The night fell like a cold black veil over their heads, as dark and crisp as Timaeus imagined the underworld. It reminded him of his initiation into the Brotherhood of the Flame. Like then, he was guided through the darkness by fire. The red snow-topped plateaus stood around them like shadowy titans with heads of white hair, and they rode between the narrow crags and twisted rock fingers like men on the asperous palm of a giant.

A gust of wind blew between the burgundy crags from the south and breathed life to the banners of House Mithrid flapping above them and to their rear: a white sword and scale on a golden sun against a crimson field bordered with gold. Timaeus had been following the flickering contour of the shaggy black yak ridden by their scrawny Rhumid guide, who held a torch above his head, when the sudden breeze blew against the flame and it nipped at Timaeus' face with a fiery growl. He pulled back in his saddle, his hood sliding off his head as he did, and his horse let out a panicked snort. "Careful, boy!" his uncle Hadrian, who rode beside him, said. "I've seen men stronger than us both fall to a horse in distress." His voice boomed from inside his helm like he spoke from inside a cave.

Their cloaks fluttered like crimson blood spurting forth from a wound against the rusty-red Rhumid soil. Except Hadrian's. He wore a cloak as white as the stars, and a breastplate that glimmered like silver against the moonlight, trimmed with gold. His spaulders were gold and shaped like the folded wings of an eagle. Under his hood, he wore a helm with a hooked beak. Jutting out from his breastplate, an eagle spread its wings over his collarbones.

It made Timaeus feel inadequate in his simple linens and hardened leather. He wore an open-face bronze helm that felt like the work of the lowest peasant in sight of Hadrian's eagle-helm. Only the simple-living Rhumids made him feel better. They wore rugged yak hides and rainbow shawls and leather pants, a pair of which had been so kindly gifted to Timaeus, and he wore happily during the cold nights. 

Their horses played a soothing song that lulled Timaeus to sleep. But he followed the flame anyway, and kept his mind running to stay awake.

Timaeus and the Mithrid soldiers almost blended with their surroundings. They were but phantoms in the darkness, atop shadowy steeds, with their assorted bronze armor and their blood-red cloaks and capes. The Rhumid warriors and guides that accompanied them stood out more. But not as much as the towering Rys - loyal warriors of the conquered Transepruxian mountains. 

They weren't nearly as vibrantly-colored as the Rhumids, but they were twice their size in height and broadness. They wore the hides and bones of beasts they had slain. Sivaas rode in front of Timaeus, and behind the Rhumid guide. Timaeus guessed he wore the skins of half-a-dozen creatures. Hadrian had guessed not even Sivaas knew for sure. The pelt of a saber-tooth lion rested over his head like a hood, its saber-teeth resting against the Rys' temples. The lion's mane now crowned the warrior from head to shoulders.

In Rys tradition, a warrior is only allowed to wear the full skin of an animal he kills, if it is done with nothing more than a dagger fashioned from an eagle's claw, or his bare hands. It dumbfounded Timaeus to think Sivaas had possibly strangled a saber-tooth lion to death at one point. It made him uneasy to wonder [i]how[/i]. A tight leather belt around Sivaas' waist held the long bone-tail of another unfortunate animal - Sivaas now wore it as his own.

What parts of their bodies weren't covered in hides, were painted with woad, showing intricate tribal designs that Timaeus failed to understand. Even their faces were painted.

If Timaeus and the soldiers were phantoms, the Rys were the monsters that escorted the souls into Dys' realm. [i]But what of Hadrian?[/i] Timaeus thought. Perhaps a benevolent spirit of Hypatia, fighting for light amidst the darkness. They called him 'the Benevolent' for the compassion he showed even against the enemy in battle, so it seemed appropriate that he would fight the monsters. He was a man with a heart of gold and a soothing, masculine voice that could strip a man of his shield and blade and his will to fight his fellow man. And he had done so before.

But Timaeus knew he was a great soldier and leader, too. Countless battles had been turned in favor of Syros' legions, thanks to Hadrian and his cavalry. There was no-one better to lead men and steed in the field of battle than his uncle, the Soaring Eagle. Looking at him, it was obvious why they called him that. But only those who had faced him in battle knew the true horror. Hadrian was known to employ the aid of horse [i]and[/i] eagle. 

The Mithrid horses were fortresses of muscle built to smash through enemy lines and scale the rocky mountains of the Mithrid homeland. The eagles employed by the Mithrids were giants and trained to claw at infantry, breaking their ranks before Hadrian's cavalry trampled through. Both were bred for war, and Timaeus had heard that even now Mithrid eagle-breeders sought a way to make them even bigger, and more vicious. 

There was a saying that, although Hadrian never wore the Mithrid reds at the start of a battle, he always did by the end. But here, only the fine rust-red sands of the Rhumid mountains stained his white clothes.

"Open your eyes, boy." Hadrian said. Timaeus had drifted into deep thought. Their horses kicked loose rocks down the rocky cliffs as they descended. 

They had spent hours patrolling the mountains for would-be Rhumid rebels. Timaeus' father, Cassian, believed they would attack their camp from the rear given the opportunity. Horse-mounted patrols were sent to prevent that, but so far there had been no sign of enemy warriors. The nights were long and dark and boring. Hours atop a horse, up and down the rocky switchbacks, put a drain on the young boy - but Hadrian never seemed to tire.

 "You'll have your rest when we reach the encampment." Hadrian added, his voice comforting. "I'll tell your father you've earned a day of rest."

[i]A full day of rest?[/i] Timaeus thought. He caught a smile forming and held it back. He was tired. The Rhumids were relentless. In the day, the sun battered away at the troops. And in the nights, they damn near froze. It brought him joy to know he'd have a day to rest, but he couldn't show it. He had a famous name to uphold. Timaeus Mithrid, son of the great Cassian. It felt like the world expected him to become as good a general as his father, or even better than him - like his great-grandfather Marcellus, who rode alongside Syros in the early days of the conquests.

He wasn't sure he could meet those those expectations, but he never admitted it. "Come the battle, I will bring glory to our House." he said to his uncle. "I'll guard the honor of our name even if I have to die."

A muffled huff of disappointment came from inside Hadrian's helm. "This honor in battle you speak of does not exist." he said, perhaps saddened. "You're a bright boy - and good. Don't be fooled by their distorted truths - they lie." he said. "I believed it once, but now I know the truth." he said with regret.

Timaues hadn't met a man more honorable than Hadrian. His uncle had been fighting a war ever since he could remember. [i]How could there be no honor in war?[/i] "Why did you become a soldier?" he asked.

"Because old men with potbellies and hard stone walls between them and the fight told me I'd find glory in war." Hadrian said plainly. "And riches, and fame. And that all we had to do was go and kill soulless men who had no families, no faces."

[i]But they lied...[/i] Timaeus thought. "Why did you keep fighting, then?"

"Brotherhood." Hadrian said without a second thought. "I fought not for lords, but for the men at my side - the good ones. I wanted them to come home." he said. He paused for a moment and it looked like he was laughing under his helm, though Timaeus could still sense a hint of sadness, even behind all that armor. "There was a time I thought my presence could make a difference." he continued. "I thought if I could take command of those men, I could teach them to be righteous - I still believe I can. But every man has the capacity for great evil; it's the dreaded horns of war that unleash the beasts inside them."

Timaeus thought for a moment. "Uncle, you are the most honorable man I have ever met." he said, thinking back to before. "And yet you've been at war your entire life. How is it that honor and war cannot exist together?" he wondered.

"When a man murders, is he an honorable man?" Hadrian asked rhetorically. "I've seen war, and it's not as you hear in the legends - those are too clean. In war, there are few heroes; men live and die as nameless pawns for tyrants. The bards sing of glorious battles as if it were a game. They sing it so pretty they convince you those men on the field get to go home to their families in the end, but they don't. They die in a foreign land fighting men they never met before. Their bodies lie putrid on the open field for vultures to feed on. Fathers and brothers and sons, no different than us. Women are raped and their children are slaughtered, torn apart. I have seen it myself."

Timaeus believed him, but he still felt he had to fight. He was a Mithrid; his father expected as much. "What am I to do, then?"

"Fight for good." Hadrian said. "Not for lords, not for kings. Fight for good." he said. "And fight for yourself, too."

"What do you mean?" Timaeus asked. The smell of brine now choked the air; they were close to the salt flats.

"Tell me our words." Hadrian said.

"We Tend The Flame." 

"Do you know what those words mean to me?" Hadrian asked.

"The flame represents the balance between order and chaos; a flame can burn, but it can also cleanse - it is the perfect balance between right and wrong. We stand vigilant and steadfast against evil, and when the time comes, We Tend The Flame; we keep the balance."

"Your father taught you that?" Hadrian chuckled. "The hearts of men ache when they have done wrong. Even the most vile of men weep when they look back to their crimes. Their hearts are set ablaze with guilt; an inextinguishable flame, a struggle between what is right, and what is good for us all. They wonder their entire lives whether or not their crimes were justified in the end. They wonder if the good they helped accomplish made up for the wrong they did along the way. But they'll never know. They live their whole lives with that burning ache in their chest. Nothing can extinguish it. They can only live with it; they can only tend the flame." he explained. "That's what our words mean to me."

"And Mithreus knew this." Timaeus said. He had heard their ancestor had been the first to say the words, at the start of the Second Era, when he helped unite the warring Calydonian states under one Kingdom. [i]Mithreus lived and died wondering if the peace he brought justified his crimes.[/i] It made sense to him now.

"Aye." said Hadrian. "But he wasn't the first to tend the flame."

They were on leveled ground now and the narrow pass widened to reveal a bustling camp set atop an escarpment overlooking the alabaster salt flat. Smoldering braziers lit the path to wooden palisades erected around the maze of dark-red tents, above which banners with the sword and scale of House Mithrid fluttered. Statuesque hoplites in crimson stood guard around the encampment, while others were rowdy and gathered around fires, their helms acting as makeshift cooking pots. 

The strong breeze blew the campfire smoke into Timaeus' face. His face wrenched when he caught the foul smell of brine mixed with smoke and whatever awful thing the soldiers were readying to eat. Hadrian and Sivaas exchanged a few words under the sound of rowdiness and shouted orders, and soon Sivaas rode off to another side of the camp with the rest of the riders. Timaeus and Hadrian left their horses and walked to the end of the camp, where mounted contraptions of wood overlooked what could later become the battlefield. Soldiers loaded them with bolts the size of their arms.

Timaeus could see wooden crosses rising out from atop a hill to their east. Three men were nailed to them, the bloody rainbow shawls on their backs identifying them as Rhumid men. He swore he could hear their faint screams of agony between the clamor of the camp. Hadrian saw them too, and Timaeus thought he heard him curse under his helm.

There, looking out to the pale sands, stood Cassian. Timaeus' father was a tall man, and stern. He had eyes of brown and a head of black. His face was shaven clean and the bridge of his nose hooked slightly. Next to Cassian an eagle half his size sat on a perch hastily fashioned from wood. Timaues was terrified of them. As a child, he feared one day he'd be clutched by their talons and flown off to some mountain eyrie to be eaten - he still feared that now. He knew they were big enough to do it if they wanted - he had seen these giant eagles take down boars and even horses. The sun of the eight and the sword and scale of House Mithrid jutted out from the breastplate his father wore.

Hadrian and Timaeus approached him with their helms removed. The eagle suddenly took flight and flapped its wings so hard Timaeus thought the gust of wind would knock him over. To his relief, the eagle soon soared high above them. Hadrian shared Timaeus' grey eyes, but he wore a bushy black beard speckled with white hairs.

"You crucified Rhumid men!?" Hadrian said. He sounded upset but he kept his voice low enough that only the three of them could hear what he said. He looked at Cassian with disbelief.

"I crucified Rhumid [i]rebels[/i]." Cassian said calmly, staring back into his brother's eyes. He had a quiet voice when he wasn't angry, but it carried a certain kind of weight to it. It was heavy enough to make men bow when he wished them to. Some of the Rhumids had been resisting Calydonian rule even now, attacking patrols and camps that moved into the mountains.

"In the Rhumid Mountains of all places!" said Hadrian. He sunk a hand into his black hair like he wanted to pull it out. 

"I'll have the next rebel carry his own cross to Copsis before he's nailed to it." said Cassian, his voice fell empty. He looked Hadrian and Timaeus from head to toe and Timaeus was sure he had found something wrong with them. His heart skipped a beat. "Your cloaks are clean." Cassian said, like he expected them to be bloodied.

"We found no rebels." said Hadrian.

"They didn't dare show themselves, lord father." Timaeus said confidently.

Cassian took a glance at the crucified men on the hills, then he looked at Hadrian. Timaeus swore he saw the slightest of smiles form on his father's face before he spoke. "I wonder why." he said, tapping his brother on the shoulder. 

"Creator! A swift beheading would have sufficed!" argued Hadrian. "A bloody pardon! Show them mercy and they too will fight for you. Rhumid men fight alongside us. What will they think when they see their kin nailed to crosses, being torn apart by vultures?"

"It won't be a thought of rebellion, I know that." said Cassian. "A pardon encourages the commission of more crimes." he paused. The bodies of four men in red cloaks were being readied to be burned at the pyre. Hadrian caught Cassian looking at the preparations and saw for himself. "Those four men won't be returning to their families." he explained. "But if it pleases you, brother, I'll have their murderers taken down and returned to their clan."

Hadrian said nothing.

The eagle from before let out a deafening scream high above their heads. Timaeus jumped, startled. He knew what it meant though: someone had been spotted. Mithrid eagles were trained to deliver messages and alert troops. Fight, even. He shuttered to remember those times he had seen them dive at their prey, screaming and damn near blocking out the sun if you were at the right angle.

"Riders approach?" Timaeus guessed.

"[i]Someone[/i] is." said Cassian. He lead them to a red command tent as soldiers rushed for their equipment, shouting orders. Cassian himself issued a command while on the move, but Timaeus didn't hear. They walked inside through the draped curtains, where statuesque soldiers stood guard, and watched as Cassian retrieved a scabbard trimmed with gold and the image of Adrasthea, the goddess of peace. She was blindfolded, holding a sword in one hand and a scale in the other. "Onesimos is dead." Cassian turned to tell Hadrian as they stepped back outside. "They say he plotted to kill Syros."

"Do you believe this?" Hadrian asked. Soldiers rushed to the rear of the camp and a horn blew at another end. Timaeus stayed close behind. "Onesimos was a good man - a loyal man!" his uncle said. "I fought with him at Titan's Fork - he loved Syros as much as you."

"We'll never know the truth now." said Cassian. There was a struggle at the rear of the camp. Men in red were trying to force their way through a crowd of soldiers - but they weren't fighting. They shouted at each other to move, arguing and pushing and threatening to kill. At the center, four men cried out for mercy. Timaeus could see them between the soldiers. Their clothes were bloody and their bodies were covered in horrifying cuts, bloody and gaping. "Enough!" Cassian roared. It was a thunderous command, and the soldiers were silenced almost instantly. They parted and formed a circle around the men in the middle, allowing Cassian and his companions to advance. Standing over the kneeling men covered in blood were Mithrid soldiers carrying bloody whips. "Explain yourselves!" Cassian demanded.

The soldier in-charge stepped forward. "Lord Cassian!" he called with relief. "I bring you the murderer of Onesimos!" he announced, the soldiers around them roaring with disbelief. A man laid at his feet with wounds so deep in his back Timaues thought he could see bone and flaps of skin hung from their sides. Something crawled up his throat and he felt like he would vomit. The man's mouth was agape like he was screaming to the heavens for mercy, but nothing came out. Another knelt with defiance. There was so much blood it took Timaeus a moment to realize the men who had been whipped were also wearing Mithrid cloaks - all of them but the one laying. [i]These men are Mithrid soldiers? They murdered the patriarch of the Milatids?[/i] he thought, and his heart threatened to burst from his chest. [i]This is war.[/i]

"What have you done!?" Hadrian roared. "These men are not proven guilty!" 

"They are!" the soldier in-charge countered. "These men have brought dishonor to your House, Hadrian! They have murdered in your name!" the soldier said, landing a hard punch on the face of the man kneeling. Blood spurted out from his mouth and fell on the red soil like a wet blob. Timaeus saw Cassian's eyes narrow and his fists clench. "They confessed!" the solider added, raising his whip over his head to strike the man.

"ENOUGH!" Cassian roared again. So loud was his command, that Timaeus felt the insides of his ears vibrate. "Take these men!" he ordered some of the soldiers behind him. "Cut their hands off!" he said. The men with the whips opened their eyes wide and their faces paled as the soldiers stepped forward and hauled them away by their arms. They begged and cried like the men they had whipped. "I will not tolerate the mistreatment of prisoners." Cassian said to the rest of the soldiers there. "These men have not even been proven guilty!" he roared again.

"But we are!" the kneeling man covered in blood said. The men around them could not believe their ears. "I killed that traitorous bastard!" the man confessed. He gritted his teeth in an ever-lasting grimace. Anger consumed him. "I fucking stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed again!" he said. "I stabbed him until my wrists hurt!"

"You confess, then?" Cassian asked him. Timaeus was impressed by his ability to restrain himself even as men around him had to be held back by their friends, otherwise they would have ripped the bloody man to pieces. 

"Aye, I did!" the man confessed again. "For you! For Syros! For House Mithrid!" he said. "I said your words, Lord Cassian! 'We Tend The Flame!', and then I fucking stabbed him!"

It looked as though Cassian himself would step forward and behead the man in sight of everyone. He held his scabbard like he was ready to unsheathe his sword and bring down the blade of justice. But then another man called out: "Mercy! My Lord, please! Please! Mercy!" Cassian stayed calm and listened to what he had to say. He was the man who laid on the ground earlier - the only one who wasn't a Mithrid soldier. "My father is a foolish man!" he cried out in pain and sadness.

"Foolish!?" the kneeling man roared. "I should have killed you too, boy!" he said. But he didn't dare put a hand on his son. Not in front of Cassian. The other men could hardly stand around him; they cried silently.

"I didn't do it!" the boy cried out, tears streaming down his bloodied cheeks, washing away the blood that had dried on his face. "Please, Lord Cassian, have mercy! Don't kill me - don't kill my father! He is foolish!" he cried, looking Cassian in the eyes. "PLEASE!"

"Did you see your father kill Onesimos?" he asked lightly, but Timaeus saw his grip tighten around his scabbard. It was perhaps the greatest insult that these men, Mithrid soldiers, had gone and committed murder in his name.

"No! I didn't see it!" the boy said. "I didn't see him do it! He told me to wait, and then I saw him with bloodied hands, and he told me to follow!"

"He was the lookout." his father said, smiling like he was proud. The other men still said nothing.

Hadrian leaned to speak with Cassian. "We can't hold a trial." Timaeus heard him say. There was no time for that. "Make your decision." he added. "I will stand with you regardless - We Tend The Flame." He saw them hold each others' wrists - the greeting of the Brotherhood of the Flame.

"Very well." Cassian spoke up. "The Creator will judge you." he said, handing the scabbard to Timaeus. His heart sunk for a moment, thinking he'd have to be the one to fight the men before him. [i]A trial by combat.[/i] Then Cassian unbuckled his breastplate and threw it aside, the red Rhumid sands clouding around it as it hit the ground. Soldiers gathered around them tossed a handful of weapons at the bloodied men - three swords and a bow with arrows. The man kneeling smiled, the rest had their faces washed away with despair. "Please, no!" the boy cried again.

"Give me your best four champions!" the kneeling man said. "I will gladly die - my work is done!"

"Stand, then!" Cassian said. Timaeus held out the gleaming scabbard and Cassian unsheathed the finest blade Timaeus had ever seen: Lawbringer. The pommel and grip were, together, the shape of a gavel. An eagle was perched on the top-end of the gavel; its spread wings formed the cross-guard; its head the rain-guard. And the blade glimmered like a star. Legend told that Mithreus himself wielded the sword, and that Adrasthea had given it to him.

"Please, mercy!" the boy cried another time. 

"Stand aside, boy." Cassian said. "You will not fight today." he declared. The boy stepped aside with tears in his eyes and watched as his father and his accomplices stood on wobbly legs, swords in their hands. Timaeus' blood ran hot with fear. [i]If my father dies...[/i]

"Name your champions, you ungrateful bastard!" the bloodied man roared. "I killed for you! I avenged Syros!"

"I name myself!" Cassian said and stepped forward, his red cloak dragging against the rusty soil. Hadrian stopped him, his hand on his shoulder. "I'll fight with you." Timaeus heard his uncle say, much to his relief. But his father declined the offer: "No need." he said. "The goddesses will judge the outcome of this fight. I could name a hundred men to fight these three, and a hundred men would fall, if they are innocent. It matters not that I fight alone."

Hadrian let him go. 

The men around them were silent, their eyes on Cassian. Timaeus' heart raced faster than it ever had before. "You stand accused of murdering Onesimos, patriarch of the Milatids." Cassian spoke loudly for all to hear. He slowly circled around the accused, Lawbringer in one hand. They were three men. One held a single sword, another - the one that knelt - carried two. The third man readied a bow. "If you are innocent, may Dryca grant you strength and guide your blade. If you are guilty, be damned!" Cassian said. "If I fall, let it be known it was the will of the Eight that these men lived, and no harm should come to the-"

"Shut up!"

The men with swords pounced before he was finished. One of them swung his sword wide in a swiping motion, while the other pondered where to plunge his. Cassian ducked under and to the side of the sweeping strike. He turned as he did and came up behind the man, facing his back. There was a loud screeching sound as another frantic swing ripped through Cassian's cloak, which fluttered about as he moved. It happened fast and the crowd was slow to react. For a moment Timaeus thought his father had been run through the belly.

"Behi-" Timaeus tried to warn his father, but Hadrian put his hand over his mouth. Cassian must have heard him though. He glanced behind him and saw the archer readying an arrow. The men with swords turned to face Cassian and the same man swung again. It was a high-swing this time. Cassian swung wide and smacked it aside with Lightbringer. Metal screamed against metal and the man's sword flew out of his hands. In one fluid motion, Cassian ducked under a swing from the other man and appeared behind the first. It was a blur of red from Timaeus' perspective. His father's cape veiled his movements and it seemed the men he fought were just as disoriented. When the cape settled again, he was behind one of the men with his arm around his neck, using him as a shield. The arrow whistled through the air and plunged into his human-shield, eliciting an agonizing scream from the man before Cassian slid his throat and silenced it.

The man with two swords turned to face Cassian after his first swing, confused. He swung again as frantic as before, but Cassian rolled away towards the man with the bow. The bowman was raising his bow again when Cassian brought Lawbringer down with all his might. The wooden bow snapped in two in an explosion of splinters. The man screamed in pain as splinters pierced his eyes and blood began to stream like red tears. Another swing sunk into the man's neck with so much force that Timaeus thought he heard the bones snap. And they had. Chunks of white bone flew through the air coated in blood that spattered the spectators before the man's lifeless body collapsed under its own weight.

Cassian turned again to face the man with two swords - the boy's father. "Please! Mercy!" the boy screamed from the crowd. "MERCY!" he cried. The man swung his swords like a butcher swung his hatchet. It was a hail of frantic strikes. He swung wide and Cassian skipped back to avoid it. Then he swung low, then high. He jabbed and swiped and kicked. Cassian jumped from side to side, ducking, rolling. Then their swords screeched like the eagles above them. Metal met metal and it rang throughout the camp. Again and again, their swords met. "Please! Mercy!" the boy cried from behind them. 

Then Cassian ducked under a swing and spun. His cape twirled about in the air like a red veil and it suddenly brushed against the man's face, blinding him. It was then that his belly split and his innards fell cradled in his arms. Cassian reappeared with a bloodied blade. The man's sword fell with a [i]cling[/i] as his collapsed on wobbly legs, screaming. The boy let out a bloodcurdling scream as he watched his father die. The man wanted to cry out but all that came forth was blood. "Creator have mercy on you." Cassian said, plunging his sword into the man's heart. The boy ran out from the crowd and swept a sword off the ground, raising it over his head mid-run. Cassian turned and plunged his sword into his stomach. The boy fell into his arms and he set him down gently. 

Had Timaeus blinked, he'd have missed it. Again, he thought his father had been cut down. He looked in shock as everything unfolded. He was shaking, his heart was racing. He had paled. But though he had seen a boy and three men cut down by Cassian, he was glad it had been them and not his father.

"I'm sorry." Timaeus heard him say to the dying boy. The boy reached for Cassian, grabbing his cloak and pulling it to no avail. He reached for Cassian's face like a blind man trying to feel what's in front of him. Cassian reached for something on his waist. The boy's eyes were going still when Cassian plunged a dagger in his heart. "I'm sorry." he said again, setting the boy down.

He stood, bloodied but unscathed. "Onesimos has been avenged." he said. Not happily though. Timaeus didn't think he even sounded certain. "Let these three rot." he told his soldiers, pointing at the men he fought against. "But burn the boy." he said. "He deserved better."

"We must inform the Milatids that justice has been served." Hadrian stepped up. He too looked saddened. "They'll want to know." he said. "Give them the murderer's body. Let them see that he is dead."

"Very well." Cassian agreed. "See to it that it is done."