[hider=A Holy Meeting]

Lycaon had arrived at the new High Priest’s chambers, ready to discuss the issues at hand. He was eager to establish strong relations with the new leader of the Church. He did not know how much of a puppet he could make of this new High Priest, but he needed him firmly on his side. He had thought he had eliminated Bernarda’s influence from within the Church, but he had learned that that was far from the case. He knew Bernarda opposed him at almost every move, and hated him fiercely, and she had instrumental in electing the new High Priest. He needed this Clovis to become one of his.

“I have heard great things about you, Grandmaster Lycaon, from many people,” Clovis said.

“Thank you, your holiness,” Lycaon said in his clear and pristine voice without a hint of emotion. “I do not wish to waste your time, so I shall be quick with my words. The Emperor Alasdair has seen it fit to name head of the Inquisition.”

“Only the Church itself has such authority over such things,” Clovis said. “But it is good, 

“Yet his majesty, trusting in myself so much, has seen me fit to root out the heretics which lie among us,” Lycaon said without a hint of passion or emotion in his words. “And the Church, supporting his majesty’s loyalty to the gods, shall accept his appointment of myself. Yet the Inquisition is an arm of the Church, and its authority lies not only in the lands of de Reimer, but also to the lands of Blackwell, Sutharlan, and Raeldar, to all lands of the faithful.”

“Haha, why, of course, Lycaon, of course,” Clovis said. “That is only proper after all! But what has this to do with me? I support your appointment, of course.”

“This is a strange era for the Church, your Majesty, and for all of Formaroth,” Lycaon said in a soft voice, yet the emotion in his voice slightly greater than normal. “Heretics wander the land, kings rise and fall with the tide, and the Church has done but naught for the land. It is not right. The people, in their foolishness, shall think they have been abandoned, if we leave them to rot.”

“Aye, I have seen it,” Clovis said. “There are things to do, many things. But what did you have in mind?”

“In order to combat against the licentiousness of this world we must use the full power of the Inquisition,” Lycaon said. “We must root out the fallen among the nobles, even among the kings. And we must root out the villain heretics who lie among the people, just as we root out snakes. Heretics are a disease, and like any disease we must see them eliminated. And we must look to ourselves as well. There are those within us who have allowed the Church to grow corrupt and licentious. They must be brought to justice. This shall not make us weaker, but stronger. We shall emerge once again as the light of the Formaroth.”

“Indeed, indeed! I have always longed for a great renewal, and now it shall happen! It is what we deserve, what all Formaroth deserves. Did you know that I was once one of the Priests of Timtos? I was a priest as much as any other god’s priest, but we were different. Indeed, we were taught to be warriors, to worship the fight. It was not until I was made a bishop that I realized how fat and lazy these bishops were. And the philosophers are the worst of the lot, even worse than the droll theologians. Oh, how they talk, and talk, and talk! They are just like the mages, except useless. They go through books and can summarize the contents of holy books and elven tomes by memory, but what use is that? But this talk of an Inquisition, this I like. The Church has been wanting too long for a good crusade, and this shall be what we need.”

“I had not known you had been a priest of Timtos,” Lycaon said in a sweet tone with these hollow words, hinting at him to tell him more.

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t. Most, I know, had never heard of me. And why would they? I am not one of them, truly. I learned the ancient art when I was a boy, and I fought. But alas, my god in those days was scarcely worshipped, and Formaroth saw not even a single war or conflict of note when I was in my youth, and so I dedicated my life to training, ceremony, and rites. Then I was made a bishop at thirty-five, the customary age. I was only priest of Timtos to be made a bishop, the only one in three generations actually, but the bishops appreciated my piety and my speaking voice it seems. And the people loved me. I think I was only the bishop who fought in the war. I forget how many of Heylot’s dogs I flayed, but it was plenty I’m sure. This war, however, I have not fought in. It would not be right. But, Lycaon, that is all who I am. There is many things I could tell you about the war, but I will not boast of myself to you.”

“So now we are properly acquainted, your holiness,” Lycaon said, his emotionless voice as soft as milk. “And let all these be known. Your words hold power, they are the words of the gods. Let your condemnation be heard, in a holy encyclical. Today are there many things to be condemned. The heresies shall be condemned again, but it shall be with new power when the condemnation comes from the new High Priest. We shall condemn the corruptions that exist within our holy Church, whether they be material and spiritual corruption. We shall condemn the belief that magic is evil, from the Three1, or anything else of the sort. We shall reiterate the Church’s great responsibilities in Formaroth, as well as the place of the Inquisition and the militant holy orders.”

“It shall be done, Lycaon,” Clovis said. “And I can tell this will be a good encyclical, one that will be remembered for a long time. I can feel it, a new age is coming for the Church!”

Lycaon gave Clovis a smile, pronounced yet seemingly unnerving at the edges. “Yes, your holiness, it shall be a new age for the Church. A new golden age for mankind is coming.”

“Grandmaster Lycaon, your words have been truly wise and well-thought,” Clovis said with an air of seriousness. “With the power invested in me by the Divine Church and by the gods, I shall do all I can to ensure that this edifice of the gods continues with the rigor of the past.”

“Thank you, your holiness,” Lycaon said. “I now leave you. I have taken up enough of your time. I imagine that you shall be very busy. I shall send you some who will help with this encyclical. It shall be a most perfect document.”

“Yes, Lycaon,” Clovis said. “I appreciate the help.”

Lycaon had left High Priest Clovis’ chambers with a feeling that everything had gone well. It seemed that Clovis was as much as Lycaon could hope for. He was eager to renew the Church in Lycaon’s way, and he was happy to see the undesirables within the Church removed and marginalized. He would be a High Priest that Lycaon could use very well. As he left Clovis’ chambers his lieutenant Ser Glynda was outside, still waiting for him.

“Grandmaster,” Ser Glynda said. “How did it fair?”

“Well,” Lycaon said. “The High Priest shall be one of ours, as loyal as any. He shall help us lead the Church to its future. And you, Glynda, shall have much to discuss with him.”

“Grandmaster, of course,” Glynda said. “Still…if I may say so, there are things about his holiness that leave much to be desired.”

“What have you learned?” Lycaon said. His voice gave away that he was curious but not concerned.

“I have kept an eye on him, as you told me to,” Glynda said. “And there is much I learn almost immediately. He drinks much, and he has other vices as well. Worse ones, I would say. Most of the bishops came with a retinue of others from their churches, but Clovis’ retinue was very different from any bishops’ retinue I had ever heard of. He mostly brought women, and they were no nuns, however they were dressed. Most have remained with him. One of them got too close, and was on her way to his holiness’ chamber, but ran off when she saw me.”

“He has brought his girls with him,” Lycaon said.

“It would be rude, I suppose, to name them his whores,” Glynda said.

“We say only blessings for his name,” Lycaon said, his voice and face unreadable. “He is High Priest of the Divine Church.”

“Of that I do not doubt,” Glynda said. “Yet to do these things still, even as he holds that office…”

“The failings of a single man do matter in grand scheme of things,” Lycaon said.

“Still, it is does not bode well with me,” Glynda said.

“I imagine. But he is High Priest. It was not I that made him so. Yet it is so, we must work with him, and count ourselves lucky that he is of one mind with us. You will have to work with him often in the future, so even if you cannot like him, you must bear both him and his vices,” Lycaon said, unmoved as always.

“Well, he seems to prefer his women young and pretty, so at least I am safe in that regard,” Glynda said.

“Until he is deep in his cup,” Lycaon said. “Come, Ser Glynda. There are other things we must concern ourselves with.”

1. A phrase referring to the three evil deities, Giphine, Hizreus, and Hystix.

[/hider]

[hider=The Grandmaster Delegates his Responsibilities]

Lycaon walked through the halls of the Nyhem Headquarters of his Grand Order of Saint Elenor, and went into the open halls where he gazed onto the long greenery in which his grizzled sergeants drilled the soldiers. As he walked with Ser Glynda by his side already, Ser Sayer and Ser Oswyn met him there.

“Grandmaster,” Ser Sayer said. “How was the party?”

“It has brought revelations,” Lycaon said. “Alasdair has declared himself Emperor of Formaroth.”

“By the great god Timtos!” Ser Sayer said. “Then no King shall be long safe from his wrath.”

“That all the wise can see,” Lycaon said. “It is a symbolic gesture, but bold nonetheless. This means that the Snake means to turn on the Blackwells faster than expected. However, our plans shall remain the same. The heretics are still our main concern. No greater threat to the Church can exist than Johannia’s scions. We shall continue to recruit, and stamp out their unholy beliefs. Our brothers in the Order of Zacarias shall deal with the south, and Ser Daeleth is already in the Blackwell’s lands. The rest of you must oversee the remaining of Formaroth. 

"Ser Oswyn, you shall head to our headquarters in Orog. I leave our Order and all its authority and influence east of Orog and north of Thralreth in your command. Take care to gain the favor of the Cult of Erena. Our spies tell us the heretics are weak in Orog, Legon, and Nash, and weakest in Iruladdun, but stronger in Windermere and Cawanor, and are stronger in Ralda than anywhere else in Formaroth. Johannia’s foul tracts always appear first in Ralda before being disseminated elsewhere, so our spies deduce she is somewhere there. Find her, even if you have to turn the province inside out. Avoid the Summer Isles, and stay out of the business of the Circle and their mages.”

“Ser Sayer, you shall have the east under your jurisdiction. Everything east of Sypius and north of Telmarion shall be your jurisdiction. Our spies tell us these regions are thick with heresy now. It is worse in Glarmion than it is in Rathikun and Coruneon, but it is the worst in Uzgob. An old preacher named Fenick has turned many to darkness, and many among the Uzgob tribes have already sworn themselves to his cause. He must be eliminated.”

“I shall be leaving Nyhem. I have been gone from the people for too long, and it is time that I join them once again. Firstly, I must return home. Yet there is much to be done here in Nyhem still. I leave the duties of the headquarters here in Nyhem to you, Ser Glynda. It is no small task. You shall deal with all matters of administration and recruitment in the capital, and you shall meet with the King and his court as my emissary when it is necessary. These are your orders. Follow them dutiful, carry out my will, and remember my purpose.”

“I will serve faithfully, Grandmaster,” Ser Oswyn said. “The east shall hear your voice.”

“You have filled all my desires, Grandmaster,” Ser Sayer said. “Our Order shall thunder down on to the west.”

“And I wish you all a hearty farewell,” Ser Glynda said. “It seems that the politics have been left to myself.”

[/hider]

[hider=The End of a Soldier’s Respite]

Ever since the riot Herona had stayed in the headquarters of the Holy Order of Saint Elenor. She had been training, and Gwladis had been teaching her. Gwladis still managed to surprise her even after everything she had seen. There were all sorts of tricks she knew. They weren’t flashy or pretty things, not anything at all like the moves people loved to see in the tournies and melees, but Herona had seen enough of war to know that all of that was pretty useless. What Gwladis taught was simple but clever, subtle but decisive, and it kept you alive and killed the other person. Gwladis had taught her to care more about speed than strength, but Herona had already known that. It was nothing like at a tourney, it actually helped in a fight. There had been a fight recently in the arena, and a full crowd went to see it. That made Herona wonder whether the world had gone insane. Apparently a war and a riot hadn’t been enough war for them, they needed to watch two fools play at war. Gwladis’ tricks were better than their’s anyway.

Herona’s mind was wondering. She was wont to do that. Often she thought of strange things or of nothing at all. It felt better that way. She was practicing with Gwladis right now. It was with the axe. Gwladis had an axe too, though Gwladis always fought a sword. A sword, Herona knew, was the weapon of the knights like Gwladis and her father. She had taught her much. She taught her that if she was learning to fight with an axe there was no point in training while fighting with a sword. This applies to many situations. She taught Herona also how to avoid the bad thoughts, the things that made you suffer when you thought about it. For instance, she could only think about fighting in terms of how she would fight to live another day and not in any other sense. She must learn to detach herself completely, to be completely numb.

“To me,” Gwladis ordered.

Herona did. She came towards Gwladis with her axe just as Gwladis had taught her. Herona did not know if she was a quick learner or a slow learner. Gwladis never said so, and was of few words anyhow. Gwladis was always just a little faster and stronger than Herona, and so she always eventually defeated Herona in their training brawls. It did not matter much to Herona, however. These bouts were not about pride. If she had any pride then it did not matter here. Herona did not think herself very prideful. Knights say they would rather die than run and damage their pride and honor. Herona did not understand this. Fighting was about surviving. Herona struck her axe at Gwladis in the way she had been instructed, and her axe had never felt quicker and lighter than now. Gwladis, as always, overmatched her, and Herona tumbled to the ground. Then Gwladis offered Herona her hand, and Herona took the hand.

“Good,” Gwladis said. “Again. Quicker.”

They continued to practice. However, eventually there came an officer to them and the rest of their fellow soldiers. They all went to attention, and he ordered them to stand in formation. They did, though Gwladis stood at the side because she was not really one of them, since she was a knight. Then there entered a man in plate armor, taller and more muscular than any other man there. From his great black beard Herona recognized him as Ser Sayer. He was Gwladis’ father.

“This is them?” Ser Sayer said.

“Yes sir!” the officer said. “This battalion has been gifted to your command.”

“Attention, you lot!” Ser Sayer said. “You’re coming with me. The heretics may’ve assailed us now, but we’ll get them yet! You’re marching west with me. I know we were just there, but this time it shall be different. We shall march east again, and we will not return until all the heretics’ have fallen, and we are victorious!”
[/hider]

[hider=Daeleth Arrives South]

Daeleth had finally arrived at the northern edge of Alenius’ forest. This place was a prosperous mining town called Calois, and for now it was being used a waystation for recruits into the Order of Saint Elenor. People from all over Alenius were now coming here in order to join the fight against the heretics, following a call to arms from Lycaon and the Church. In the de Reimer Kingdom there was no danger in this, as there was direct agreement with Alasdair, but this was Blackwell territory. There was no law preventing people from joining a religious order, nor could such a law stand, whoever held the crown. Nonetheless, Daeleth knew that it could be expected that there would be some kind of trouble with the Blackwells eventually. Hopefully it would not result in anything too troublesome. He could not expect it would be easy to deal with Eli and his sisters. Except for the little one. Daeleth remembered her name was Naomi. He supposed she was still cowering in fear of every shadow after her assassination attempt. She was only a gentle flower, he had heard, of no threat to anyway, and of no concern to him.

Daeleth wasn’t that interested in political intrigue anyways. Here in Calois he would gain soldiers and, more importantly, reinforcements. He came into Calois on horseback, his horse covered in steel scales, followed by a company of the heavy cavalry of the Order of Saint Elenor. Their banner and emblems was recognized by the villagers as belonging to the Church, many of who welcomed them into town. This was a pious town, after all. Daeleth and his knights went towards the town’s large church. As they did, they were approached by a woman dressed in the white robe of one of the Healers of Leplo. 

“Knights! Welcome to Calois,” she said. “You were sent to check on our progress, correct? We have done very well, better than expected even, considering the poor condition our Kingdom’s is this day. But come, see for yourself. Leave your horses, we’ll find room for them in the stables. Pay no heed for that, honorable sir. I’m sure the encampment will be to your liking.”

“I have no doubts about that,” Daeleth said. “Now, priest, so me to this encampment of yours.”

“Come with me,” she said. “The Captain will be glad to hear that you have made your appearance.”

Daeleth entered into the camp, and the priestess led him to the largest tent in the camp. There he saw a saw several men dressed in the steel armor of the Knights of the Order. They were all gathered before a table, in a discussion over a map of Alenius pinned to the table that had markings all over it. These men, Daeleth was sure, were the officers in command of this garrison. When they saw Daeleth enter, however, they turned towards him. Though all had their eyes on him, one man in particular approached the two of them.

“Priestess,” he said. “Who is this that you’ve brought to us this time?”

“This is none other than the Grand Commander himself,” the priestess said.

At once he and the others quickly went into a disciplined salute. “Sir, I had no idea that you had arrived!”

“As it should be,” Daeleth said. “Perhaps even the Blackwells are unaware of my presence.”

“If you couldn’t guess it already, this is the captain,” the priestess said. “Don’t be too hard on him, sir. He’s done his work well here.”

“We’ll see about that, priestess. So tell me, captain,” Daeleth said. “There are other places of ours other than this place. They’re not encampments as this place is, but they belong to the Order just the same. Have you managed to keep in contact with them?”

“Yes, sir!” he said. “We have all kept in clear contact with each other. Couriers are constantly be sent between all five sites, and there is a constant stream of information being sent between us. We would know something was amiss very quickly as a result.”

“And your supply line?” Daeleth said.

“The Church from within Alenius and in the neighboring provinces continually send us supplies. So far, his Majesty has not bothered us. We are just holy men being sent supplies by the Church, after all. I am sure his Majesty is busy with matters of the state, and will leave to us the task of dispatching the heretics.”

There was a brief silence between both of them, until at last Daeleth said. “You’ve done well, captain. Now that I know all of that, I think I can be a little at ease.”

The captain breathed a sigh of relief.

“But I can’t be too much at ease,” Daeleth said. “The Blackwell’s, I wager, won’t take it well when they see a number of idle encampments steadily growing. The heretic threat, however, is a threat they shall understand, even if they don’t care. So it’s time you start the hunt. Find the heretics, make them repent, and kill them when they don’t. You know the drill. You’re thinking you don’t know where to start, I know. Take the priestess here. I’m sure she’ll have plenty of advice. I’m not asking you to root out every single heretic. You probably won’t have much luck finding the average unbeliever, but finding the loudest ones in the largest towns should be easy. They should be easy enough to apprehend. And if you can’t catch them, at least drive them into the wilderness. Make sure you patrol regularly, and take plenty of men with you. Remember the priests. They are spies, are informants. They see much, and hear much more. Tell this to the other camps as well. These commands come straight from the Grandmaster himself. I’ll leave it to you, captain.”

“Yes sir!”

With that said, Daeleth lifted open the entrance to the officer’s tent and went back outside, with the priestess again following him.

“So, are all of our Grandmaster’s plans in motion now, sir?” the priestess said.

“Not quite,” Daeleth said. “I’ll need to see how things are going at Mercy.”

“Then you shall be leaving for the capital?” the priestess said.

“So it would seem,” Daeleth said. “And I shall make a most excellent captive for his Majesty. I suppose I’ll stay here for the night. I suppose my men will revolt if I don’t let them have a single night in the inn.”

“I’m sure you don’t have to worry about King Eli, sir” the priestess said. “There is no need for his Majesty to worry, as we are loyal subjects of his.”

“I have no doubt,” Daeleth said. “And I’m sure Eli will be equally understanding.”

[/hider]

[hider=The Warning]

Rhodanthe may have been able to successfully leave Nyhem, and perhaps she had outwitted the churchmen in that respect, but when she had left she had no idea of the hardships that they would have had to face. They had brought the essentials with them when they left. Anything more than food, money, and clothes would’ve just bogged them down. Even so, they were now running out of food quickly, and Rhodanthe didn’t know what she was supposed to do. God had a plan for her, but what exactly was it? She couldn’t tell, couldn’t divine it, she might say now. They had camped outside a small village for the time being. They had been refused entry into the village itself. They’d let some of them in if they wanted to buy things, and said a few of them could stay at an inn if they could afford it, but the village headmen made it clear that they didn’t want them burdening their village. Yet they had never even given them a chance. It was what enraged Rhodanthe the most, that village after village and town after town turned them away because they would be a “burden” and they were “outsiders.” That was often far more important than the fact they were “heretics.”

The biggest threat to them was always Lycaon’s soldiers from his “Holy” Order. Most of them weren’t knights. Some of them were clad in leather armor and had a buckler and axe or club as their weapon. Many others, however, wore chainmail and wielded a kite shield and a spear or mace. Rhodanthe shivered even just thinking of these men. They were just the same as the men who captured her during the riot, just as vicious, just as violent, just as crazed, and just as tenacious. The only difference was one was called a “heretic” and one was called a “holy warrior.” The real knights, however, were the worst of all. They were cold, like the steel helmets which hid their faces, and Rhodanthe could have sworn they were not men at all, but devils made by Hystix himself. It seemed most of those who had come with Rhodanthe had once trusted Lycaon as their savior, but she couldn’t understand why. She only saw a murderer and tyrant. They couldn’t fight back, not against steel. For now, what all they could do was run from them, for all the good it did them. Many of her own had died in their attacks, and their numbers were dwindling rapidly. Yet she swore that for every one of her own that Lycaon took, she would respond in kind. Not today or tomorrow, perhaps not even a year from now, but one day she would have her revenge.

“Somethin’ on ya mind?” Barristan said as he approached her. He had helped a great deal with Rhodanthe, since he knew a lot more about leadership than she could hope to. His name was Olivier, but he had been a barman back in Nyhem. He was her chief advisor, as well as her emissary, so it wasn’t right to call him Olivier. That would have gotten him confused with their enemy, Oliver de Reimer. At first her people had gone to calling him Barman, but that was too simple, so instead they started calling him Barristan. It sounded grander, and he didn’t mind it, but he knew it wasn’t the correct usage of the word.

“There’s always somethin’,” Rhodanthe said. “I reckon we should get goin’ soon, shouldn’t we?”

“Well, I wouldn’t wanna run into any more knights,” Olivier said. “Sooner’s always better to get goin’ than later.”

“How’s everyone?” Rhodanthe said with a tone of worry and anxiety in her voice.

“Better than expected, all things considerin’,” Olivier said. “I was surprised myself how good our hunts’ went, so we’ve got enough food to last us for now. Though not for much longer.”

It was just then that someone else came up to them. Rhodanthe recognized him. It was one of their scouts, who was quick, sneaky, and knew how to get away when things got bad. Rhodanthe knew that his name was Alan. 

“Prophet,” Alan said. “Bad news.  Large amount of troops spotted not far from here, going straight here. Don’t seem to be fans o’ us.”

“Lycaon’s thugs?” Rhodanthe said, standing up as he spoke.

“Not judgin’ by their banners,” Alan said. “Oliver’s men, the men reckon, and a lot of ‘em. They’ll be here soon. Sorry, that’s all we got.”

“Thanks, Alan,” Rhodanthe said. “You did well.”

“So where’s this leave us now?” Barristan said.

“How close’re they, Alan?” Rhodanthe said.

“Real close. They’re not here yet,” Alan said. “But they’ll be on us ‘fore we can pick up our camp and be on our way.”

“Well, we’ve got our work cut out for us then,” Rhodanthe said.

“I’ll try to figure something out with the priests,” Barristan said. “Meantime you go and meet ‘em.”

“M-me!” Rhodanthe said. “Alone?”

“You’re our leader and prophet, ain’t you?” Barristan said. “Besides, they’ll wanna talk before they attack. Oliver is like that.”
[/hider]

[hider=A Temporary Resolution]

Many of the strongest and best armed of the refugees had gathered together at the head of their campsite. Even so, they were far from an impressive sight, clothed as they were in ragged garments and armed only with clubs and short yew bows. Rhodanthe stood at the front of them all. When they arrived they had all welcome her and praised her as the true prophet of the gods, even though they were very anxious, nervous, and fearful. It was still very strange for her, that she was now being herald by them as messiah and prophet. True, she had her divine episodes, which she never remembered, but she didn’t feel any different from any of them. They at one point had called her “Matriarch,” but Rhodanthe couldn’t handle the idea of old men call her that, and made them drop it. She would preferred for them to simply call her Leader, but it didn’t stick with them, and so they started calling her Prophet. It was awkward for her. For the first time in her life she felt meek, just when she couldn’t afford to be. She needed to be strong, somehow. She also needed to be smart, which she felt was even harder. She had always been impulsive. If she hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.

Then they saw the men approach. They were numerous, and armed with swords, lances, and halberds, and armored in plate and chainmail, some of them being mounted on armored horses. For the refugees they were certainly an intimidating sight, though luckily it was only the bravest and strongest-willed who had come up to meet them. For her part Rhodanthe wanted nothing to do with them. She might very well have her head skewered on one of those horsemen’s lances in a minute’s time. Yet she needed to meet with them. There was a chance, however slight, that she might be able to get them to leave them alone. One of them who approached looked particularly distinguished, and that man was none other than Oliver De Reimer. 

“In the name of House de Reimer, I greet you, though it be under ill terms,” Oliver said.  “Tell me, who among you here is in charge?”

“T-that, uh…that’d be me,” Rhodanthe said.

Oliver looked at her with an incredulous look on his face.  At last his said, “You fit the description. So then, you are the infamous maiden prophet, the one of who led the rioters out of Nyhem.”

“The rioters were dead already. Ya cousin’s dog Lycaon made sure o’ it.” Rhodanthe said. “We walked away ‘cause we didn’t wanna die.”

“So you say. Well, however you put it, maiden prophet, the result unfortunately will always remain the same,” Oliver said. “His Majesty Alasdair has declared the heresy of Johannia illegal. You are therefore by law dissidents and lawbreakers, who are in violation of His Majesty’s edict. You and your people have two choices. You must leave Cawanor immediately, or surrender and recant.”

His words were harsh, but not worse than Rhodanthe expected. At least he didn’t say he planned to massacre them all. “The only thing we’ve done’s dare to think differently than bishops you’ve got no care for.”

“The emperor’s laws stand, whatever you say about bishops,” Oliver said. “It is my hope that I don’t see you again, maiden prophet. It would not be good for you and your people, though it pains me to say so.”

“Yeah, ya seem real pained alright,” Rhodanthe said, yet she had no choice but to heed him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhodanthe had hoped that Barristan had something for her. Otherwise, she had no idea what she was going to do. As she approached the center of the encampment and approached Barristan she was hopeful, but not overly-confident. If she had learned anything, it was that being over-confident now was a surefire way to end up disappointed. He smiled at her with a reassuring grin. She could not do the same, and in fact looked a little annoyed.

“How’d it go?” Barristan said.

“How’d ya think it went?” Rhodanthe said. “He means to kill us, and tells us to get outta Cawanor. Right now I’m o’ a mind to listen to ‘em. Did ya have anythin’ for me?”

Barristan shrugged. “The priests are hysterical, but don’t have any suggestions. They either wanna fight or surrender. Cowards, those ones.”

“They’re afraid,” Rhodanthe said.

“We’re all afraid,” Barristan said.

“Damned if we ain’t,” Rhodanthe said. “If I could I’d surrender, but I can’t. If they’d just let us be, we wouldn’t be havin’ any of these problems.”

“The only thing we got is the hope that Raeldar will let us in,” Barristan said. “And we better get goin’. Before we know it the de Reimers will be on us again.”

The people were tired. They had traveled from one place to another in Cawanor, getting farther and farther away from Nyhem. That place was their home, and a place of memories, but now they derided it, for now it was a symbol of the High King, and his great persecution of them. Rhodanthe walked at the front of the refugees, but walked among them as well. She didn’t know how to ride a horse, and didn’t care much for standing ahead of her followers either. She walked for what seemed to be a very long time, and she was constantly looking over her shoulder for the de Reimers.

“Raeldor shouldn’t be too far ahead,” Barristan said. “Maybe things’ll be better there.”

“I wouldn’t hope too much,” Rhodanthe said. “Not ‘til I’ve met these southerners meself.”

As they got closer to the border they came across what seemed to be a large border fort. As they approached the garrison on the wall seemed to bolster in number, with plenty of archers looking ready to cut them down. Eventually Rhodanthe yelled for everyone to stop. If they fired it wouldn’t be pretty. They had no armor, so their arrows would tear through them. They waited for a moment, until one of their captains, from atop the wall, finally addressed them.

“Get back!” he said. “You’re in Staghain territory now. We have no part of Alasdair’s alliance, and we’ve no travel treaties with him. So, get you back!”

“Sir, we’re no army, and definitely not with the de Reimers!” Rhodanthe said. “We’re smiths, builders, crafters, not soldiers.”

“Even so,” he said. “You are a fool if you think we’ll let all these lot march straight into Raeldor all at once.”

“But we’ve nowhere else to go!”

“Stay right there, if you must. I won’t stop you,” he said. “But try and climb over these walls and we’ll fill you with arrows. You’ve been warned, northerner.”

Rhodanthe did not give up, however, and was in fact fierier than ever. However, as she argued without effect and soon without replies, worry rose in all of the refugees. Yet the officer up on the wall knew they could not wholly ignore her.

“We’ve got no choice. Whoever these people are, we can’t just keep ‘em down at the bottom of our walls,” the officer said. “Summon Her Majesty. If anyone has the authority to deal with this, it is her.”

Rhodanthe by then had stopped shouting to be let in. Now she knew that something was going to happen, and resolved to be on her best behavior. At last a woman came forward. From the way she looked and presented herself Rhodanthe could tell she was high-born, and wasn’t just a random noble. As she approached the soldiers gave a bow and went out of her way.

“You had best bow. It is Sorcha Sutharlan, Queen of Raeldar, who approaches you,” said one of the guards. 

They did indeed bow. Rhodanthe and those who were earshot were the first to do it, and the rest soon followed suit, even if they did not know who this was.

“Rise, visitors from of the north,” Sorcha said. “I think introductions are in order. You have my name, and so I would dearly like to have your’s as well.”

“I’m only a lowborn girl, y’grace,” Rhodanthe said. “But me name’s Rhodanthe.”

“And the pleasure is mine, Rhodanthe,” Sorcha said. “Tell me, what brings you to our lands?”

“They are northerners, my lady,” the officer said. “And refugees, it seems.”

“As I have been told, captain,” Sorcha said. “And I would like to hear their story. It must be quite the tale. So Rhodanthe, where do you all come from?”

Rhodanthe took a deep breath. She never had given a speech before, and so all she could say was the truth. 

“M’ady, I’ll just take a moment of ya time, if you’ll listen to me story. Nyhem. I led these folks outta Nyhem. It was their home, but they’d no choice but to come. Meself, though, I’m not from Nyhem at all. Came from Uzgob, not far outside of Andromeda. When word ‘bout Johannia and her message ‘bout her faith first appeared I’s sent to Nyhem, so I could hear all ‘bout it. Well, I came to hear ‘bout it, but it turns out many more were violent about it than I ever could’ve thought. I’d just come to learn more about Johannia and her teachin’ on the gods, but as I’s entering Nyhem forces were already gatherin’. There’re those who were sidin’ with the bishops, and those who’re against ‘em. I and many others were believers in Johannia, but we don’t want nothin’ with violence. It don’t matter though, to these others.

“We’re attacked wherever we went, and while the city’s burning, men with steel were busy fillin’ the streets with our blood. I nearly died meself, but…that’s when the divine spirit went in me. Sounds hard to believe, I know, and I wouldn’t believe it meself ‘less I’d seen it, felt it. They call me a prophet, and that’s what I am, I s’pose. May not seem like one now, but its’ different when the divine spirit’s in me, or so I hear. I don’t care if ya think I’m a prophet or not, and I don’t blame ya if you think I’m not. I ain’t here to preach to ya. I just want these people somewhere safe. After the riots things’re bad alright, but the de Reimer king declares us heretics and anathema and all that. Apparently it’s all the doin’ of a Lycaon Issarot. He’s the one who did the massacre in Nyhem, and now he’s plannin’ on draggin’ us away in the night. He tried to take the gods away from us, but we couldn’t let ‘em.

“Our reports tell us the next part,” Sorcha said. “You led the survivors here all the way from Nyhem. The de Reimers have never allowed you more than a moment’s rest in Cawanor, so you’ve kept moving. And now you have arrived here on the border of Raeldar.”

“That’s right, y’grace.”

“An interesting story. You are right, you do not seem much like a prophet, and I normally would never believe such a fanciful tale. However, much of what you said has already been confirmed by reports we’ve received from the north. We have heard of the riot in Nyhem, of the killings, and the maiden prophet who brought thousands from Nyhem. We have heard of how Oliver de Reimer has made you his personal foe. And we have heard about Johannia. You are definitely not spies for de Reimer, or regular turncoats. Still…to take all of you into our lands would be no easy task.” 

“Y’grace, I beg ya,” Rhodanthe said, and she was on her knees, for things were truly desperate. “The de Reimers ain’t forgivin’ or kind. They mean to kill all o’ us, and they’ll do it. Gods’ know they’ve killed ‘nough of us already. Oliver de Reimer, he’s after us, and he won’t be long now. He’s already on our trail, and he knows our path. If we can’t get outta Cawanor now, I’m not sure how many o’ us’ll live through the night. That’s why, m’lady, I beg o’ ya, take me people in. Not for me, but for ‘em. We won’t be any bother to ya. They’re good people, and hardworkin’.”

The refugees were waiting with baited breath. They were all worried, because they knew that their prophet’s words were true, and not because of her gift of prophecy. Lord Oliver was after them, and close behind. The look of worry and fear in their eyes was palpable, their clothes were worn and ragged, and their hair was grimy and shaggy. They were at that moment a truly pathetic sight. No sound except for the cold winds was heard, and an air of tension flew over everyone.

“As I said, it is no easy task,” Sorcha said. “But I will consider all you have said. Wait here for the time being, and I promise that no harm will come to you.”

And that was that. Sorcha turned away from them now, and did not dare call out to her. She did not wish to risk offending her. Rhodanthe looked wistfully up at the walls, as both the officer up on there and the Queen disappeared from the walls. Then she left her place below the walls and turned back to those men, women, and children who had followed her. They were just as ragged as before, but the look in their eyes made them even worse than before. They were not glad at the vague promise that Queen Sorcha had given them. Rhodanthe wasn’t either. However, for the time being they had to swallow what was given and hope for the best.

Rhodanthe ordered them to set up their tents. After all, it was getting dark. She was still constantly looking over her shoulder for the first sign of Oliver de Reimer. She did so even though she knew she had scouts who did this for her. All this running and hiding had made her paranoid. There was very little talking among the camp, and just as much eating. They were at the end of their supplies. If the Queen did not let them in then Rhodanthe would soon have no choice but to surrender. It would be the only choice left for them, as she refused to allow them to become bandits. Then again, if her people chose to become bandits themselves then she would likely just become their first victim. As night came, Rhodanthe tried to get some sleep. It was easier than she thought it would be, because of how exhausted she was.

Rhodanthe woke up in a cold sweat. She felt it had been a nightmare, but she could not remember it. All she could remember was a feeling of fear and terror. Later Rhodanthe would feel that it had been a divine force that awoken her. Unable to go back to sleep, she made herself rise. It was still mostly dark outside, but sun was coming up. A scout, with Bannister by his side, was already coming up to her. It seemed the nightmare had come at a most opportune time.

“Prophet,” the scout said. “Things seem to’ve be happenin’ in the dead o’ night. Seems in the middle o’ the night Oliver’d taken his army to where we are, and was plannin’ an ambush. Yet it seems he don’t wanna make mad the South. So he’s planted his forces not too far south o’ here. They’re in sight.”

“And it’s enough to make just about everyone nervous,” Barristan said.

“So her Grace really protected us just like she said,” Rhodanthe said. “But how’s the Queen reactin’ to all this?”

“We’ll have to see,” Barristan said. “Even as we’re talkin’ here Oliver and the Queen are having a talk.”

“Wait, Oliver is here?” Rhodanthe said.

“Yeah, and it took all I had not to club his damned head in,” Barristan said. “But he’s here alright, and talking with the Queen.”

“Well, I hope that she can get ‘em to leave,” Rhodanthe said.

“You should go to them,” Barristan said.

“Not yet,” Rhodanthe said. “Not ‘til he’s gone. Oliver said he didn’t want to see me. Well, he ain’t.”

“You should go to them, prophet,” Barristan said. “Oliver wants to have you outta Cawanor or in chains. He won’t leave easily.”

“Fine, Barristan, I’ll go,” Rhodanthe said. “Hope I don’t make it worse.”

Oliver was standing with his armed guards below the wall. The archers above had the good grace not to have their arrows aimed at him, but it was clear that they were alert and would shoot him down if given half an opportunity. Both Oliver and Sorcha had a congenial look on their faces, but Rhodanthe knew better than to think that meant they were happy. Rhodanthe’s people were all gathered, so there was a crowd. They didn’t get too close, but they were well within earshot of everything they were saying.

“Hello, m’lord,” Rhodanthe said to Oliver with a curtsy. “Seems we’re meetin’ again on happier terms than ya thought, so I s’pose I’ve proved ya wrong.”

“That may be so, maiden prophet,” Oliver said.

“Rhodanthe, I was wondering when you would arrive,” Sorcha said. “After all, this concerns you and your people. It seems Oliver de Reimer has been willing to come all the way to Raeldar to track you down.”

“My lady, where I stand is not Raeldar, but Cawanor,” Oliver said. “Semantics, maybe, but it is a fact nonetheless. On your side of the wall is Raeldar, and on my side is Cawanor.”

“Lord Oliver, do you truly intend to fill Raeldar’s border with blood before my very eyes?” Sorcha said.

“Perish the thought, Lady Sorcha!” Oliver said. “But nonetheless, it is true that unless these people leave my side of these borders I won’t be able to stand idly by.”

“These people are clearly harmless,” Sorcha said.

“They have broken the Emperor’s law,” Oliver said. “I promise you I will treat them as gently as I can, but cannot ignore the fact that they are lawbreakers and dissidents.”

“Y’Grace, he’ll kill us,” Rhodanthe said. “Slaughter us all. His cousin’s law makes ‘em do it. I promise we’re good folk, hardworkin’ and loyal’s any. We’ll serve loyally ‘til death and after, if ya let us through ya gate and let us find work and a life.”

Oliver surprised Rhodanthe by what he said next. “The maiden prophet has the right of it. Let her into your lands, and you solve both her and my problem. I will allow you to have them delivered from my hands into yours, Lady Sorcha.”

“We come and go outta our own will, not the de Reimers,” Rhodanthe said recklessly.

Waving that off, Oliver said, “Say whatever you wish, maiden prophet. I only care that you are out of Cawanor. Now, we only need Lady Sorcha to agree to it.”

“I had the night to think over it. I have heard my advisors’ counsel, and I have made my decision,” Lady Sorcha said. “I have decided you shall no longer belong to the de Reimers. I accept your request, maiden prophet. Your people will be allowed into our lands, for now at least.”

There was a loud cheering. Rhodanthe could not remember her people being so happy before. Considering she had first seen them in the aftermath of a riot that was perhaps not a surprise, but they were indeed happy. The cheers were incredibly loud and jubilant, and a clear contrast to their mood just a second earlier.

“Your grace?” the captain at the wall seemed puzzled. “We are to let this northern rabble into Raeldar?”

“Indeed, and I won’t hear another word about it,” Sorcha said. “It would be wrong to simply leave them to die. Wouldn’t you agree, captain?”

“Of course, my lady,” the captain grumbled. “You all heard the Lady, open the gates!”

The loud cheering did not die down quickly or easily, and was only one part of their jubilation. The refugees were expressing their thanks to the Lady and Raeldar in the most gregarious ways they could think of. Many of them began chanting “Down with the de Reimers, all hail the Alliance!” Many expressed their thanks to the Lady aloud, and announced their desire to join the army and fight for Raeldar and the Alliance, even the women and children. The gates opened, and for the first time it felt like something truly went right. Rhodanthe knew that their struggle was just beginning, but at least something had gone right with them. Oliver de Reimer had not left yet, and Rhodanthe could tell the atmosphere around him was bad. Her people wanted to tear him apart, no doubt, but Rhodanthe would not allow anything to disrupt her accomplishment. She would see to it that he went back to his army safely. In his own way it seemed as though he tried to help her in his own way. Besides, he had something to tell him. She approached him, to the ire of his guards, but he was certain that she was no threat.

“Allow me, m’lord, to see ya back to ya camp,” Rhodanthe said.

“Thank you, maiden prophet,” Oliver said. “Come, then, and walk with me.”

When they were away from the crowd, and it was only her, him, and his guards she made her purpose clear.

“Lord Oliver,” Rhodanthe said. “I never thought I’d ever get to talk to one of the de Reimers.”

“And yet here you are,” Oliver said.

“After the riot I wanted to speak to ya cousin and get everything straightened out. I was plannin’ on gettin’ an audience, and tellin’ him how it wasn’t everyone who followed Johannia that was bad. There was bad eggs, sure, those who started the riot. I remember they pinned me to the ground, and almost killed me. All that and more I was goin’ to tell King Alasdair, but Lycaon got to ‘em first. I just want peace. That’s why I left Nyhem, I didn’t wanna fight. Johannia wants peace too. It’s Lycaon that’s causin’ all the problems, I can tell. For someone from the Church he has way too many soldiers.”

“Lycaon Issarot is a loyal friend,” Oliver said, though in truth he had never met the man, and he did not trust him even a little.

“Sure he is,” Rhodanthe said. “Just…I just want the King up north to know all we want is peace, and if he gives that he won’t have to fight us. We don’t anythin’, just let us follow our own beliefs. Meself, I think it’d be better off if ya all stayed more away from the bishops.”

“It won’t be so easy for you to gain the trust of the Emperor,” Oliver said. “Even if you go safely into the South, you’ll be traitors to the Empire, and it will remain that way forever.”

“Just…I just want the Nyhem King to know how things are for this side,” Rhodanthe said. “All this time he’s probably been hearin’ all sortsa things from the Lycaon and the bishops. He should just know how the rest o’ us see it, y’know? And I think this’s as far as I’ll walk you. Thank ya, Lord Oliver de Reimer, for ya company. Mayhaps it’ll be under better fortunes if we meet again.”

“I don’t see it happening,” Oliver said. “But I hope the same, maiden prophet.”
[/hider]

[hider=The Seeds of Revolt]
Once there had been a time when Fenick would not have dared linger from his cave, and would have sent Rhodanthe to Andromeda if there was ever a need for anything there. Now that time was long past, and he now stood tall on a pedestal on the streets of Medea, and over a thousand were there to listen to him every day. Now he planted the seeds of revolt. It seemed that every day it was fresh faces who came to see him.

“I see you, friends, and I thank you dearly for your presence. I see some familiar faces among me. It is good to see you again, Layla and Eliezer. And you as well, Kayam, I’ve seen you plenty of times by now. And Yahya, of course. I fear you wife will worry where you are if you come and see me speak any more times.”

There were some light chuckles, as it should be.

“Think not, sir,” Yahya said. “Got me wife here with me.”

“And we are better for it. But I see many new faces among you. That is good. It is always well when I see that I even more wish to hear the Good News. By now we’ve all heard the news about Johannia, haven’t we? She brought to the message of the gods, the one that we all needed to hear.”

“Aye, we’ve heard it,” some said, and other similar things.

“And we have become believers?” They assented heartily. “Our lost souls have become saved?” ‘Saved,’ many of them shouted after he said it. “Now that, my friends, is an answer well-given! I can tell that you are all in earnest. We no longer follow the whim of bishops drunk on wine, gold, and lust! Once again we are free men, and serve only the mighty gods above! Let their gold temples of avarice fall – nay, it would be better for us to tear them down! Better to use that gold to feed our hungry than let it serve the vile needs of the clerics.”

That got the crowd riled up, and they cheered on Fenick’s words.

“And our High King has given us his own opinion on the matter, hasn’t he?”

There were many vicious boos, and many chanted loudly, “Not our King! Not our King! Not our King!”

“He names all of us outlaws, and calls us traitors to the realm! If I can give the de Reimer King one thing, it is that never has there been a more subtle viper in all the land. First Heylot, then John, then Andris, and no doubt Eli Blackwell shall be next. All fall to the cunning machinations of the Snake! It is certainly an audacious thing that such a man would think to calls us traitors. And what place has an atheist to meddle in the realm of the divine? For we all know that the Snake is an atheist, who honors only vice and deceit and his own self. He calls himself Emperor now, and is that any surprise? Ysabelle the Savior must be rolling in her grave. Every day we become more and more like the Imperium. If de Reimer has his way, soon half of the land shall be enchained, and necromancers shall walk freely through the streets. It is my hope that we all see Alasdair de Reimer for what he truly is.” 

“Ah, but Uzgob does have one man on its side. Nizar, our new King, according to the de Reimers. He is ours, is he not? Nizar, ever faithful chancellor, loyal servant of Mandarass. For his long years of service good king Andris trusted him above all others. And how does the chancellor reward the king’s goodwill? He steals the crown for himself, betrays his own friend for a foreigner, and bends the knee to the Snake! Are these the acts of a true king?”

Riled up, the audience shouted “No!” with great anger.

“Nay, we in Uzgob have but one King, and his name is Andris. There is but one family that can ever rule in Andromeda, and that is Mandarass! The gods are angry with us, and their anger is well-placed. Traitors hold the thrones in Nyhem, Andromeda, and Mercy, and bishops grow fat on the wealth that rightfully belongs to the people. They hold us at sword-point, but we must never relent to them. The gods on our side. Johannia was the harbinger, whose message saved our souls and struck through the lies of the bishops. Now it is up to all pious men to bring to her vision to fruition, and to strike down the false and make the truth rise again.”

They were indeed glad to hear his words. These were seditious words he spoke, no doubt, but they were words that all in Uzgob believed. Manshrew were their rulers, and though he gave little thought to politics, even Fenick knew this. He was not Uzgobian by birth, but he had lived here for many years, and he would only ever bow before a Manshrew, not a Blackwell and certainly not a de Reimer. Besides, were there any words more true and just than a treasonous words spoken against a betrayer?”

[/hider]

[hider=The First Revolt]

Fenick stood on the edge of town, surrounded by a few of his desertmen bodyguards. Many among the tribes had heard of the message of Johannia and the preachers who spread it, and wondered whether there was something in it for them. No tribe had gone over to his side completely, but some among the desertmen had come to follow Fenick after he promised them power and autonomy, and a religion that suited them, free from the prodding of bishops. They were not riders, and were unused to steel, but were perhaps the fiercest fighters in all of Uzgob. 

They were not alone. For weeks Fenick had egged on the people of Medea, and it seemed that things had finally reached the boiling point. They followed him, and he led them to the Good News that Johannia had first promulgated, and urged on the fight against the bishops, and urged the complete destruction of their ecclesial hierarchy. He had been careful to avoid mentioning her unsavory doctrines, however. In his sermons he always left out the infidel nonsense about a Demiurge, as well as the extremism about mages. The Circle was a wicked and godless place, to be sure, and it needed to be disbanded so that magic could be practiced freely. Fenick had learned as much when he attended. However, she had spread tall tales about how magic came from Hystix, and that was a wicked lie. The faith Fenick spread was pure of the heresy in Johannia, and his followers followed suit. Yet in addition to their faith, they were true followers of Andris, the true High King of Formaroth.

The riot at Nyhem had been the first spark of the followers of Johannia against the false king. However, it was not a true uprising. It had been ill-planned, and had been unsurprisingly crushed with wanton cruelty and slaughter. Yet it was only a riot, an act of resistance, but a short-sided one. What Fenick was leading was an uprising, something that would make Nazir shake in his boots. He would not repeat the mistakes that had been made at Nyhem. Scores of angry-looking armed men had already begun to roam the streets. They were with him. Though they were no army, and had no armor to speak of, they held thick clubs and were good with their bows, and they were bolstered by the tribesmen, the real vanguard of Fenick’s force. At the sight of them onlookers cleared the streets, closed their doors, and shut their windows. Whether they would be for them or not could not be said, but Fenick was confident that they would prefer them to the westerners. Fenick marched to center square alongside them, and they hailed him.

“I speak no speeches to you today, friends, for we have no time for them,” Fenick said. “The traitors hold the armies, and they shall come for us. Be ready for them, they will come soon. But we shall see to it that by the time they realize what we truly are, it shall be too late for them!”

They came very soon. They were numbered about two dozens, and wore suits of armor. About a dozen of them were mounted on armored horses. They were not hidden, but planned on making their presence known so they could strike fear into as many malcontents as they could, so Fenick’s forces easily scouted them. As soon as they were in view of the main square the rebels opened fire and peppered them with arrows, and six of the knights laid down on the ground. Then the tribesmen charged, with their leader Hargani foremost among them. The remaining horsemen tried to scatter them by charging, and their lances struck three tribesmen dead, but their formation remained strong, and the tribesmen’s spear held against the charges of the knights, and felled two horses. The men-at-arms saw that their cause was lost, and routed. The rebels and tribesmen then fell on to them, and slew those that they could get their hands on and killed those who were writhing on the ground from their injuries. Of the twenty-five who had departed, eleven lived to return to Medea Castle. Afterwards, there was much cheering, and some of the tribesmen looted off the steel from their enemies’ corpses, but Fenick knew it was too early for them to celebrate. 

“The knights have fallen, but our task is far from done,” Fenick said. “As long as the fortress still stands we shall not be able to rest.”

Fenick rallied them, and they gathered along with the rest of their companions. They numbered two-thousand, and Fenick knew that they outnumbered the small garrison three-to-one. If they attacked it would be a costly siege, but Fenick hoped it would not come to that. The rebels marched gathered themselves into large groups, and into formations, even if they could not make themselves as neatly as a true army. The tribesmen were different, however, and knew well how to fight a war better than the militia. The rebels did not attack immediately, but readied and prepared themselves. A platoon of the fighters had gone off to look for supplies they would need in case of a siege, and to look for potential supporters. 

In the meantime the gates of the castle had opened, and a large force had gone out to face what they thought were a hundred or so malcontents. They were a splendid host of two-hundred, with horsed knights armed with lances and armored in fine steel plate, and were followed by crossbowmen and spearmen, with the lord’s son at their helm. Their cavalry at first charged towards the host of rebels, who had the tribesmen as their vanguard, but when they saw the size of the host and the manner in which they were armed quickly retreated. Under Hargani’s order the host of rebels charged forward, and a shower of arrows were released. As they retreated some of them fell, including the lord’s son. His horse was shot down, and when he fell down to the ground a dozen tribesmen quickly ran to him, and he could offer little resistance, and yielded. Then Hargani brought him before Fenick on his knees.

“Let me guess, you’re that damned preacher that’s been causing trouble around here?” the captive said. “If only we’ve caught you earlier.”

“Quiet, worm!” Hargani said, beating the captive with the bottom end of his spear.

“Spare him, Hargani. I’ll need him to speak,” Fenick said. “So, ser, tell me, are you the lord’s valorous heir?”

“I’m just a faceless knight is all,” he said.

“Oh? I don’t believe you, of course. I can’t prove your identity, but it seems likely enough that you are Adam. After all, the Adam I have heard of would have rushed to run down rebels in the name of his father.”

“Very well, rebel, if you will not relent, then I suppose I have no reason to lie. I am Adam, heir to the county of Medea, son of Lord Simon. What of it? My father shall not surrender his birthright to villains for me. Kill me if you must, you will be doing my cousin a favor. Your rabble will never breach Castle Medea, and when King Nazir hears of this he will bring ten thousand knights to our gates, and he shall crush your paltry host, and show you what happens to those who rebel against their betters.”

He would be right, if the rebellion stopped here. If they won a victory here, Fenick knew they could win the support of the people and the tribes, and with a little money and time could build a great army that could rouse all of Mandarass’s lands.

“This is no insurrection,” Fenick said. “We seek only to restore what rightfully belongs to Andris and House Manshrew and all his loyal vassals.”

“The war is over. House Mandarass and all its allies are gone forever. The de Reimers have won. They drove a wedge between Mandarass and Blackwell, and gained Formaroth as a result. Blackwell and the Southerners are no longer strong enough to stand against him, even if they stood together, and they will not. It would have been better had you all stayed home.”

“When Uzgob comes under our control Andris shall return,” Fenick said. “If you will not side with us, then we have no choice but to take you down with the false kings.”

Fenick ordered one of his scouts to go to the castle as a messenger, and announce to them that they had the lord’s heir captive, and would do well to heed them. His terms were simple, either they were to come over to his side or they were to surrender. Their terms were refused in the harshest terms, regardless of the fact they had the lord’s son as a hostage. Fenick’s envoy was filled with arrows. However, the garrison did not stir from their walls. They could not starve them out. If he wanted his uprising not to be defeated before it began he would need a victory here, and so he must engage in a bloody siege. Those who Fenick had sent out to search had returned with some supplies, and the most important were the ladders. They were the only siege weapons they had. There were no siege towers, catapults, and battering rams lying around for them to pick up. They had picked these siege ladders up along with some weapons in one of the lord’s warehouses that lay outside of the safety of his castle’s gates.

With nothing more needing to be done, Fenick led his forces to the walls of Castle Medea. Across its walls were lined crowssbowmen and spearmen. Though Fenick’s army outnumbered them heavily, it would be a bloody siege for them nonetheless, and his victory was far from certain. The tribesmen were gathered in four separate columns in the front, with the militia not far behind them, and the archers close behind. The tribesmen began to run closer to the walls, carrying their siege ladders with them. The crossbowmen unleashed their bolts on to the tribesmen, which cut through their light armor of skins and killed many of them before they ever reached the walls. The militia archers responded in kind, and unleashed waves of arrow on to the walls of the castle, the steel piercing through the armor of crossbowmen and spearmen that stood on the walls. 

By the time they had reached the walls around nearly a hundred of the rebels had died, and only about thirty of the garrison had been killed by the returning fire of the rebels’ arrows. Nonetheless, the rebels’ spirits remained high even among the death, as they felt victory would soon be theirs once they took the walls. The tribesmen stormed the sections of the wall that were the most heavily-manned by the spearmen, and felt the wrath of the tar-pots, while the militiamen took the gaps and were more guarded by the archers, who would not last long in a hand-to-hand fight. 

One by one the tribesmen climbed up the wall and came up faster than the spearmen could kill them, until they were swarming the walls. They fought with greater skill and fury than the spearmen could muster and felled many of the garrison, but the armored spearmen struck down the lightly armored spearmen as well, and the walls were strewn with bodies of both sides, but it was more of the tribesmen than their enemies. Then Fenick’s militiamen engaged the crossbowmen with spears and clubs. The crossbowmen drew daggers and shortswords, but they were no match against the militiamen, and were ill-prepared to take to a melee, and when their bodies began to pile up they threw down their weapons and yielded. Then the militias ran past them, and went to flank the spearmen that the tribesmen engaged. Across the walls fighting reigned, until at last the men ran out, and there was no more crimson to be added to Castle Medea’s balconies. When the last garrison spearmen was slain there was a great shout of triumph, though it had cost them dearly. Over two-hundred tribesmen and three hundred militiamen had been slain. The militia would have routed in the midst of battle, but they were encouraged by the valor of the tribesmen, Fenick had instilled in them an intense zealotry, and it was not easy to rout when the way out was a hundred feet down.

They opened the gates, but Fenick stayed behind in the city. His army scarcely needed an old man at its back. Besides, he knew that Hargani would be able to take care of command better than he ever would. Instead, when the gates opened the militia entered. Under Hargani’s commands they then reorganized themselves, and made a host of fifteen-hundred men. They marched steadily. The tribesmen stood at the front, ready to fight any foe that remained, and any enemy that came to them would be flanked by the militiamen and peppered with arrows from their archers. They came to the courtyard expecting a valiant and bloody last stand by the knights. Instead they found the knights emerging from the hall, some of them bloody. A large and imposing knight held the white flag of surrender, a truly pathetic sight. At the head of the party, however, stood a fair-looking man with flowing black hair dressed in shining steel, and who held up a pike which had a head dressed upon it. The head upon the pike and the head of the fair man who led the knightly host looked quite similar.

“My friends, Medea is now yours,” the fair man said in a tone that hinted of arrogance. 
[/hider]

[hider=Unsavory Companions]

Fenick sat at a place of honor in the place where the bishop once had made his home. He had begged for mercy, and Fenick had not been cruel. It had been enough for the bishop to recant and be thrown into prison. Fenick had taken his house for his seat, but had removed all of the bishops opulent belongings and had them distributed to the poor. He had been expecting to sit in Medea Castle right now, but things had taken an unexpected turn. Hargani, who at the moment stood next to Fenick, had told him how everything had happened. Edmund, second son of the count of Medea, had demanded his father surrender and declare his loyalty to the rebels, and when he refused he led the knights in revolt. Fenick knew it was a simple mutiny, meant to save their own skins for the time being. Now Medea was ruled by Count Edmund, who now claimed to be with them, but Fenick could not trust a man who would be willing to slay his own father and switch sides at the drop of a hat. He knew he could never trust him, but if he wanted to use him at all he would need to have this Edmund invest some into their cause, to ensure that their enemies saw him as a traitor to the realm rather than a hostage. Count Edmund was coming to him already, so there was no need to summon him. Soon enough he came to Fenick, or rather he barged in.

“Your excellency Fenick,” Edmund said with a bow. “It is an honor to meet such a man. Have your subordinates told you what happened?”

“Indeed. Hargani has told me all, down to the sordid details, and how you…dealt with your predecessor,” Fenick said.

“It pains me to think of it even now. I grieve him, for I loved him deeply, but it needed to be done.”

Fenick knew that he was lying; this was no man in mourning. “And so, my lord, what business brings you here?”

“I come here personally in order to proclaim my loyalty for all to hear,” Count Edmund said. “I shall bend to none but House Mandarass, but I pledge to you, great Fenick, my undying loyalty and shall follow you even unto death. I pledge all the land and swords of House Sundaris to your cause.”

“And have you heard the Good News?” Fenick said.

“Indeed I have. The cause of Johannia and Andris are one, one spiritual and one political, but united in the truth of their cause. I have foresworn the Church’s bishops and shall do all I can to throw down their towers of gold.”

He parroted the words too easily, so Fenick immediately knew just how dangerous he was. He no doubt had barely heard of Johannia a few hours ago, but now he knew all these pious words. If he had stumbled out his loyalties Fenick would have breathed a little easier, but instead he knew this one knew how to deceive well and quickly.

“Proclaim it loudly, my lord,” Fenick said. “Lower the flag of the de Reimers from your stronghold, and fly proudly the twin banners of Johannia and Mandarass.”

“Indeed, it shall be done. But before I leave you, I would have you take my counsel,” Edmund said. “We cannot restore Andris by ourselves. We must extend our cause far and wide, in order to gather a host mighty enough to challenge the so-called emperor.”

“I have sent my emissaries. They shall foment uprisings far and wide. Yet you clearly have something else in mind.”

“It is only a small thing, my lord, but it shall be a start,” Boutros said. “I have my sister, and there are uses I have of her.”

“Let us hope they are virtuous uses.”

“The odds are against us. Even with resentment brewing against Andris and Nazir, we cannot be sure who would be willing to join us at a time when our forces are so meagre. It would greatly help us if we were able to gain support from abroad.”

“All this has been foreseen. What of it?”

“Your excellency, I mean for us to have that aid. I shall marry Duke Robar to my sister. They are of a similar age, after all. It should make them ours. If you can truly raise the flag for Andris across Uzgob then that should make us a force to be reckoned with. Then my sister shall go to the Southern Alliance, and convince them to fund our forces.”

“That is a clever plan, my lord. It is merely hampered by the fact that it will never work. The Southern Alliance has remained neutral through everything. Why should they risk everything in order to help us?”

“We must try. And I am sure that very soon they shall see that they may no longer be able to remain idly by.”

“Do not expect me to believe these honeyed words, my lord. But I am not your liege, only Andris is. Do what you wish, if you think it shall help us restore the true High King.”

After Edmund left Hargani turned to Fenick.

“I do not trust him,” Hargani said.

“Then you are wise,” Fenick said. “In truth I do not want him on my side. He is a turncoat who changed sides simply to live another day. I truly wish that he had been as his father were, and fought to the end. Yet when he surrendered he forced my hand. I had to allow him to join my cause, for I cannot simply kill a nobleman who has gone over to my side.”

“So it is,” Hargani said. “The burgher’s sided with you. They are very thankful for the caskets of the Church’s gold you sent them.”

“I at least trust them more than the Duke.” If he could the richest of Uzgob’s merchants, those on the coasts and near the trade roads, on his side then it would be a great boon. “And they shall be a boon.”

“Yet will this be enough?” Hargani said.

“Not near enough,” Fenick said. “But honeyed words and claims of just cause and legitimacy are not our only words. If the lords would join my cause, their first act of piety may be to take all the wealth of the Church within their lands. After all, true priests have no need of silver and gold.”

“Then that will make you the first man to run a holy war wholly on bribes,” Hargani said.

“All wars run on bribes of a sort,” Fenick said. “There is no other way to get a noble on your side. For all our sakes pray that I can bribe enough of them.”
[/hider]