could describe the woman who’d saved them? And Ken had said it. She was the [Doctor]. Would they kill her? She was unarmed. They were all neutral parties. And the soldiers stood, knowing that every single one of them had seen this. Would anyone dare attack them? How could they? Everyone here was a witness.

Ken stared at the commanders. They would be the ones to order the attack. Some were shouting, their voices dim and muted in the silence. Others fought towards Geneva, but were held back. One raised a staff glowing with magic and was dragged from his saddle by his men. They were a quarter of the way across the battlefield when it happened. Ken heard a group of Centaurs galloping, and suddenly the Dullahan’s side was ready to fight. He turned, about to put the ring on and shout, when he saw a group of Centaurs race out of the sea of bodies and slow to a stop. They flanked Geneva on her left, and Ken saw a female Centaur with a bow and a male Centaur he thought he recognized leading them. The female Centaur, a [Captain], shouted. “Centaurs! You are to refrain from attacking at all costs. Any fool who disobeys I will personally shoot!” Her voice rang out and the Centaurs around her put an arrow to their bows. Their tips gleamed with magic. Evercut arrows. The words weren’t just for the people around her. The [Captain] was staring towards the skies, and Ken saw a shape that had been flying down out of a cloud fly back. Zalthia waved at Geneva from above as she reversed direction. Ken’s heart began to beat again. It stopped again when he heard the thump. He turned his head and saw a giant Dullahan, a War Walker with a huge sword advancing on Geneva. The Centaur group backed up and looked ready to loose, but the War Walker began walking on Geneva’s right. The voice of the Dullaha...

“What can we do? They’ll kill each other when we’re gone.” Luan was looking at both sides, shaking his head as he spoke to Geneva. Ken heard her low reply. “We bear witness. That’s all we can do.”

Another part…another part wished the same could be true for the soldiers. He hoped that maybe, after they had left, the silence would continue. Perhaps the soldiers would put down their weapons, talk? It couldn’t happen. Behind him, Ken could see some commanders moving their forces and soldiers bracing and drinking potions. The fighting would continue. This was only a brief interlude. Peace was a pipe dream. But it was a dream Ken could believe in. And at that moment, he saw the same hope, the same faith, in Luan and Geneva’s eyes.

“I made a mistake, Ken. I shouldn’t have tried to work and stay neutral on each battlefield. I was just painting a target on my back. Okasha’s right. Things aren’t the same here.” “I didn’t mean—” Okasha tried to speak, but Geneva rode over her. “There is no Geneva Convention here. There’s only me. I can’t rely on the goodwill of another company, or their morality or honor. I know that now.”

That was how she started her Monday morning. She assumed it was a Monday. It would have felt so wrong if it were a Thursday.

The game shifted. Erin pushed a Pawn forwards. The music rose. Now there was an orchestra. She began a waltz across the floor. And then? There was music. There was a dance. Her partner came at her across the chess board, flicking pieces towards her, grasping at the center. Erin danced back, sending her knights up, fortifying her position. Across the dance floor, her opponent spun and leapt to the same tune. Both sides mimicked the other. Knights and Pawns, building, edging together for superiority. But no blood spilled, no pieces taken, not yet. Erin and her opponent met on the grand marble floor of the hall as the flutes and bows strained the air with building crescendos of sound. Not yet. Twenty moves in, and the board was still developing. A Bishop came out. Erin tapped her foot and sent hers up. Mimicry. Mocking. Taunting. Waiting. Then the black Pawn advanced and took hers. The first blow was struck. Erin reached out and tapped her opponent lightly. The music enveloped them both. It wasn’t like a dance. It was like a dance. It was just chess. What could you say about a game that was so static, so unchanging over the centuries? Nothing. Everything. Erin walked through a different world. She played the game and lost. A second loss. She reset the board in a moment and played again. This time she won. And then won again. And again. And again and—she lost the seventh game after that. Time lost meaning. There was just the game. Erin had lived for twenty years. Of those twen...

“No chess. Too much chess makes brain go poof.” Erin rested her head on the table, feeling as though someone tiny had just kicked her brain a few times.

That's actually a really accurate description of yesterday's games. 🤣

“Vengeance dungeon?” Revi was confused. Halrac glanced at her and remembered that she was new. Ulrien and Halrac had hired her and Typhenous into Griffon Hunt, and both [Mages] were competent, but Revi wasn’t nearly as old or experienced as the other three men. He let Ulrien explain. “Dungeons come in several types, Revi. I know [Mages] study which empire built them and their composition and so on—adventurers have a simpler system. Dungeons are either for containment, future generations, or as an act of vengeance.” “Interesting terms. What’s the difference between the three?” Halrac pushed Revi’s bowl of unfinished soup towards her as Ulrien explained. The Stitch Girl sighed, but ate as Ulrien talked. “Containment dungeons are meant to contain something. Simple enough; it could be a threat, a natural resource too valuable to let someone else get ahold of…I once saw a dungeon that had been built solely to combat Vampires. It was more like a fortress that made use of light-based traps and spells.” “Okay. Then future generations…?” Jelaqua grinned. “Dungeons built with traps that test people entering. Say an empire’s about to collapse. Well, they want to leave something behind, right? Only, the people who build the dungeons want their shiny magical artifacts to go to the deserving. So they build a dungeon which only the best can enter. That way, future generations can follow a handy map and get through the traps, or a brave adventuring group can fight their way through and re...

“Enchanted doors. As if they didn’t expect us to pull each one off. Waste of time.” Halrac grunted. Seborn nodded. “Waste of time. And I bet the door’s not got more than a protection spell on it. Still, it might be worth taking back with us.” “Why? Who needs a door with a protection spell?” “Someone might pay some gold for it. You must admit, enchanted doors aren’t cheap. If worst comes to worst, some Bronze-rank adventurer can use it as a shield.”

I bet I know who'll want it, especially since she's lowkey freaking out with phantom premonitions.

“Okay, but can I punch him anyways? He keeps telling me that he’s got a second sword just as long as his first sword. Which is impossible. It wouldn’t fit in his pants. And who’d want a sword that big, anyways?” Laken made an amused face. “You’d be surprised what some guys think they’d like, Durene.”

“Gamel, I appreciate your input. And yours of course, Durene. But please understand this: I will be treated like a commoner, disrespectfully, flippantly, and sometimes rudely by the people I meet. That is not their fault. They do not know I am an [Emperor], or if they do, they might not believe. That does not mean you two should reprimand them. In fact, I insist you do not. I order you not to. Is that understood?” Durene’s laughter cuts off. I can’t see Gamel, but I imagine him straightening up, flushing. “I’m terribly sorry, sire.” “Enough of that. I told you, sir, or my name is fine.” “Yes…sir.” And here comes the hard part. I modulate my tone; try to explain why I say what I do. It’s one thing to command, another to lead. I was told that just recently. I may be an [Emperor], but I must inspire and teach, not just tell. “The reason why I say this is because titles are meaningless to me, Gamel. No, don’t gape. I may be an [Emperor], but being called and treated like one isn’t strictly necessary. Yes, I insist on respect, but that comes in a different way from people I meet. I would rather know how people feel about me than ruin their impressions of me and mine of them from the start. Rudeness of course is different, and you can be offended about that. But simple ignorance or casual incivility is to be welcomed, I think.”

“Durene, I understand your concerns. However, my ego is large enough that I don’t need to be called ‘your majesty’ every two seconds. Think of it from my perspective.” “How do you mean?” I smile slightly. “I am an [Emperor]. You know that. Gamel knows that. And I know that. That fact will never change. Why should what other people say or believe matter? I know who I am. That’s all I need.”

“I’m not worthy, sire. No—your majesty. Emperor Laken. I wouldn’t have imagined you were such a man, to be honest, but I can see it in you now. But sire, I know myself and I am not worthy of the class. I couldn’t be a [Steward], not a good one. I know that. You know that.” I shake my head. “No. You are not worthy. I agree with you on that, Mister Prost. However…none of us are. I need a [Steward], and you are the only person I can think who might fill that role. Gamel is too young, and I don’t know the others. But you? You are a man people trust. A man I think I can trust. And you have that one quality which makes me believe in you.” “What’s that?” He stares at me, hungry for an answer, words that can reassure him. I look into Prost’s eyes and open mine. Just for a moment. He flinches as he stares into my pupils, but he meets my gaze. And I speak from the heart. “Change. I have seen you change. If you can change from a man who refused to accept that I could love a half-Troll, Durene, to a man who calls me [Emperor], then perhaps you can also become a man worthy of leading others. Because you must. You are needed, Prost Surehand. The village needs you. Your family needs you. I need you. Will you help me?” For a long time he’s still. So long in fact that my eyes hurt and I have to close them. I’m not used to keeping them open. But I can still sense Prost there. At last he does speak. “I’m not—but you know that. Milord, my [Emperor]…you say you need me. I…I’m humbled.” There a...

“Laken! Laken! You won’t believe what’s happened to Mister Prost! He gained a class! And—and lost his levels!” “What? What? Stop shaking me, Durene! Put me down and tell me what’s happened.” Having a half-Troll lover is a wonderful thing in many ways. But when she’s excited, Durene is fully capable of lifting me up like a kitten. And I, like kittens, do not take well to being shaken. When I’m on the ground and sipping some tea, Durene spills the entire event to me, which everyone in the village has already heard of. Prost went to sleep late last night and heard himself get a new class—[Steward]. That doesn’t surprise me, although it’s similar to someone winning the lottery as far as the other villagers are concerned. This class makes Prost important, just as being an [Emperor] makes me important. After all, [Stewards] are hardly common. Well, not in this world. Airline stewards are hardly anything to write about…but I digress. The thing that makes me sit up and has Durene in more of a frenzy is the other thing that happened to Prost, though. “He lost his levels! All of his levels in [Farmer] and [Builder]—and the one level he had in [Trader]! It’s all gone! And he leveled up eight times as a [Steward]! Can you believe it? Can you believe—oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to shake you again!” When I’ve gotten the hot tea cleaned off of me, I get the fine details.

🤣🤣🤣

I can’t tell where it lives. It’s outside of the village’s range, as are the new houses we’re trying to build. That’s a problem. Knowing what’s around me is essential. I can sense the entire village and when someone gets hurt I can tell at once. Like when one of Gamel’s friends slipped and nearly cut his hand off while trying to cut through a broken beam in one of the houses. I shouted and got a healing potion to him in time. If we’re making a new village, no, if we’re going to keep this village safe, I need to be able to ‘see’ more. Which means I need to expand my claim on the lands around. The problem is, the area around Riverfarm is wilderness, forest, open ground, rivers…no one owns it and I can’t just say that’s mine. I tried, and it doesn’t work.

Safety is a relative thing. It can leave you at any moment.

Oh, well if Prost’s got it—I relax a bit. Too soon! “Kneel before Emperor Laken, the Protector of Riverfarm! In his mercy, he has allowed you to—” I elbow Prost in the side and cut him off before he can say anything more.

Might want to check that vicariously big head of his

“A pole like that? Pshaw—oops, sorry ‘bout that, your majesty. Carving a few fancy shapes into this much wood? Naught a problem. See, the issue’s in varnishing and I know a few young lads who’d do it right quick if you let me have them—and I’ve the oils and resins I bought from an [Alchemist]. Served me well these last few years—no, I could have it carved up in a day or two. The processing’s the thing, see? And design of course.” “So quickly?” I edge away from Jelov, but he just crabs over to me, talking excitedly. Aw, well, who needs a dry face anyways? Isn’t spit good for the skin?

There have been epic battles waged in the name of survival between different animal groups. The duel between the lone rat and the fledgling Frostwing is not one of them. She pecks at the rat and the rat tries to run. Frostwing pursues, hopping rather than flying, and I give her a bit of assistance, blocking the rat with my foot. Hop, peck. Hop, peck. In the end Frostwing downs the rat, but I have to say, she does not deserve the sense of satisfied pride I feel from her in my mind. As my bird savages the rat she’s killed and begins to disembowel it, I kneel by her side. “Who’s a good bird? You are. You’re a good bird. Even if you are fairly bad at your job.” She pecks at me with a bloody beak, and then flares her wings aggressively as one of the villager’s dogs sniffs near her. It retreats, whining, and I decide to pick Frostwing up before she can cause trouble. She agrees to perch on my arm only after grabbing her kill in one talon. On the way back to the cottage she drops the rat. Twice. Nothing would do but I let her grab it again. Ah, birds. They’re quite stupid. Dumber than dogs at times, which I’ll admit is difficult. But I love mine even so.

At the end of the day Jelov comes to me with a finished pole, just as he’s promised. I inspect the pole with my hands, running my fingertips along the carvings, and feeling the deep-cut symbols in the wood. I get a splinter. Twice.

Durene is hiding in Prost’s house. She’s naked, and by that I mean she’s got underwear on and—yeah, that’s about it. Modesty came after saving Prost’s life, and so she’s a hero everyone politely thanks—through a closed door.

The best spy’s one you don’t see coming,

Thump. I feel it, and scraping dirt. It’s coming in the direction the riders and Durene left. A sensation, far away. Miles away, in fact. I’d bet anything it was exactly four miles. “One.” I can feel it being hammered into the ground in the distance. It’s like a beacon in my mind. Prost looks at me. “What’s that sire?” “One, Prost. Wait for it.” It’s…twenty minutes or more before I feel the thump again. Can you travel four miles in twenty minutes? You can if you’re running with a horse. And Durene—I’ll bet she can run pretty damn fast too. “Two.” Prost looks at me, silent. But he’s catching on. It’s about the same time when I feel it again. Three points now, each one in the distance. One to my east, another southeast, another almost directly south… “Three.” Forming a circle. It goes on. Now one to my west. It takes a while. But then— “Four.” North, now. Prost is waiting and so am I. My heart is pounding. North—north west. “Five.” Two left to go. I wait. The next thump makes my body shake. I feel Prost steady me. The earth shifts. I feel it— “Si—” I stagger. I’m not aware of Prost catching me, shouting for Wiskeria. I only know it’s happened. Six. That was the magic number. I feel it. A huge area of land, marked by six points, opens up in my head. Suddenly, I can see the entire world encompassed in that space. That’s right. The markers. The pieces of wood Jelov worked so hard on. They’re in the ground now, and they demarcate a rough hexagon, slanted oddly near the north sid...

I command them. I command their very souls. The wounded rise. Exhausted arms move as if they were fresh. Limbs without strength grapple with their opponents and force them back. My voice is in their ears as the villagers form up, forcing the line of Goblins back. The words come out of me, out of some place in my soul. “Stand. I see your lives like flames on the sea. You are mine. The water will not touch you. The wind cannot quench your fire. So long as I live, your fates and mine burn together. I do not give you permission to die. So stand—and show me nothing but victory.”

Gamel struggles to talk. I can see something in his eyes, fading away again. I shake my head. Tears. “I shouldn’t have. I took something from you. I—” “Wanted to. Give. A ruler is more than a man.” I stare down at Gamel. “No. Yes. He is. But I am still sorry.” It’s not a word. Just a question in his eyes. I sit by Gamel. The words come out of me slowly. “A ruler can afford to see nothing but pawns and tools or break his heart against his duties. But the mortal, human soul in him must cry out for every injustice he commits. Or he is no ruler, but a monster wearing the same skin. I am both. And I am sorry.” “Still my [Emperor]. Saved us. I’ll live.”

I look into his eyes and see little gratitude. It hurts too much for that. But neither do I see anger or hatred, either. “Not for us to say, my Emperor. We are yours. We gave all we had to you for our lives, and that of our families. We are sworn to you. Servants, subjects to a ruler. If we wished for freedom, we could only but rebel and break our oaths. We would be damned for that.” “Some oath. What do you get, then?” “You, lord.” I look at Prost. He reaches out. “You. We are yours and you are ours. So it is for every ruler and his people. They are his, or hers. And they belong to their people. One cannot live without the other. For better or worse, they are bound until one is gone.” “Is it a Skill? Part of my class?” For the first time in a long while, I see Prost smile. He shakes his head. “It is not just part of classes and levels. It is the bond we have made. You gave us hope and purpose. You gave us life when the snow buried our home and our families. You pulled us out with your bare hands. How could we not give you everything we have in return?”

Ivolethe could see strands of destiny weaving and changing each other. She could sense…peculiarities and moments in time that mattered. And today, a lot of these threads were coming together. So many, and the ones that were already moving were pulling the rest. Because of course, destiny was connected. How could it not be? So today would be momentous for many people in this small part of the world. It would be special. Ivolethe didn’t question the coincidence that pulled together so many events at once; she sometimes thought that reality liked such things. Special things should be special. It could have been the work of a god as well, of course. Immortal beings were all about important days and destiny. But in this world, such an occurrence would be impossible. Ivolethe knew this. The gods were dead. And they had better stay that way.