[hider=A Small Rest for the Weary]

	Herona thought that perhaps she died after all. Perhaps her injuries were too much, and she was one of those unfortunate soldiers who died of their wounds after everything was already done with, like in the tragic stories the bards had recited. She could feel that this wasn’t heaven, and things didn’t hurt enough that she could call it hell, so she supposed she was in some kind of limbo, where she’d float around aimlessly like a wisp. Yet actually she was merely groggy from waking up from a less than pleasant day. As she began to slowly rub her eyes, she murkily saw someone was there.

“Who?” Herona said indolently. 

“Sir Gwladus,” she said.

She knew the name. It was the knight who’d saved her. Herona was beginning to see she wasn’t dead at all, though she wasn’t certain whether that was a blessing or not. She began to look around, and saw she was laying on the ground, on top or some sort of thick cotton, and had a warm blanket over her. She supposed she had survived after all, and now she was back at the encampment, resting in some tent. Her leg ached, but it felt better than she thought it was. She looked to the knight that was beside her. She didn’t know anything about her – hadn’t ever heard of her – other than she could fight well.

“Sir Gwladus, is it?” Herona said. “Well, it sure is fancy meetin’ ya here. I’m pleased to make ya’ acquaintance in a proper place. Herona’s the name. Thanks for lookin’ out for me all this time. I owe ya one.”

“No need.”

“Oh no, where I’m from it’s ‘an eye for an eye,’ whatever that means,” Herona said. “So again, thanks, ma’am. So looks like I’m still alive after all, eh?”

“You were fortunate,” Sir Gwladus said.

“Fortunate?” Herona said. It was not a word she’d used to describe herself right now. But then she realized she meant she was fortunate because she was alive. “Ah, ‘cause I survived. S’pose I’m fortunate, then. So thanks again, Sir Gwladus. I owe ya’ a drink.”

“Again, There’s no need,” Sir Gwladus said. “I only did the right thing.”

“I insist,” Herona said. “Soon’s the cash’s mine I’ll be right at it.”

Herona saw that there were many others around her, in worse shape than she was. Some were missing limbs, eyes; all sorts of things. All she got was a cut just above the knee. She rose the blankets off of herself and tried to raise herself, and she felt better than she thought she ought to, but it was heavy.

“I had a mage heal you, and the wound was not terrible,” Sir Gwladus said. “But you should not be too quick to run.”

“Thanks! Ya must be my own personal guardian spirit to do so much for me,” Herona said. “Why’d ya’ do it anyway, for someone you don’t know?”

“It was right,” Sir Gwladus said. “I could not just leave you.”

“Good enough for me,” Herona said. “And I’m better for it anyhow. But you can count on that drink, Sir Gwladus. I swear I’ll get it too in all due time.”

So with that said Herona rose herself. Gwladus was watching her carefully, but Herona had no problems with getting up. She felt sore, and there was still a little pain, but she was beginning to see that magic certainly had its benefits.
[/hider]

[hider=Rewards and Plans]

Lycaon stood next to his lieutenants Sir Daeleth and Sir Glynda from within his tent. As the general of this brigade he had a large and spacious tent, though the floor still was dirt. He and his general stood before a great wooden table which had lain on it a number of important scrolls of paper and had a detailed map of Formath rolled out and pinned to the table with many markings on it. To the side was a rack of weapons and a simple wool camp bed. Currently Lycaon was talking with his lieutenants on the Order’s next move. Sir Glynda had gone over statistics for their recruiting chances across the Kingdom. She was pessimistic, and not without reason.

“Our recruiters have gone over the kingdom once already, making the number of possible recruits considerably smaller. Add in the fact that many men and women have been conscripted into the de Reimer, Blackwell, and Manshrew armies already, and our prospects look even bleaker,” Sir Glynda said. “And it is fair to say that Syphius, where the bulk of our soldiers came from, will not have many new prospects to speak of.”

“You worry too much, Glynda. Lycaon, those reinforcements we need will certainly arrive,” Sir Daeleth said. “If there’s one thing I know about the people of this land it is that they are hardy, and don’t turn away from a good fight, especially when you put religion in the mix. And religion is our business.”

“What do you think, lord?” Sir Glynda said.

“Pray,” Lycaon said.

“Milord?” Sir Glynda said. “Are you joking?”

“Will fortune favor us?” Lycaon said. “We cannot know. We must have faith not only in the gods, but in the people. We will recruit regardless. We must have new blood, or we will not have reinforcements. And if we do not have reinforcements, our future shall die before it has even been born.”
Sir Sayer then entered, with a pair of guards at his side along with a troupe of other men and women who looked far wearier and wounded. They were an odd collection of knights clad in plate armor and lowborn peasants who wore little armor in comparison.

“You arrive at last, Sir Sayer,” Lycaon said.

“Yes, milord,” Sir Sayer said. “And for such an occasion!”

Laying on the table behind was a small, well-crafted box dark brown in color. Sir Daeleth opened it up, revealing that it was filled with many small silver medals octagon in shape.

“Soldiers of the Order of Saint Elenor, by the testimony of your fellow men-in-arms you have been shown to be true warriors. The gods have blessed you with strength and courage, and with right judgement you have acted upon your virtues, for many of our foes were felled by your hands,” Sir Lycaon said. “And such acts must be given the proper honors. I present to each of you the Silver Medal, given to true and mighty warriors who fight on behalf of the Church. But if your tastes lie elsewhere, you will receive not only prestige for your honors. I will see to it that the wages for each of you is raised for this month. And I can assure you this payment is not a small advance.”

Then Sir Sayer named each of the veterans one by one, signaling for them to come forward. From the small box Sir Glynda grabbed a medal, and then Lycaon put it over each’s head. A peasant woman, introduced as Herona, was the last of those who were given their medal. She bowed her head as Lycaon gave it to her.

“If any of you have any reasonable requests I will be happy to oblige in repayment of your honor,” Lycaon said.

“If you please, m’lord, I’d like some five pieces of silver,” Herona said. “I’d like to take a friend o’ mine to a drink, you see, m’lord.”

Herona felt the viciousness of the glares on her, like the stare of her baron, though it was like there was a dozen of him staring down at her now. Then she realized that his asking such was probably a bluff, a “formality,” as the high folk loved to put it. But how could she have known? His words sounded so earnest. She wasn’t privy to this sort of show. Yet Lycaon was not bothered by her request.. He tossed her a gold coin, and despite a bit of stumbling she caught it as it came soaring through the air.

“Do not mind the change. It would not be worth the effort for you to return it,” Lycaon said. “Now, brave heroes, you are excused. I will be leaving you now. You and your friends shall stay awhile to tend to your wounds and rest, but I am needed elsewhere.”

And with that said, Lycaon left the camp alone. He went to the stables quietly, where there was a small troupe of knights. Lycaon and they grabbed the fastest horses his Order had brought along and left. Sir Daeleth and Sir Glynda then informed the officers of Lycaon’s speedy departure and his intention to allow the men to rest, and told them to pass the information along to the soldiers.
[/hider]

[hider=The Grandmaster’s Return Home]

Lycaon and the few knights that he had taken with him had hurried on to Nyhem. He had no doubt that he’d have plenty to do once he arrived. The call for the bishops of the land to gather in Nyhem and elect a new High Priest or Grand Cleric had already been sounded for the battle, and no doubt they had already mostly arrived. It would be disastrous if things did not go as he hoped. The very reason he had Mildred eliminated was because she was so exasperating. She was greedy, satisfied with the status quo, and far too clever. Once Bishop Irenaeus, loyal and quiet as he was, was on the Holy See then Lycaon could be sure his plans would go as planned. Yet there was still the problem of the heretics. Lycaon knew the danger they could pose. Unlike the wine sacks who stood aloft in their castles and palaces, Lycaon had seen the discontent of the people firsthand. With the tyranny of the mad king, two civil wars in a row, another war with the Blackwells just around the corner, high taxes, and abuses of power from both priest and aristocrat, their grievances were many, and Lycaon knew that many of them might follow any fool whose ideas half-aligned with their own. He needed to work fast in order to prevent Johannia’s ilk from spreading. There were already her sympathizers running amuck through the provinces.

All that would have to wait, however, for now. He had no choice but take things one step at a time. Lycaon was not barred by the gate guards, and he quickly rode into the city. Lycaon turned to the attachment of knights he had brought with him as protection and excused them, and commanded them to return to headquarters. He continued to ride quickly, though not so quickly that he would bump into the hustle and bustle of the city, which would only slow him down even     more. Some in the city recognized him and greeted him, and he waved back at them. Yet then he returned to his ride, making them aware he had other places to be.

Lycaon arrived at a large mansion, very much standing out in the neighborhood in which it stood. This place was his home in Nyhem, lavishly made, newly-built, and did not quite yet feel like home. Lycaon pulled the reins on his horse and stopped the steed, alerting the two knights of the Order of Saint Elenor who guarded his house, but they were caught by surprise and saluted when they saw who it was. 

“Sir, you’ve returned!” they said.

“Indeed,” Lycaon said. “See to it that this horse does not run away, for I will be needing it. And one of you I will need to return to headquarters. Bishop Irenaeus and Bishop Leonellius will need to know that I have returned. You no doubt have no idea where they are, but headquarters will. And make sure that you inform me of your success.”

“Yes sir!” they said. “Shall we alert her ladyship of your presence?” one asked.

“No,” Lycaon said. “I shall go to meet Felise myself.”

He opened up the door easily enough. He had a key for it, as this was his house. As he opened the door the maid who was in the main hall sweeping looked at him with surprise at first, but then bowed. They exchanged the proper pleasantries, but Lycaon told her to continue with her duties. She offered to alert to his wife Felise, but Lycaon was intent on doing it himself. So she told him the room she was in, and Lycaon walked in that direction. This place still did not feel like home. Lycaon entered the room he had been told Felise was in. It was a room filled with servants all at work at their spinsters. Yet they had all risen for their posts, and as he opened the door Felise was there to greet him.

“You were expecting me,” Lycaon said.

“A suit of plate is hardly fitting for sneaking about,” Felise said.

Then she leaned towards him, and they kissed.

“The house has been lonelier without you,” Felise said.

“And the road is lonelier without you,” Lycaon said. “But at least for now I will not be leaving Nyhem.”

“Even if that is true, I know you won’t simply be lounging around here with me,” Felise said. “Bishops from all four corners of the kingdom have been coming in, ready to elect a new leader for our holy church. It’d be all people could talk about, were the civil war not at its zenith. ”

“They say companionship heals loneliness,” Lycaon said. “To have you introduced to the King’s court shall be no problem. You are of noble blood, and married into noble blood. And I am sure that ”

“I am no longer a sixteen year-old maiden,” Felise said.

“But your beauty and charm hasn’t faded,” Lycaon said.

“Only you were ever impressed by my charm,” Felise said. “Putting that aside, where does your day now send you to, Lycaon? A bishop, or perhaps some official that needs some coaxing?”

“Soon, but not now,” Lycaon said. “We can finally have some time alone.”



It was over an hour later when Lycaon finally met with one of the Bishops. He sat in the dining hall alone with a man named Leonellius. Nearly seventy years old and a bishop of thirty-five years, he was well-versed in every art and skill a bishop would ever need to partake in, and he was well-respected by about every bishop in the kingdom, at least publicly. He knew Lycaon’s plans for the Chuch, and was one of his most staunch and competent allies, supporting even those plans which Lycaon dared not utter publicly, but he had no desire for power himself. He was also a friend, who Lycaon met many times in his youth in his father’s court. 

“Grandmaster, it is a pleasure,” Bishop Leonellius said. “You are the first to return to Nyhem after the battle that I know of.”

“I did not march with an army,” Lycaon said. “And I returned as quickly as I could. But many bishops arrived before I could return. So tell me, while you have been here and I have been away, what have you seen?”

“Not much,” Bishop Leonellius said. “As things have not gone completely well. It is a blessing of the gods that we have managed to keep secular affairs out of our own. Whether the land is de Reimer, Manshrew, or Blackwell, the bishops have arrived. Bishops from Uzgob and even Telmarion have arrived. Still, the war has been disruptive. Some bishops whose sees have been turned into battlefields have arrived nonetheless, but they arrive late, and some have not arrived at all yet. Still we wait. And there are some who have no excuse at all for not arriving. Bishops from Ralda and Cawanor, who should have arrived already, are nowhere in sight. And Bishop Marko, who was here in Nyhem just a few days ago, is nowhere to be seen. The same goes for that theologian, Avicebrol. It seems she went with Marko. So for now we have been having nothing but idle debates, which mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

“And I trust Bishop Irenaeus is in the favorite as the choice for next High Priest,” Lycaon said.

“As the bishop of Nyhem and your chosen favorite he is naturally the frontrunner,” Bishop Leonellius said. “But you had better expect a fight, Lycaon. There are many bishops here who do not appreciate your influence here. They see you as a mage-sympathizer and an innovator against tradition.”

“And I would expect nothing less,” Lycaon said. “But now is a time of urgency, and with the advent of the Johannians I think they know it. They will want a leader, and they will feel the pressure to give in. And my opponents are not united. They have nothing to stand for, other than their dislike for me.”

“One day they will have unity, Lycaon,” Bishop Leonellius said.

“But not today,” Lycaon said. “For now I will trust in you to see to it that Bishop Irenaeus becomes High Priest.”

“I will, to the best of my abilities,” Bishop Leonellius. “I hope that we achieve a majority immediately, otherwise this will get ugly.”

“I can only leave it to you,” Lycaon said. “Though I feel that we will. Change is in the air.”

“Yes, Grandmaster,” Bishop Leonellius said. “Though it is exactly that sort of talk that makes so much of the bishops dislike you.” 

[/hider]

[hider=The Order Returns]

Sir Daeleth stood at the head of the brigade of the Order of Saint Elenor as they marched on towards the capital, the pages who stood at the front at the edges of the first rank blowing loud on their trumpets, announcing their approach to the city. Also at the front were the two flagbearers, one bearing the holy flag and the other depicting the emblem of the Kingdom of Formaroth. The knights were in the front, standing atop their armored horses, and were followed by the militia behind them. Sir Daeleth rode alongside Sir Sayer. Sir Glynda had not joined them, and had gone to give their friend Sir Raeya a proper burial. They too had tried to give their friend a proper sending off, but in a different way. Sir Glynda dealt with the graveness of death and burial, while they celebrated with merriment, taking a detour to the city of Telmarion. Sir Daeleth could no longer remember much of it. The band began to play on their instruments as they approached the gates of Nyhem. Daeleth had met with this band personally, but only knew some of them, and others seemed only vaguely familiar. He vaguely remembered a lieutenant telling him that they had managed to convince some local Telmarion musicians to join them by offering an exorbitant amount of money. Most of the night in Telmarion he did not remember. He remembered joining Sir Sayer at a tavern. There were a number of Telmarion taverns that their units filled, with those who knew Raeya and those who served under her taking a few drinks in her honor. But he had joined with Sir Sayer. The event was very teary and heartfelt at first, and then became very rowdy and wild. The last thing Daeleth remembered was him getting into a drinking contest after he slighted his ability to hold down alcohol, the rules being whoever was down first was the loser. It apparently was a draw. The mourning went well into morning, and the soldiers had apparently caused quite a ruckus. An officer had reassured him that technically there had been no deaths, but Daeleth did not find this reassuring.

Both that night and the hangover it produced were long gone, now, and it was finally time for them to have a little rest after a long travel. The band continued to play jubilantly as they marched through the street, the people looking wide-eyed at them as they passed them by. It was then that they dispersed. They had already been given maps designating their proper location. Some units were to be sent to manors belonging to associates of the Order, some were to be sent to fill inns that had already been reserved before, and some were to lodge with residents friendly with the order. Daeleth had informed the officers that if any of them got lost and ended at the wrong place there would have hell to pay.

Herona marched with Sir Sayer’s unit, along with Sir Gwladus, into an inn. Sir Sayer was the first to enter, standing tall and spirted in his suit of plate armor, standing so fearsomely that none of his men dared to cause a ruckus as they entered. Sir Sayer walked over to the barwoman, and in a gregarious voice announced their arrival to her, as if she were not aware already, and gave her his thanks. The men were already taking their seats at the tables that were set out. Herona had her mind set on joining them.

“Now’s a good a time as any to get ya’ that drink I promised ya’,” Herona said, turning to Sir Gwladus, who merely nodded.
[/hider]