Cloudreach, Dragon 35

Dylan sat upon the bed, hazel eyes staring blankly at a spot on the floor. He'd been given a reprieve, two days to rest and recover before returning to his templar duties. Truth to tell he much rather would have returned immediately to service. To be able to delve himself in dreary guard duty and go back to some sense of normality.

But things never will be normal again, will they Dylan?

He tried not to think about him. The sound of his laugh, the intelligent eyes, or that silly mop top of brownish hair that he could never tame. The visions and memories came unbidden and he squeezed his eyes shut. Voicing out a stanza from Transfigurations, he tried to channel into his discipline, but to no avail.

"Many are those who wander in sin . . ."

"Ser Dylan!"

At the sound of Riagan's voice he stopped and looked at him. The mage came at a canter down the hall and Dylan didn't doubt that if it wasn't for the robes and the books in his arms that he would be going at a full run. His excitement was a palatable thing and the templar knew why.

"I understand that you'll be along on our venture tomorrow," he said, a wide smile on his face.

"I wouldn't call what we have to do a 'venture', Riagan," he tried to not let the man's smile be infectious, but Dylan found the corners of his lips turning upward even as he was trying to be stern. "We are going there to hopefully help the villagers hurt in that flood."

"I-I know that and it is an awful situation," the mage nodded in agreement his countenance becoming a shade sober, "and Enchanter Devon and I will do all we can to help heal the wounded and try to prevent further disease from spreading."

"Good," Dylan nodded in return, "we will do our best to both assist and protect you while there."

"Fantastic," Riagan's smile began to return to its previous widened state. "We will be ready to leave at dawn."

Dylan, assuming the conversation over, started to turn away, but with a rustle of robes the mage stood in front of him again, "It's exactly like we talked about before, Ser Dylan. Mages being able to help people outside of the tower for more than just Blights o-or . . ."

His excited voice was starting to carry down the hall and Dylan looked around warily, holding up a hand to try and quiet Riagan's voice, "Yes, it is as we've spoken before, but this it not the time to discuss it."

Even as he said it another templar came ambling down the hall and he eyed Dylan with as much suspicion as he did Riagan. He had been warned before about becoming too friendly with a mage just as he was certain Riagan was warned about becoming too friendly with a templar. Neither were listening to their peers, but Dylan at least tried to appear the dutiful knight while in front of others.

"Tomorrow at dawn," he left the rest unsaid hoping Riagan caught on to the emphasis. There would be more than enough time on the road to discuss things.

He didn't need to worry as the mage comprehended his meaning and nodded again, "Tomorrow it is."

With that they parted company, Dylan passing by the other templar who was holding on to his accusing glare. Inwardly he railed against the paranoid mistrust, but outwardly he did understand the reasons for the worry.

Ever since he first met Riagan, he always felt that he was much like his brother who'd been taken away by the Order many years ago. While he never did discover where his sibling had been taken to - or if he had survived his Harrowing - Dylan's life long goal to be able to protect his brother as a templar felt far more complete when Riagan was around. He was much like him in look and demeanor. Full of life, full of intellect, and determined not to let things get him down.

Over the years he befriended Riagan. They'd debated and philosophized on the state of the Circle of Magi and its place in the world. He was certain that his comrades would not appreciate his take on allowing mages more freedoms to use their gifts while out in the world and how they could work in tandem with the Order, so he generally kept that opinion to himself. With Riagan he could be honest and felt he could trust him like the brother he'd lost.

". . . boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak . . ."

"Maker's Breath . . ."

The utterance had been Riagan's, but Dylan was certain he spoke for all of them.

As their wagon crested the hill they could see well into the valley. The entirety of it from hillside to hillside was caked in black mud. In the distance the burst dam lay with its middle section in ruin. Dotted throughout the valley were remains of what were houses, barns, and windmills for tilling grain. In the air, the sickly sweet smell of death was carried. The poor souls and barn animals unfortunate enough to be caught by the torrent of water likely still lingered in the mud.

"Let's keep moving," Knight-Lieutenant Kelvin hollered out, snapping them all out of their stupor. "We still need to make it to the village."

The village seemed to be the only thing left standing. It had the fortune of being perched upon the top of an incline right next to the dam. In a matter of survival it was a blessing; in the long term it didn't take much to see that the village was soon to be doomed to abandonment. This was a fishing village that just lost the lake it fished from. Unless the survivors had the energy to try and rebuild the dam, Dylan doubted it would remain occupied for much longer.

It was at the largest house in the village that the people took refuge. Almost immediately desperate people came forward begging for water. It was as Enchanter Devon suspected and his request to have several barrels of clean water added to the supply list was now a wise idea. The mayor of the village finally came out and greeted them and then their mission started in earnest.

Hours later, Dylan was helping move some of the lesser injured to the small tavern next door. He caught sight of Riagan being spoken to by Enchanter Devon. While he couldn't hear their words, something in Riagan's face made Dylan take pause. There was a fine sheen of sweat upon his brow and while that wasn't unusual, the pallid complexion and look of guilt was. For a fleeting second Riagan looked at Dylan, then he immediately cast his gaze to the ground as if overwhelmed. Enchanter Devon took him by the shoulders, obviously explaining something to him and Riagan slowly nodded his head.

Dylan could only wonder. Perhaps this was more devastation and pain than Riagan was expecting. As experts in the school of Creation, tending to the injured was standard fare. However, there was a major difference between treating a templar who hurt himself during training and treating wounds that could bring a man to the Maker's side. They already had one villager, who's wounds had festered, die on them. His guilt probably stemmed from having anyone die despite having the Maker given gift to heal with a thought.

He let it lay for now, trusting Enchanter Devon to teach Riagan how to deal with such tragedy. Later he would go to him and see how he was fairing. An emotionally distraught mage was a danger to both himself and to those around him, but Dylan was certain he could help keep Riagan calm.

" . . . For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water . . ."

As Dylan went to begin his next task, he saw two figures enter the village. At first he thought it was Ser Diggory and Ser Silvia back from scouting for a fresh water supply, but on closer inspection neither wore templar armor and both appeared to be men. They were garbed in commoner's clothes, but from the looks on the faces of the other villagers, these were strangers. Dylan waited for them to approach.

"My, but whatever happened here?" the taller of the two said, the man's detached tone sending warning bells off in Dylan's mind.

"A flood," he responded, his tone flat, "so I suggest that unless you are here to help that you leave the village immediately."

"Oh, but we are here to help," the smile was a sneer, "just not in the way you think, templar."

Instinct called Dylan to reach for his blade, but before his hand could even touch the pommel he was thrown back by a wall of will from the smaller of the two. He fell back with the clatter of armor and heard the sudden screams of the villagers. He tried to get himself upright as soon as possible, but it was no use. Another spell came at him, but he was too flatfooted to even call upon his own will quick enough. Dylan's eyes closed on their own and he felt his head spin a second before sleep overtook him.

" . . . As the moth sees light and goes toward flame . . ."

"This isn't what we agreed to!"

It was Riagan's voice.

"We agreed to not hurt the templars. You didn't say anything about the villagers," that was the tall one's voice.

Dylan knew he was awake, but he kept his eyes shut. He could feel that his hands were behind him, probably bound, and that he lay upon the ground. The curl in his gut and denial in his mind grew as the mages . . . the apostates continued to talk.

"Don't be naive, boy. Getting you out here was part of the plan."

"But the dam?" an incredulous tone was in Riagan's voice. "You've killed dozens, probably more, just to free—"

"He said don't be naive," this time it was Enchanter Devon that spoke and Dylan's stomach twisted more. "Deaths and injuries needed to be expected here otherwise neither of us would have been sent out."

"I . . ."

Go against them, Riagan. You know this is wrong. You can still—

"I know . . . I know, I just . . . wasn't expecting it to be this horrible. We should . . . get out of here."

Dylan felt the bottom of his heart fall out. All the warnings of his betters came back at him in mocking fashion. It kindled a bitter flame of anger within and he couldn't stop his words.

"And what of us? You'll just leave us here?" he said bitterly. His eyes now open he raised his head to look at them. Though his vision was lightly blurred he could still make out three other armored figures laying next to him in similar states.

"Flames, I thought you said you had them under!" the tall one said.

"One, I am not made of infinite magic," Dylan assumed it was the other mage that spoke from somewhere behind him, "and two, I had assumed we would be long gone by now."

"Then we have to take care of this," the apostate drew out a dagger from beneath his shirt, "he's heard more than he should."

"NO!"

Riagan's holler made the apostate stop and Dylan fixed his eyes on him. The guilt on his face was the same he saw earlier and Dylan felt more the fool.

"If we don't-"

Riagan shook his head, "If you kill him then I will not go with you."

"For a templar? Are you nuts? Devon, I'm not so sure your student here quite understands the situation he's in."

The four of them began to squabble, Riagan even going so far as to say they should turn themselves in. Then it became volatile. The tall one first caused Riagan to burn in magical flame, Enchanter Devon in turn encased the tall one in ice. Then the Enchanter fell to a spell that drained the very life out of him. The last mage was going to finish Riagan who still lived, but then he was clubbed from behind by one of the braver villagers. Then they all came crawling out of whatever corners they'd been hiding in with clubs, rusted old weapons, and pitchforks in hand. It didn't matter how much Dylan screamed at them, the villagers only knew that mages were the cause of their pain . . .

. . . and that justice would be served.

". . . the Maker Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."

As the last word fell from his lips, Dylan wished he could feel nothing. He wished he could ignore them like Ser Diggory or even derisively like Ser Silvia, but he couldn't. Ser Kevlin diverted his by blaming Dylan and it was very well that he deserved it. Somehow he could hear Riagan tell him that it wasn't his fault.

But wasn't it? He encouraged Riagan to think in terms of more freedom, to use his Maker given talents to best of his ability. Maybe it was trusting a mage too much just for the fact that he resembled his brother and now he should shell himself up. Hide behind the armor physically, mentally and emotionally. Suddenly he could sympathize with his templar brothers and sisters that chose to wear their helms always while on duty.

Even as he suggested it to himself, he knew he wouldn't be able to do it. Despite the betrayal, despite the lesson, Dylan could not stop himself from caring. The mages were just as human as anyone and it was only because of their trapped situations that they sometimes became beasts. Riagan simply made a mistake to join the wrong side and that could be forgiven.

With that thought, Dylan finally let himself grieve and cry.