The Crimson Knight

by Writer Awakened

FE7, alternate timeline. In the wake of Lyndis' Legion's defeat, rumors abound of a lordless knight stained red with blood, butchering the soldiers of the new marquess Lundgren. Unbeknownst to the false lord of Caelin, behind the Crimson Knight's mask lies a man willing to fight and die to restore his rightful liege to her throne. (Intermissio II with Lyn up; next chapter...?)

2. I: Blood and Iron

The Crimson Knight

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(Thanks to Mark of the Asphodel for beta-reading the prologue.)

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Prologue: In a Grove

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The dense forests near Castle Caelin were utterly empty as Lady Lyndis and her allies rode through. The early afternoon sky hung heavy with threat of rain: overcast with gray clouds piled one atop the other like broken bales of hay cast about.

Sirs Kent and Sain took the van with Lyn just behind and Florina of Ilia flying high above, just clear of the grove's thick canopy. The rest of their small fighting force followed behind them; some watched their flanks, while others kept watch at the rear constantly to ensure that no adversary exposed the back of their rank. All around them the trees cast in brown and red wood like monuments stood defiantly in the land, keeping constant vigil, unaware, even, of what wars might be or had been plotted underneath their arboreal eyes. Instead they watched in passive silence, arbiters of nothing, and rustled idly as a light wind swept through the forest.

"Once we have defeated the blackguard Lundgren, there is sure to be much rejoicing!" Sain said, mollifying his horse with a pat on the head. The brown-haired knight's jovial voice seemed to carry far through the sea of trees, echoing back and forth from bark to branch. "Certainly no one in the nearby towns and the castle city would have sided with his cause. If he dares show his face at the castle gates, we will slay him and the townsfolk should turn to our side."

"Let us hope," said Lady Lyndis.

"Do not take this campaign so lightly, Sain," said Kent. "Lundgren is an extremely charismatic man with a way of bringing people to his side." He grimaced. "When first I met him as a recruit, he seemed a powerful, altogether decent general. No doubt he has the support of many of the standing army stationed in the castle, and he's likely swayed many of the common folk into detesting the 'Sacaen usurper'. Don't expect a hero's welcome marching through the city streets. In fact, we're like to be accosted by many of them."

Sain scoffed. "Louts, all of them. To disavow Lady Lyndis's claim so…are they truly that ignorant or are they willingly deluding themselves? If they but take a single look into Lady Lyndis's lovely eyes, they would know that she stands truly!"

"Lundgren's soldiers will not put down their spears and shields to look in Lady Lyndis's eyes, Sain. We cannot count on turning them to our side."

"Yes, yes, I know," Sain said, albeit grudgingly. "Well, whatever forces he employs, we will knock them all down!"

Lyn giggled and even Kent had to stifle a laugh. Wil was quickly catching up with the van, taking giant bounds from one place to the next, somehow managing to land softly and gracefully with each step.

"Lady Lyndis!" said he as he came forth. "No one at our flanks, and Rath says there's no one behind us either."

"That's good," replied Lyn. "We're almost out of the forest now. I can see the break up ahead. Across that meadow there should be two forts on the hill, and Castle Caelin just beyond that."

"Milady, it is beginning to drizzle," Sain said, holding his palm to the sky. "Should we stay at the edge of the forest and wait until the skies clear?"

"Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Nils portended that, did he not?"

Kent nodded.

They walked until they were within minutes of the forest's edge and made a hasty camp underneath the shade of several very old, very large trees; wise oaks all, and wizened by the many years, but the passing of time did only to mark them the largest and most distinct of all. The grove was remarkably healthy and appeared to have been left undisturbed for hundreds of years: not disease or even the woodcutter's axe had marred it. As a result the leaves above were green and many, with branches long and strong enough to climb and walk on weaving in grid-like patterns through the great canopy. It was the sort of place that Kent might have enjoyed running through when he was but a child, climbing the towering oaks like a monkey and bounding from branch to branch, defying death, leaving all his other cares and worries behind where they could not follow.

Kent and Sain tethered their horses and unburdened them of their packs. Lady Lyndis sat cross-legged in a circle with her two sworn men and Florina, who'd landed and begun to talk about her dream of one day planting a little garden and keeping flowers to keep her company. They bantered and told jests and Sain puffed himself up to mythical proportions, and Florina told stories of her sisters in Ilia, and how she wanted to bring a bouquet of her own flowers as a gift to tell them just what they meant to her. They passed around the last of their salted meat, and it was among the best they had tasted in a long time.

The rest of Lyndis' company sat elsewhere nearby, warmly socializing. Wil kept constant vigil, looking in every direction for sign of anything, seemingly unable to sit or stand still even for a moment; Serra sat beside her guardian Erk and complained about how sore her feet were while Matthew listened silently, amused; Ninian and Nils sat huddled together, embracing for warmth; Rath sat alone, watching the forest while stroking his horse; all the others sat in a small circle and listened as Wallace told stories of his younger days as a knight and Dorcas told of his wife Natalie.

"When this is well and done, let us have a gala!" Sain said, grinning like a madman. "When we retake the castle and set Lord Hausen's affairs to right, we will hold a grand feast. A banquet, with roast lamb and roast chicken and all the ale we can drink! And of course, all the prettiest maidens in Lycia are invited! Seems only fitting in the wake of slaying an evil overlord, aye?"

"If you start to eat a haunch of lamb before you have acquired it, you might find yourself chewing on your hand instead, Sain," Kent said.

"And…and if you kiss a girl before she's there, you might find yourself kissing the air," added Florina.

"You two never cease to be right," Lyn said, laughing.

"You wound me, friends," said Sain in mock indignation.

"Keep your mind off the feast and on the battle to come or you might find yourself with more grievous wounds than ours," Kent said. He unsheathed his sword and began to sharpen it on his whetstone.

"Oh, oh! Did you say you were going to have a feast? Hey, let me join in!" It was Serra, with Erk in tow. Sister Serra chortled. "Hee...I'd love to try a cup of mulled cider and some fresh greens would taste really good right about now."

Erk merely sighed. "The battle hasn't even begun yet, for ones, and for twos, I'd be loath to see you inebriated, Serra. I'd more prefer to see the world set to blaze and burn than see you in your cups."

"Well, I'd like to have a fire myself, right now," said Serra, wandering away. She was seemingly oblivious to any and all subtle slights that Erk leveled at her. "Oh, and a palanquin. And vassals. And jewels. Erk, don't you have a Fire tome? Go on, use it! I am getting chilly!"

Erk shook his head and followed his charge.

After a time, Wil decided to go on and scout out the path ahead, and Florina decided to start a watch from above, and so they parted with little more than a "good-bye" and a "be back soon".

The rain had increased in intensity, cutting through the high canopy like chill needles plummeting to the leafy forest floor below. A quiet, almost ethereal mist rolled in and gave their camp a dreamlike tinge, where every leaf and branch had been brushed over by watercolor.

When the lookouts had left, Lyn sighed, leaned back on her palms, and ran her hands through her hair. She looked up and the rain fell down on her forehead, onto her cheeks, and ran down into her open mouth. She laughed as she stared into the precipitation and drank it in, enjoying every peaceful moment. Kent watched her and seeing her smile made him smile as well.

"Ah, I love looking up into the rain as it falls. There's not oft rain on the plains of Sacae, but I always enjoyed it whenever there was. It made me feel clean." Lyn sighed yet again, and this time the stress of the day seemed almost to escape her in a single exhalation. "To think, tomorrow this nightmare will be over. Once we take the castle, we can put an end to Lundgren's treason and finally put everything to rights. Finally."

"OI!"

Kent started violently at the sudden voice—Wil's voice—ahead some yards, near where the grove gave way to open meadows.

"Wil, not so loud!" Lyn said, laughing anew. "You're like to wake the dead screaming like that."

"Lady Lyn, sorry!" he said, bounding back to where Lyn and her knights sat. "Sorry I was a bit loud. But, but up ahead, charging through the rain! There's a group...a group of knights on horrr—orrr—"

Wil stumbled forward, clutching his throat. "L-Ly—"

"Wil? WIL?" Lyn and her knights jumped to her feet just as Wil hit the forest floor face-first with a sickening thud. An arrow stuck out of the back of his neck at the base of his skull, lodged in so deeply that the arrow did not even shudder.

"Get down!" Kent yelled, diving at Lady Lyndis, tackling her to the ground.

Then the arrows came, a hurricane of shafts and points flying towards them from somewhere high, high above, and it sent Lyn's companions scattering in every direction, darting for shelter. Several arrows lodged themselves in tree trunks and others plinked harmlessly against the ground, and seconds later a second volley emerged like the shadow of death from the upper reaches.

Sain scrambled to grab his quiver of javelins as a bolt narrowly arced over his head. With little pause, he grabbed a javelin and hurled it upwards with ferocious might in the direction of the arrow. Behind them, Lucius stood with his tome at the ready. A flash of bright light shot from his fingertips and soon after, an archer fell from a branch high above them, screaming, impacting the ground with a violent smash. The light only seemed to make Lucius a better target; one arrow took him in the back and soon after another one lodged in the middle of his forehead. The book fell from his hands and he fell with it, tumbling limp to the ground.

The melee had already escalated beyond control before any of Lyndis's band could collect their thoughts. Their ranks were broken and their enemies showed no indication that they would allow them mercy. From somewhere in the tangle of branches above dropped men with axes and men with swords, landing on the ground and rolling ungracefully to break their fall. Arrows still flew in every direction, and one caught Erk on the shoulder as Serra shrieked in terror. Rath's arrows answered, and another archer fell from his lofty perch, dead as dead could be. Wallace had lowered his helm and fought a lout with an axe, while Dorcas tangled with a swordsman.

Kent helped Lyn to her feet and they armed themselves quickly. Sain thrust his spear though a stumbling axeman's throat and together Kent and Lyn cut another one into pieces. Two more archers fell from the trees above and the volleys of arrows seemed to stop, but Serra continued to cry uncontrollably as the rain fell harder still, pitter-pattering as the drops bounced from leaf to leaf, branch to branch, and finally to the damp earth below. It was a surreal, scornful backdrop to the violence that had so swiftly descended upon them all.

"Lady Lyndis!" Kent screamed over the din of pained cries and pouring rain. Beside him, Lyn turned. "Stay near me!"

"There's no end to them!" Sain yelled, smashing the butt of his lance into some brigand's crooked teeth.

A swordsman dropped gracefully from the tree under which Kent and Lyn were standing and drew a long, sharp, curved blade from his scabbard.

"W-What? Sacaen?" Lyn said, as she saw the swordsman's patterned furs and distinctly purple-red colored vest. "W-What clan's colors are those?"

The swordsman, who concealed his face with a sanguine veil of cloth, said nothing and charged forward meeting Lyn's blade with his. They danced from side to side, weaving through the trees, matching each other blow for blow, and soon enough they had moved away from the fray. Kent considered giving chase and was almost cleaved from behind by a man with an axe when Sain put a javelin through his back.

"Oi! Are there more?" Kent yelled, his heart hung up in his chest. Sain motioned to where Wallace was charging at a swordsman, clad in full armor and helm, running full bore with his lance.

"Blackguards!" Sain shouted. "You shall not—"

He was about to say something more, but he was cut off as an arrow came from out of the grey mist above and lodged in his shoulder. He yelped.

"Sain!" Kent cried as his friend fell, clutching his shoulder and writhing about in pain. Rainwater dripping down his hair and into his eyes, Kent was about to run forward when an arrow flew into him, and a lightning bolt of sharp pain coursed through his side. He fell to his knees, still reaching a hand out towards his wounded comrade.

Everywhere the scent of death was thick. The sounds of blades clashing seemed to move further and further away and even Serra's sobs seemed to be growing softer. Kent lifted himself up onto his hands and crawled towards the shelter of the great pine. He could barely make out through the thick mist the fallen forms of some of his comrades. He watched in horror as one man put an axe in Serra's head, and her crying ceased. She fell with her soft, bloody fingers still clutching onto her staff, as though maybe God Almighty would see fit to bring her friends back if only she were pious enough. She died that way. Kent looked around and saw no sign of Lady Lyndis anywhere.

Then he heard the trumpets and they chilled him from his head to his heart. Kent crawled until he could rest his back against the tree, his head spinning. A trickle of blood ran from the wound on his side. When he looked up again, he saw two large columns of riders on horseback, clad in full plate on chargers in full barding, their lances preceding them. There were at least a dozen of them, their spears shining silver, the standard of Caelin and the blue eagle of Lord Lundgren streaming behind them, looming large and mocking them all. Sain made to rise, climbing unsteadily to one knee even as he spat out a bloody tooth, and was caught high on his left shoulder by a long spear.

The next thing Kent knew, a hoof took him on the side of the head, and he saw no more.

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Part I: Blood and Iron

"And he who would not languish amongst men, must learn to drink out of all glasses; and he who would keep clean amongst men, must know how to wash himself even with dirty water." - Friedrich Nietzsche, trans. T. Common.

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"Hey. Hey. Oi. You're stirring. Good. Oi, Kent. Kent! Can you hear me? Can you hear me?"

"Hnnngh…ah…huh?"

"Can you hear me?"

"Ah…a-aye. I think. Is—that's…"

Kent opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. As soon as his consciousness returned, his head began to throb worse than it ever had before. His entire body ached, and when he tried to rise, he found his body unwilling to follow his command.

"Whoa! Don't stand! You're still hurt." Matthew crouched in front of Kent, snapping his fingers. "Hey, I'm here. Right here. Look, try not to move just yet, all right?"

"Matthew?" Kent said. "You—yet live…"

Matthew pursed his lips. "Aye. I was hoping you wouldn't be another casualty."

With a cursory glance upwards, Kent realized that twilight had fallen and the rain had stopped. The sun had almost completely melted into the western sky, and the forest was frighteningly hushed. Not even the insects made a sound.

"What—what happened…what…how many of us…"

The thief looked away and gave perhaps the deepest sigh Kent had ever heard. His shoulders sunk. "Everyone," he said at last.

Good Lord. No.

"W-What do you mean, 'everyone'?" Kent said.

"I've been searching for a while," Matthew replied. "After the soldiers and Lundgren's cavalry left, I looked around. I couldn't find Lady Lyndis anywhere, nor did I see Florina and her pegasus. I found Wallace's helm discarded on the ground but naught else…I saw no sign of Nils or Ninian, and no sign of Sain either. And aside from them…"

"Aside from…a-and—everyone else?"

"Let me look at your wound," Matthew said quickly. "I know a little of medicinal matters, but not enough. It'll have to do for now." Matthew knelt down and looked at the wound in Kent's side. Kent realized that Matthew had unburdened him of his breastplate and that there no longer was an arrow protruding from his side, only what looked like a tattered tunic wrapped tightly around the wound. Matthew drew a small bottle of salve and a vulnerary from his pack.

"I already did the hard part while you were unconscious," said he. "First, drink this." He handed Kent the drink and he quaffed it quickly. He set to dressing and applying salve to Kent's wound, a process which caused him no small amount of pain, and when the thief was finished, he wrapped his side in a clean cloth and sealed it with gauze. All the while, Kent closed his eyes and said nothing, trying to stop himself from pondering and worrying as he was wont to do.

"It is the best I could do," Matthew said when he had finished. "That should keep infection from settling in. Most common folk don't know how to treat a wound properly, but I've had training…of sorts. I'm just glad I carried this aid in my satchel."

Training? No, no, I've more important things to concern myself with.

"Lady Lyndis. What happened to Lady Lyndis?" Kent said. He slowly lifted himself to his feet, and, overcoming a sudden bout of dizziness, he was presently able to stand and crane his neck. His head continued to throb.

"I don't know. After the battle was over, she disappeared. My best guess is that when Lundgren's cavalry came, they took her and brought her to Castle Caelin."

"They 'took her'?" said Kent. "L-Lundgren wanted Lady Lyndis's head! I-Is she already—have I…no…."

"She's likely to still draw breath. She's worth more to them alive than dead. I doubt they've done away with her, not now."

"Ah…truly? And Sain was missing, so maybe he too still lives?"

"Aye," replied Matthew. "But…it would have been better if we'd won the battle, of course. If I had known there would be men lying in wait in the forest…."

"You heard no rumors of that sort?"

"None," Matthew said gravely. "I would have gone to you or Lady Lyndis right away. But I heard nothing. Everyone I spoke with was quiet on Lundgren's intents. As far as I knew he was going to make his stand at Castle Caelin. Truly, I only knew what you'd already relayed to me."

"Yes, yes, I see."

"If it is any consolation, I would have done the same thing. They would have taken the bridges to the south and we would never have made it across the mountains in good time…through the forest was the only reasonable way to go, knowing what we did. I know it mustn't make you feel any better, but…."

"No, I understand. Thank you, Matthew," Kent replied, his thoughts wandering to the days before, trying to find where it was he went wrong.

"Yesterday I was walking through some small hamlets up in the highlands, and after a bit of waiting and coaxing and buying of drinks, I heard some interesting rumors," said Matthew. "Lundgren is apparently keen on spectacle. I'm sure he'd jump at the chance to publicly execute the woman who tried to usurp him of his rightful title. Like as not he'd want the whole of Caelin to be there to watch Lyn lose her head, and for the information to spread and the smallfolk to gather by the castle, well, it might take perhaps a whole turn of the moon. So, until then…."

"Let us pray she still lives," Kent said, nodding. "That the fates to us are—are merciful."

Matthew laughed dryly. "Sorry, it's just that 'merciful' is…forgive me, I should not have laughed. Anyway, I'm sorry, but I can't stay here." He kicked at the ground with his heel and turned about. "I have business I must take care of. There's someone I need to talk to."

"Wait, I—anon, Matthew! What…what do I do now?" asked Kent as Matthew strode away. "Where do I go from here? Who..."

Matthew stopped and swung his cloak around. As opposed to his usual cheerful disposition, the expression on his face owned a tinge of melancholy surrender. "Find someone who hates Lundgren as much as you. There's a rumor going around…that there's a group somewhere who wants to oppose Lundgren. There has been a surge of uprising in some of Lundgren's lands recently. I don't know if all that is true or not, but it might be all you have to fall back on. But don't expect to find out anything about any resistance groups by asking people in the streets. More likely than not, they'd turn you over to the crown than risk their hides aiding a rebellion. Keep your mouth shut and your ears open. That's all the advice I can give you. I'll do whatever I can, but I can't promise anything."

"I-I see," said Kent, feeling perhaps as helpless as he had ever felt in his life. Slowly, painfully, it was beginning to dawn on him that yes, they had lost their battle, and not only was the nightmare not over, it was only beginning. "Matthew…I thank you for your help."

"I wish I could do more," Matthew said, and he hesitated a moment before disappearing into the trees.

It was a wonder he even survived the battle. What with everyone else falling…

When he was certain that walking would not cause him to collapse into a heap and fall unconscious again, Kent began walking around what was, many hours earlier, a battle scene. Soon enough he discovered why Matthew had seemed so grim. He first found Erk's lifeless body facedown in the peat, and lying next to him was Serra, her robes drenched in blood, her cold fingers still curled around her healing staff as though it could wish the dead back to life with a single rounded chant. He found Lucius lying several yards away atop his tome, and Dorcas slumped against a tree with pine needles scattered in his hair and rivers of dried blood on his scalp. Rath had taken an ungodly amount of punishment before he'd finally succumbed to his foes—by the look of it, he'd endured a thousand slashes and stabs from knives and swords and blows from hammers—and he had died with his short bow still in hand, his near-empty quiver slumbering beside him. One arrow still stuck defiantly out of his chest and another had lodged inside his ear. Most of the enemy soldiers, it seemed, had fallen near him. Everything was still. All the warriors—friend and foe alike—lay motionless, having long since been forced to continue their bloody warring in the afterlife. Even Wil's corpse remained where it had been during the melee, toppled in the manner of a fallen statue, silent as only the dead could be. And despite all that, Kent still almost expected him to jump up and yell "Oi! It was all just a lark, we're all fine!" He did not.

Where did I go wrong? How could they have ambushed us so effectively? How did we not notice them up in the trees? Kent clutched his head and before he realized it, he was stumbling around in circles, walking from Wil over to Serra and Erk and then to Rath and back again. He felt ill and queasy and a part of him wanted to curl up and merely sleep.

Did I misjudge the terrain? Should we not have walked through the forests? And because of my grave error…

Kent fell to his knees.

"Elimine, is this retribution? Have I committed some sin for which I'm now being punished?" he beseeched the heavens, and received no answer.

Because of my error, everyone is dead and Lady Lyndis is at Lundgren's mercy. I should have seen this somehow, I should have known. I am a failure as a knight and as a man.

He rose to his feet and looked around. He knew that he had to find shelter somewhere. Lundgren and his forces likely thought him dead and missing in the battle, but still he didn't dare storm the castle despite the part of him that wanted to play hero and charge into Castle Caelin himself, slaying the evil lord and rescuing the princess. His boyhood dreams had been dashed, beaten and bloody, against the wall, and he reckoned that his adult self was more a husk than a whole man.

There's a small village to the east, Kent thought, remembering how Rath had been given an ensorcelled ring as a gift by the villagers there. If they aided us then, they're like to give me shelter now. I've no other choice. I must leave. Now.

In the melee, Kent's horse had ran off somewhere; the red knight considered himself lucky that he found what remained of his pack lying amongst the leaves, underneath the tree where his courser once had been tethered. One of his thin swords had been bent uselessly and two of his potions had shattered on the ground, but he found one vulnerary and a small knife still intact. With neither his pack nor his horse nor his breastplate, Kent felt painfully naked. The cold evening air seemed to bite more viciously against his skin. Even the night seemed to be darker and more foreboding than usual, and the stars seemed ever more distant.

Kent knew he needed to make ground, so he took off and ran, refusing to look back, stopping only for brief periods to catch his breath before running further. By the time he reached the eastern edge of the forest, the night had fallen fully and left him in total darkness save for the ethereal light of the full moon overhead.

I've until the next turn of the moon, Kent thought, remembering what Matthew had told him. He felt himself about to collapse, and he fell to his knees and leaned against a large tree trunk before he toppled despite himself. Before he knew it, he was sleeping and dreaming.

The nightmares were strange and terrible. He was atop a great hill, by a cliff overlooking the hill, and Lord Lundgren—the man he had known when he was only a squire, the man who once had help him hone his spearwork—was standing there before him, holding Lyn up by the hair. Kent was bound by large, red rope and his index finger was connected to Lyn's by a thin red string that hung listlessly through the air. The world around him was burning, burning, and through the furious embers, Kent could see Lundgren's cold eyes leering at him, watching him, judging him.

"Watch, man, as she suffers!" Lundgren shouted, smiling. He smashed Lyn in the gut and Kent felt a sharp, staggering pain in his chest as Lyn cried out. He smacked her in the face and Kent felt her pain. Lundgren threw her to the ground and Kent fell to his knees, trying to worm free of his bonds and failing.

"Have you ever wanted to fly? If you have enough time, you can," Lundgren said, before scooping up Lyndis under one arm and Kent under the other. Kent meant to scream but his mouth fell off—or maybe it was never there to begin with—and he was made to suffer in silence, to watch and hear with painful clarity as his liege lady suffered.

"FLY!" yelled Lundgren, laughing callously as he threw them both off a cliff and they fell, tumbling and spinning through the air. As he tumbled, Kent reached out for Lyn, beautiful Lyn, and made to grab her hand but she was out of reach, always a little bit too far away to touch and somehow she fell faster than him, and he watched as she fell into the icy waters below with a tremendous splash. Kent could only watch helplessly as he followed her down, falling head over heels, completely at the mercy of the red string that guided his course, down, down, down into the unknown below until suddenly the string snapped and turned to dust and Kent fell alone. He saw his hometown far below, saw the people so reproachful turn their backs from him and avert their eyes as he plummeted. He was about to apologize and scream out his penance when awoke, his face drenched in sweat and tears, turned to salty ice in the midnight air; his fingers, turned to needles from having lay and writhed on top of them in his nightmare.

"W-What time is it?" Kent said stupidly as he stumbled to his feet, yet unsteady. The world was still dark around him. The pain in his side had grown greater, and now it followed him like an eldritch flame, burning and stinging as though it were boring through his flesh. He grit his teeth and clenched his fists until his nails dug awkwardly into his palms.

I won't be able to sleep like this…

Still smarting, Kent grabbed his pack and walked eastward again, the incandescent moonlight guiding his path. Off in the distance he saw the few remaining village lights glimmer, solid and beautiful, and the notion that every step brought him closer to that supernal light moved his legs for him. He walked listlessly, exhausted, over small paths of coarse gravel and grassy meadows until he found the dirt road and limped, his chest heaving and burning, towards the village gates. His face was coated in a cold fever sweat.

Open…for the love of all holy, open…

Kent pounded on the wrought-iron gate with all the strength that remained to him, and when he could muster no more, he fell to his knees and his consciousness slipped away.

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When Kent next awoke, he was pleasantly surprised to feel a featherbed underneath him, a cool rag on his forehead, and a soft blanket covering him. When he had blinked the sleep out of his eyes, he sat up and looked around. He was in a house of some sort, in a small room, empty but for the bed he slept in. The sun shined through the open window on the other side of the room. His head throbbed.

"Ugh. Where did I end up?" Kent mumbled. He was about to lean back and fall into sleep again when the door opened and a tall man with a thick mass of oily black hair walked in and saw him sitting up.

"Oh, you're awake," said he. He was well-built, with arms like the trunks of small trees. His tunic was torn and tattered, and his britches were cut at the knees. His face was lashed with an uneven coating of stubble and little curled strands of hair poked out from beneath his sharp chin. "You all right? We found you out by the gate last night."

"Ah…yes. I'm fine," Kent lied. "Thank you for helping me."

The man closed the flimsy-looking wooden door behind him and folded his arms over his chest. "I'd like to know who you are and whence you've come, lad," he said sternly. He looked Kent over suspiciously, and Kent felt his eyes digging into him. He wore nothing but his tunic and his breeches—a traveler's clothes if naught else, and certainly not the regalia of a knight.

I couldn't tell him the truth. Not if they think the war's been won and Lundgren's Marquess Caelin.

Kent was suddenly glad he'd left his breastplate underneath a tree in the forest. In fact, nothing that might have marked him as a knight remained on his person. He did not even wear the emblem of Caelin. Kent stroked his face where the beginnings of a beard had come after a while gone without shaving, and tried to invent a life story for himself in a matter of seconds.

"I am—am only a traveler," Kent said at last, looking down at his blanketed lap. "A—a traveling merchant…and a poor one at that. I—I lost my wares. Along the road. I was beset by highwayman. With the war—the war, it…some blackguards must have taken advantage of the chaos and decided to move quickly. They…ah, they let me go with my life, but they took my wagon and my horses and my wares. And they left me with quite a few injuries for my trouble."

He lifted his tunic up over his head and pointed out the bruises and cuts on his chest, and the place where the arrow had caught him on his side. The man regarded him silently.

"I…I ran as fast as I could…south, south along the road. I ran until mid-night, until I came here. That is the reason wherefore I came to rest at your village's gate. Forgive me my trespasses. I'm still ashamed at my weakness. I'm good with a wood sword and a pitchfork, but I've nothing like true steel, and my assailants were…well-armed."

That much is true at least, thought he, biting his lip.

When Kent had finished speaking, the tall man grunted and nodded slowly. "I see then," he said, and his voice hadn't the rough edge it had possessed before. "I'm sorry to hear that, lad. This war…this war's been bad for all of us. Most of it's come from the guerillas slinking in the forests, striking and retreating. Until recently, I hadn't heard of one true engagement between standing forces at all. Some bloody war, eh! And the rat bastards slinking on the high-road wouldn't think twice before attacking women and children, unarmed merchant caravans…the Saint knows there are enough of them. Seems every second there's a new man going to hell for doing something rotten like that. Then again…it's said that war is good for business, isn't it?" He narrowed his eyes and glared at Kent again. Kent could not meet his eyes, cold and black-brown as they were.

"I—I suppose that is what folks say, it is true."

"I just want it to end. Lord Hausen, Lord Lundgren, the savage girl who claims Hausen's throne…it doesn't matter a whit one way or the other. As long as the fighting comes to an end. Just kill the rebels and deserters and be done with it, bring back peace, that's the easiest way of it. Sure you agree, eh lad?"

"Ah—yes, yes of course."

"You know, you don't speak like one of us little village folk," the man noted. "Where are you from?"

Kent might have said the same about the way the tall man spoke—he didn't sound like a Lycian peasant, not to him—but held his tongue. Instead, he said, "I—I didn't hail originally from Caelin, you see. Well—my father was a…a merchant from Pherae. One of the many muscling for a foothold in the City by the Castle. I've—I've not a place there, so my father closed his doors to me and sent me on my way. The best place I could find business was here in Caelin."

"I see," the tall man said, and Kent was surprised at himself that he could fabricate such an apparently believable story whilst being dangled over the proverbial flame. "I'm sorry that you had to get caught up in our affairs, lad. I'm sure you Pheraens think very little of our bloody lot, squabbling over lords and ladies and nothing at all. They would never abide by having rebels and rogues wreaking havoc on Pheraen soil. Roland is shaking his head in displeasure up in Heaven. 'limine's'blood, it does seem that Pherae has the best of it as far as leaders go." He extended his hand and Kent shook it. "Well met, then, lad. My name's Donald."

"W-Well met. I am called—" Kent thought for a second, and the first name that came to mind was— "Wallace. Wallace, from Pherae."

"Right then. Wallace. At any rate, this is my inn and tavern, the Humble Begynnynges. You probably don't have any coin left after dealing with those highwaymen, so…stay here a bit, 'least until you get better. I won't mind. Not like we have many folk coming around nowadays anyway."

"Thank you. I appreciate your kindness, truly."

"Don't," Donald said, turning away. His voice suddenly frosted over, ever so slightly. "Don't feel that you're indebted to me or the like. You don't have to repay me for anything. Once you're well, head for the roads and don't think of this kindness or this village ever again." With that, he disappeared, closing the door behind him, leaving Kent to his thoughts and the company of the bright sun.

Sir Wallace…Kent thought as he fell back against his feathery pillow, still completely drained. Fell defending your homeland…maybe you simply wanted to till your fields for the rest of your days, but despite that, you were willing to take up your lance for Lady Lyndis. And you died for it. General Eagler…Sain…Rath, Dorcas, Erk, Serra, Lucius, Wil…and—and more…God, more! They all gave their lives fighting for her…they all died in service of Caelin. And I—I'm still alive.

A sudden surge of anger washed over Kent, and he slammed his fist against the bed. He looked up at the ceiling helplessly, and as soon as it had come, the anger passed and when he collected his thoughts again, he had to bite back tears.

Why am I still alive? Why me? When Lady Lyndis was taken and everyone we knew was killed, why me…why do I still live? If it were me—if it had been me instead of her, me instead of Sain…it would have been better that way! It was my misjudgment to travel on through that wood. I alone should have suffered for it...

"Damn it," Kent said. His head began to hurt again, and he pressed his eyes shut.

If what General Eagler said was true…poison…is that truly what it is? If so, then Lord Hausen might already be…with Lundgren around, he will never be safe. And when Lundgren takes his crown, no man in Caelin could do anything but pledge their service to him. And then…

Kent sighed and let his thoughts go. Whenever they came back, he pushed them away, pushed them further and further back until nothing remained but the sight of dark and the gentle sounds of birds chirping. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep again.

When next Kent woke, the sun had passed by the eastern window and turned the sky into a brilliant wall of oranges and reds high above the evening sky. Finally rested, Kent got to his feet, slung his near-empty satchel over his shoulder, and exited his room. He walked down a long hall past numerous other rooms and followed the sounds of bustle and men talking.

Kent emerged in a drinking hall. It was not half-full, but the few people there were making enough noise for thrice their number. At the end of the bar sat a tall, bald man with a scar on his left cheek, chugging ale as though it were his last mug, telling bawdy jokes between gulps and holding a conversation with the man known as Donald. Several other unsavory-looking men sat on stools beside him, and a few more sat at tables, shouting over to the bar and being shouted at in turn. One eyepatched fellow sat at a table with a cute blonde girl on his lap, playing Mage Cards with a large hairy bloke across from him, who was conspicuously girl-less. The man with the girl seemed to have all the gold in that game and the giggling young whore bit into one of the shimmering gold crowns ostensibly to check its legitimacy, but apparently just for fun.

Someone at the bar belched loudly and everyone laughed.

I think I could rather use a drink, Kent thought, sighing. He had already sat down at the end of the bar next to a blond fellow when he realized that he hadn't a single coin with him, and he already had been given one large favor by the owner. Not wanting to wear out his welcome, he made to go for some fresh air when the blond man beside him reached out and grabbed his arm.

"What the hell kind of man sits down beside a fellow for a drink and gets up before he can order his fill, hm?"

Kent's heart skipped a beat, but when he turned to look at the blond man, he found that this particular stranger was smiling, for some reason. Then Kent's heart skipped another beat.

Is that…he's…wait, do I know him?

Slowly, Kent sat back down again. "I'm—I'm out of coin," he said, but the blond man interrupted him.

"To hell with that. Oi!" he called, rising up from his stool. "Donald! A mug of black, on my coin! I can spare a few silver."

When he sat down again, Kent asked him, "Why did you do that?"

"Eh? When a man buys you a drink, you don't ask 'why you do that?' Naw. You say 'that's damn decent of you' and you drink the damn drink!"

"Well, hm. All right. Thanks."

"Ah, that's good enough, friend," said the blond man, and when Donald came with the drink, he dropped down five silver and jerked a thumb in Kent's direction. It was some of the best black ale Kent had ever drank, thick and flavorful, and it made having to listen to the rowdy group talk about which women they'd rammed good and how bad their dice had rolled the night before more bearable.

Kent drank silently, and when he had finished his tankard, he made to leave again, and again the blond man grabbed his arm to stop him.

"What is it?" Kent said shortly.

The blond fellow motioned for Kent to come closer and he whispered in his ear, "You wouldn't, by chance, happen to be called Kent?"

Kent's heart skipped about three beats.

I-is he one of Lundgren's men? Was he one of the knights who trained under Lundgren with me long ago? If so, then…oh, damn…

"Why?"

"That's what I thought. You'd best come with me." He dropped down a few silver and two gold from his pockets onto the bar and headed for the exit, motioning impatiently for Kent to come along. Without many other options, he followed him outside into the village proper, beside the doorway, in the cobbled streets that had emptied quite completely in the twilight. He briefly considered scrounging around in his pack for his knife, but reconsidered seeing the sword on the man's hip and the knife hooked on his belt.

"What do you want from me?" Kent said when they had escaped into the quiet outside.

"Oi, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to ask you something," said the man, shrugging. "And it would be in your best interest to tell the truth. I'm not your enemy. You can believe me in that."

"How? Who are you?"

"Ahh, come on, Kent. I've grown a bit since I was a lad, but are you saying you don't remember the 'best swordsman in all Caelin'? Glenn?"

Kent took a good look at the man and thought for a moment, and suddenly he remembered.

"When I was training under General Eagler! Back then, at Castle Cardiff!" Kent said. "You—you're the same Glenn?"

Glenn smiled. "Aye, the same. I've grown a bit and my eggs dropped half a league down in my britches, as you might be able to hear, but my name's still Glenn and I did indeed train with you and Sain all those years ago. Can't believe you forgot. I remember it like it was yesterday."

Kent had known a boy named Glenn years ago, when he and Sain were both but squires learning under the watchful eye of General Eagler. The boy named Glenn was a scrawny left-handed lad the same age as Sain, with a high-pitched voice, scraggly yellow hair, and arms that even for a boy his age were tiny. He was a short lad with the self-confidence of one thrice his size. The man named Glenn who stood before Kent was taller than he was, moustached and stout with a deeper voice, big arms, and a long, brilliant golden mane. He wore a boiled leather brigandine over a heavy tunic and a long longsword hooked on his belt, resting against his right leg.

"It has been a while," Kent said, after a few moments spent speechless. He held out his hand and Glenn took it firmly in his. "How have you fared since our paths diverged?"

"Well, until recently, not as well as you," Glenn said, and his expression turned darker. "I never had the talent you and Sain did. Nor the size. And I still fight sinister, which never looks good when serving station to the marquess directly, as you had. Superstitious lot, that. I worked under General Eagler until rather recently. It's a long story, one saved for different times—it's a four, maybe five-tankard tale, I'll say that much. But I didn't pull you out to talk about old times. I never thought I'd see you here, but now that I have, I'd think you'd like to hear what I've to say."

"What do you mean?"

Glenn lowered his voice. "I know about the battle in the forest. And about Lyndis and your little campaign."

"How could you know that?"

"We have ways of getting information," said Glenn. "I'm not as stupid as I look. I know about Lyndis, and I know that she's daughter to the throne of Caelin. And if Lord Hausen dies, then she should be ruler already. Remember, I served under General Eagler. He knew. He knew, Kent. Don't think he didn't know what was going to happen, or who was in the right in this matter. There are plenty of people who want Lord Lundgren as dead as you do. And after what happened yesterday, I expect there will be plenty more willing to start some burning for the rightful heiress's sake. 'Barbarian princess' or not, Lyndis is the rightful ruler of Caelin."

"General Eagler?"

"Aye, General Eagler. He was done a terrible wrong by Lord Lundgren. He would have been glad to set his sword beside yours under different circumstances."

"W-What do you mean?" Kent shook his head and whispered. "Glenn…General Eagler. I…with my own hands, I…struck him down."

Glenn nodded. "I knew that too. And so did he. He would see you live and learn the truth in time. Listen to me. There's someone I want you to meet. Listen, Kent! Do you really want to save Lyndis?"

"Of course! Of course I do! I swore that I would serve and protect Milady Lyndis. That was something I promised Lord Hausen, and I do not intend to betray the trust he placed in me. Glenn, if she yet lives, I am willing to do whatever is necessary to save her. This isn't even about honor any more; the fate of Caelin hangs in the balance! I will defeat Lundgren, I swear it."

Glenn smiled. "Good. Good. 'Whatever's necessary', hm? That's good, that's good. Y'know…you're pretty damn lucky you ran into me when you did. I didn't think you'd still be alive…but since you apparently are, I think I have a bit of business you might be interested in getting in on. Come on. We gotta wait until Hanuman finishes his drinks."

"So, hold, hold for a second. You were stationed at Castle Cardiff under General Eagler this whole time?"

Glenn stopped in the doorway of the tavern, tall lithe frame blocking the way. He turned about. "Aye, that's right. Until a few weeks yon. He told us if we'd no convictions to fight or die, to leave. I know Lundgren well enough to know it was better to get out before Lord Lundgren's men got to the general."

"I see. Did anyone else escape with you?"

"Couldn't say," Glenn said with a shrug. "But most stayed on with the new boss. Same as the old boss. I'm sure you remember Glyndwr, oi? He stayed on with General Eagler and fought 'till the end with him. He was a good man…but then again, that's what happens in wars, wot?"

"Seems like a lifetime ago."

Glenn nodded. "Aye, that it does, doesn't it? Now come on. Enough time for looking back later."

Kent followed the blond man back into the tavern, where the blokes at the bar were laying down tiny mountains of silver and a few golden crowns, preparing to leave. Glenn went over to the bald man at the end of the bar, whispered something to him, and as he passed by, he beckoned Kent to follow him outside.

The rowdy bunch all poured out of the tavern, talking amongst one another merrily. The great, bald man stood beside Glenn and looked Kent over.

"Oi, Glenn. This th' guy?"

"That he is."

"What about 'im? 'E don't look wot a fighter should. Why should I waste my time on this bloke?"

"The man can fight, Hanuman," Glenn said, his hand on his hip. "Trust me. Back when we were just lads, he could beat me with one arm tied behind his ruddy back. Then again, I was a twig of a lad then, but there was a time when he could give General Eagler a good run at it. Last I heard, he took down the general 'imself."

"That right?" Hanuman snorted. "You know who I am, lad?"

Kent shook his head. Above him, the sign reading "Humble Begynnyngs" swayed and creaked as a gentle night wind started to blow through the village street.

The man Glenn had named Hanuman was a bull of a fellow, well-built to an extreme, as though his body itself was a coat of mail, impregnable and tough. He was as bald on his rocky chin as he was on his head, with only a light nebula of stubble on his cheeks, and a pronounced aquiline nose parting his face. He'd big arms and big legs and his chest was a cask of old wine, but somehow his frame was compact, barely wider around than Glenn and only a few inches taller. He had a large scar under his left eye, and as Kent looked closer he saw several red and grey scars carved into his neck at sharp angles. His eyes were dark green as night and his eyebrows darker still.

"Bloody right y'don't know me. No one knows us. Naught save mebbe Lunngren's crowns. And when we get through with their ruddy pates, they'd wish they didn't knows us." Hanuman turned and spat aside on the ground. "Glenn, you sayin' this bloke was a knight? He looks half a lad."

"Aye, that he was. A damned good one. Surely you heard that a group of knights were sent out to find Lyndis and deliver her to her rightful throne."

Hanuman laughed. "If I din't know about Lady Lynnis, what kind of half-arsed peasantfolk would I be? The only question's whether or not we all believe she's who she claims t'be. Not that Lundgren's word 'gainst hers means a fart in the wind."

"Well, Sir Kent was one of those entrusted by Lord Hausen with the task of bringing her back."

Hanuman seemed to consider something for a second, his eyes flitting between Glenn and Kent. "That so? A few little birds told me Lady Lyndis and her cadre were set on by soldiers at the edge of the western forest," Hanuman said, and circled around Kent, grinning unsettlingly. "So yer one of them managed to get away, inn't?"

There was a moment of silence—then Kent realized that the bald man was waiting for an answer. "Y-Yes. I escaped. As far as I know, I—I was the only one who got away."

And Matthew, thought he, but they do not need to know as much.

"'S that so…"

Hanuman turned to Kent and snorted. "Helpless feelin', inn't? S'ppose we could use all the manpower we can get. You look a knight, at least. "

"What do you mean, 'manpower'?" Kent said, tapping the ground with the toe of his boot. Night had fallen almost completely, and with it, Kent's patience. "Who are you? And what do you want with me?"

"Us? We ain't but a merry band of friends! And we just want t'make right what Lundgren made wrong!" Hanuman laughed. "They call me Hanuman, king of this crew of mad apes. You knight's like'n a handshakes to see a well meeting off right, innit?"

Hanuman held out his hand. Kent regarded it for a short while and finally took it in his hand.

"I am Sir Kent," he said, seeing no point in hiding his identity, what with Glenn knowing. He stuck out his chest proudly. "I've—I've no emblems to speak of, but my loyalties lie firmly with Caelin. I am a knight through-and-through."

"'S that so," said Hanuman again, chortling. "Right then, 'Serr' Kent. Heh. Bettin' y' never got your nose dirty fightin' in the white halls of the castle city, wot? Y'say y'want to know a li'l bit more 'bout the folk who slink in the dark? Well, tag along with us blokes. El'mine knows we can use all the good sword arms we can get. Not that it's 'n act a' God t' get blokes to fight f'r a pretty lady, brown or not. If that Lady Lyndis lass is half the looker some of our boys say she is, she's worth takin' up arms fer. And if she's the brood of Hausen's daughter, may be it they're right, inn't?"

"How can I trust you?" Kent said. He stared intently at Hanuman; beside him, Glenn grinned with his hand on his hip.

"How can you 'trust' me'?" Hanuman chortled. "What the bloody hell kind of question's that? How c'n we trust you? You can't 'trust' anyone, not any more. C'mon with us, 'Serr' Kent. We won't wait'n any for ya, but if you can run, you're glad to come along."

Hanuman turned to the noisy throng of men loitering on the gravel path, stuck two grayed fingers in his mouth, and whistled.

I guess I've no choice but to follow these men. With the rest of Lycia already sworn to neutrality, it would be impossible to raise a host now even for a rightful cause…I'm truly out of options.

"Listen up, all you piss-pots," he growled when the others had shut up good. "Donald don't want our sorry arses around here any more. Truth be told, I don't fecking blame him. We's enough trouble just being here. So we's gonna go on back to the Ur-Hole f'r now, all right? Gregg!"

The eyepatched man from before stopped fondling his girl long enough to look back at the leader.

"Time enough f'r whorin' later. Leave yer slut behind and let's go."

The blonde prostitute moaned unhappily, but the man named Gregg simply gave her one last kiss and squeeze of her breast, and urged her off. Several men went off briefly to make night soil or water, and one took a few moments to finish vomiting up his ale.

When everyone had gathered—the group was some fifteen strong, including Kent and Glenn—, Hanuman lit up a torch and they set off down the stone road, to the gates of the village and down a dirt road, winding east and then north. At the head of the group, Hanuman walked alongside Kent and Glenn, and the others followed close behind, with the man named Gregg watching their backside with an oil lantern.

When they had ventured far enough into the uninhabited meadow, Hanuman turned to Kent. "You wanna know who we are, huh? Well, I'll tell you. This's called the Crimson Comp'ny. Our hands 'r all stained with blood. We dun fight f'r honor, we dun fight f'r glory, we dun fight even f'r gold. We get that wot other ways. Naw. This's a place for people wot don't got no home anywheres else. We're here now for one reason: To raise hell against the wee man called Lundgren."

"Lundgren?" Kent said. "What grudge do you bear against Lundgren?"

"Heh. Truth be told, most of the boys don't even care about that. They follow me. Let me learn you somethin', serr knight. It's said that deserters and crim'nals are the most dangerous kind of men. They know if they're caught, their lives'r forfeit, so they won't flinch at committin' even the most heinous'a crimes. Let's make sure y'know what yer gettin' into. We're all crim'nals here, crim'nals, deserters, and rogues. We're rebels. We ain't no knights, we ain't no happy few—we a band of brothers and brothel-botherers, an' that's it. We ain't e'en a mercenary company. Just a bunch of fucks who fly our own flag."

"Everyone here is a criminal?" Kent said. As he walked, he stole glances backwards at the men laughing and telling dirty jests and stories in the rearguard. "Every one?"

"Save maybe good li'l 'serr Glenn'," Hanuman said, shooting a sideways grin at the blond swordsman. "See, the boys don't come here to win any countries or save any folks. They come here because they got nowhere else to run. We give 'em a place t'hide from the sher'fs and a place to call home."

"So then why do you fight, if not for a purpose?" Kent said, appalled. "You mean you stand and oppose Lundgren of Caelin just because you are a band of deserters with nothing better to divert yourself with? Are you mad?"

Hanuman laughed. "A bit mad, I s'ppose. More 'n a bit, actually, I'd reckon."

"Then how do I know you'll aid me? How do I know you'll not run off to pursue some other fancy, perhaps, somewhere in a village with many pretty painted drabs and some tankards of drink or casks of limed sack—"

"Oi, Kent," Glenn said gently, but Hanuman stopped him.

"Naw, naw, let 'im talk, Glenn," said he. "I think serr Kent asked how he'll know we'll aid him. Here's m'answer." He flashed a row of greyed teeth in Kent's direction. Many of them had been lost to fights or perhaps the flow of time itself. "We won't. We ain't helpin' you do a damn thing. Ye'll be helpin' US. And don't think none'f us have anythin' invested in this, like we're slittin' all those blokes' throats f'r the bloody sport of it. Naw," Hanuman scowled and his demeanor became serious in an instant. "I mean to see Lundgren dead, an' I got my reasons, an' I'm sure I'm not the only one of our boys who wants to see his nose stick'n in ten feet a' dirt. We're a ragtag bunch, but you'll see, we've more'n our share of fighters born. We don't train 'n the arts of paint or decorum, 'n we don't waste time in no balls or galas. We're killers. We do wot must needs be done, or we die."

Kent had no response to that, and Glenn seemed about ready to speak, but decided against it. They walked through the twilight and then through the dead of night, until the moon shone directly above them, casting its foreboding light on them. The party's boots clomped steadily along the pathways in an arrhythmic and almost hypnotic way.

The legends say that the foulest of devils shine an otherworldly color in the light of the full moon. Like as not we'll see one of those men grow fur and fangs like the man-wolf of lore, Kent thought, unable to smile even a bit at the thought.

They had walked for what seemed an eternity when they reached a small range of peaks and began their climb up a graveled trail, winding around great boulders and at last meeting its end at a stone building erected on a southward prominence. High on the mountain, it overlooked the small hamlets off in the distance, and further off still, the castle city and the castle proper where at that moment Lundgren surely sat on his ill-gotten throne, waiting for his dear elder brother to shrivel up and die. From such a height, the land which Kent had for so long called his proud home was like an emerald sea stretched out before him. From such a height, everything seemed insignificant and little; even the castle seemed to be little more than an anthill, and for a fleeting instant it suddenly did not seem so absurd lifting his iron heel and grounding Lundgren into the earth.

"Oi, Kent," Glenn said to Kent as he looked out at the vast landscape rolling out beneath him. Glenn put a hand on his shoulders. "Come on, mate, come meet the rest of the crew."

Kent's friend led him into the dingy stone rampart, and found the place bustling with light and life. Even past the mid-night hour, nearly everyone was still awake, sitting in rows at wooden tables, sharing a light meal of roasted hog and some wooden cups of cheap soft beer. Glenn led Kent around, and soon enough Kent had been introduced to everyone who'd journeyed with him from the village to the hideout—the "Ur-Hole", as Hanuman had called it. The man named Gregg with the eyepatch, he'd learned, was near the best archer they had in their band, and it was little surprise that he took the largest tankards at the drink tables; the great hairy man with a greater axe still was called Gryz; Zeke Granger was a tall lancer with long blue hair; 'Sir' John Fatrod had trouble hearing the chimes at mid-night; Milo couldn't hold his liquor, his brother Milan had a mouth like a sewer, and the others besides were characters in their own rights.

Kent found he had little stomach, so when he had taken his fill of the clamor, he wandered into the building's far room and sat atop a barrel in a room lit only by a single torch and the light of the moon, and distanced himself from the noise as much as he could.

"Best get some rest," Glenn said, wandering in with a hand in a pocket and a beer in the other. "You need it. Truth be told, you still look more than a bit haggard."

"Yes," Kent replied. "Yes, I am."

"Let me lead you down into the real 'hole'," Glenn said, adding with a crude smile, "and I don't mean my arse." He pushed aside a crate in the corner and pulled up a small trap door hidden in the ground.

Kent followed the swordsman down a flight of crudely-fashioned steps, through a long, narrow hallway, and found himself in a cave, where rooms had been carved out of the rock and yet more people shuffled about. The sounds of yelling and dicing came from one and still more rooms branched off directly opposite, down pitch-black corridors winding through the stone.

"What is this all?" Kent said, a bit in awe.

"Hanuman made this place our base of operations. It might have been a Ganelon hideout once, but now it's our place. Our little 'Ur-Hole' deep within the earth. Believe me, no one is going to find this place unless they already know where it is. Come on, let me show you where you can sleep."

Glenn led Kent down a dark, winding hallway and eventually they came upon a room, on which had been laid several blankets. The room was dark but for the strange luminescence of a rock spire hanging from the ceiling. There were several people already asleep, including what appeared to be a mage in a red cloak, and a thin, silver-haired man holding a staff possessively at his side, as though it were a child's comfort blanket.

"Get some rest. There's somethin' Hanuman wants you to do on the morrow."

With that, Glenn left Kent, and the knight found himself alone, kept company only by the low, constant sounds of snoring from one of the slumbering men. Kent found a comfortable place to lay, and so he did, looking up at the ceiling where the natural lightstone glowed almost like starlight.

Are these my only allies? Kent thought as he lay awake, tired yet somehow unable to fall into slumber. He felt cold. These are the men I must rely on to retake Castle Caelin? God above have mercy on me. Am I doomed again to defeat before I've even begun?

Kent sighed and shut his eyes tight.

Lady Lyndis…forgive me. I am a weak man. Mother Caelin, forgive me as well. I don't think I can do this on my own.

He lay silently there and he didn't know how long it took, but at last he fell asleep and for a brief time, thought no more.

---

"Oi, Kent. Kent!"

Kent awoke to see Glenn standing over him, hand on his hip.

"Get up," Glenn said. "Hanuman wants to talk with you. Says there's something he needs you to do."

Groggy, Kent lifted himself out of bed. The pain in his side had tapered off to a dull and insistent throb, irritating but bearable. He refused to let anyone in his new company know that any of his wounds were still fresh.

He followed Glenn back through the dim, cavernous chambers, past rows of flickering torches and crates filled with salted fish and hard tack. The rooms that had the night before been loud with the sounds of game were quiet now but for the faint sounds of dripping water, and the clamor only revealed itself as the two men climbed up, back through the trapdoor into the building above. Most of the men from before had gathered in the largest room, and the tables and benches had been pushed to the side. Where the night before had held drink and game, this morning saw the company gathered in a great circle, standing and watching. In the middle of the throng stood Hanuman, holding still a prisoner in manacles. He was unarmed, but on his doublet he bore the personal symbol of Lord Lundgren, the azure eagle on a field, or.

"Ah, there y'are, 'Serr' Kent," Hanuman said, urging Kent forward and pointing at him. Kent could feel the eyes of the rest of the Crimson Company watching him intently. "Boys, this lad used t'be a knight in Caelin's ranks, but now he's put aside all that shite about honor 'n wot to join up with us."

The group murmured and whispered around him.

What does he intend to do here? thought Kent, the back of his neck burning with the uncultured stare of countless eyes.

"Well, 'Serr' Kent, this here's one of Lundgren's blokes," said Hanuman, prodding the prisoner in the back. "One of our boys found him slinkin' around the western woods a night ago. 'E says he was part of the brigade wot set upon Lady Lyndis and her legion."

"Aye, that I was," the prisoner said, his eyes moving from Kent to Glenn and then to the floor. "I was there. Too late to do any killing. The rebels had already been routed. Would that I could do the job myself."

How coldly he says that! Kent thought, furrowing his brow.

"Well, serr Kent, y'heard the man," Hanuman said. "He's one of the enemy. One of Lunngren's blokes, the very same wot tried to flay you alive some nights ago. 'e's the manner a' man we'd want to see dead. We's figurin' we'd bugger him a second arse…but I've a better idea to decide whe'er or not this ruddy fiend walks away."

Hanuman removed a ring of keys from his doublet, and Kent watched, horrified, as he began to unlock the prisoner's manacles. A fat man handed Lundgren's man a longsword, and Kent stupidly watched as a tall, silver-haired man with an unsettling smile came up behind him and forced a sword into his hands as well.

"W-What is this?" Kent said, looking from Hanuman to the prisoner, who seemed as dumbfounded as Kent himself.

"You want'be a member of the Crimson Comp'ny?" Hanuman said, holding his blade to the prisoner's back. "You need t'know how t'kill. We don't accept dead men walkin' here. Here, y'fight, or y'die." Hanuman gave the prisoner one unceremonious push forward, and Kent found himself alone in the middle of a circle of men, staring down one of Lundgren's men, who looked up at him and clenched his sword tightly.

This isn't happening. For the love of the Saint, what is this?

Kent had little time more to think. The prisoner charged at him, and before he knew it, their blades clashed together. Kent took a step back and parried the prisoner's blow.

He's good.

The first thing he noticed that Lundgren's man had excellent footwork, and Kent found himself being pushed back and to the side with every steel exchange they made. Neither man was wearing any armor; Kent knew that one errant move might cost him his life. When Kent's opponent swung to the right, Kent was on point to parry, and when he tried a quick strike to the body, Kent lashed out and turned the blade away. They had dueled for at least two minutes when Kent began to feel the effects of fatigue. His sword met the prisoner's a hair's breadth closer to his own person, his reactions were just a bit slower, and his feet felt ever more clumsy underneath him as he stepped side to side, trying to avoid being directed around the makeshift arena by his foe. His enemy seemed not slowed even a bit and with every second he seemed ever closer to meeting Kent's neck with his edge.

Is this it? Is this where it ends?

Then, Kent heard someone call out, "Oi!" Not looking at anything around him, Kent was surprised when Lundgren's man suddenly stumbled and ungracefully fell on his backside. For a fraction of a second, Kent paused, then a voice, the same voice from before, called out, "Kill him!"

Kent took advantage. The prisoner leapt to his feet, but he rose up his sword too slow, and Kent's slashed clear across his right forearm. The dextral swordsman cried out and stepped backwards, and then Kent charged upon him, and his opponent was forced backwards. Now his parries were the slow ones, his blows ungainly and weak. Kent quickly forced the sword from his hands with a great push downward, and when he'd disarmed Lundgren's man, he placed the point of his sword to his chin.

Kill...

"Yield," Kent said, breathless. The prisoner put his hands in the air and Kent lowered his blade, his hand on his chest. Then the prisoner charged forward, tucking his injured arm in and lowering his shoulder. Kent had barely enough time to catch him with his free hand, and before they both tumbled to the stone, he shifted his weight and threw Lundgren's man off him, sending him sprawling away on the ground. He recovered his sword, and as his enemy made to rise, Kent charged forward and ran his unarmored chest through on the point of his blade. The prisoner managed only one last feeble strike to Kent's face before falling back against the ground and breathing his last.

Completely spent, Kent fell to his knees and cast his bloodied sword to the ground. He clutched his chest and struggled to regain his breath.

"Now I see what Glenn meant," Hanuman said, as the circle closed in on Kent, and the members of the Crimson Company came to pat him on the back and slap his shoulders heartily. "That bloke was one a' Lunngren's liff'tenants. Likely trained in the sword by Lunngren 'imself. Ye've got some skill fightin', boy."

"You…" Kent said at last. If he'd any more than a passing sliver of strength, he would have rose to his feet and strangled the Crimson Company's leader then and there. "Why…what…what is this madness? Giving a prisoner a sword and…and…"

Hanuman laughed. "I told you, we're all a little mad here. A fighter has't be ready to fight at any time. If yer not willin' to spill some blood, y'ain't welcome in the Crimson Comp'ny."

"That's…terrible. You're…terrible!" Kent rose slowly to his feet and brushed the dirt off his breeches. "What sort of twisted justice is this? Who in the name of the hells do you think you are?"

"Me? I'm just a man, same as you. An' I dunnae of this thing y'callin' 'just'ce'. Well, 'serr', y'said yer fightin' Lundgren, dinn't you? You need more th'n just yer wits and a good blade t'do that 'm'fraid. Y'need people, y'need a plan, and y'need a place to call home. I dunnae care who y'think y'are, but y'innit no Roland, y'innit no dragonslayer. Iff'n you want to leave here 'cause we ain't in as high a standin' as you or we don't play the pretty li'l honor games yer fancy prancin' pony knights play, go right ahead. But I'll tell y'this, right 'ere, right now: Without us, you innit raisin' an army, and you innit savin' yer liege lady Lynnis. You may hate our sooty faces and our blackened coats, but you will find no better friends n' us in this war. I don't care one way or the other. If yer headin' for the door, get out n' never come back. If yer comin' with us, follow me down to th' caves and we'll set you right. You halp us, we'll halp you."

Hanuman turned quickly on his heels and clomped away, leaving Kent utterly dumbstruck, shaking his head in frustration and awe. The battle done, the great crowd dispersed, some off to eat, some off to the caves to talk or dice. At last, only Kent and Glenn remained in the empty eating hall. Kent stood in silence, staring down at the floor and the bloody sword he'd been given only minutes before. Glenn stood beside him and waited.

"Glenn," Kent said at last, at a loss for words or even the right emotions, not knowing what he truly wanted to say or how he wanted to say it. He let the sanguine sword fall from his grasp. "Glenn, why did you join the Crimson Company? You were a knight of Caelin, a knight under General Eagler, like I was. You could have stayed and…died with him, you could have joined Lundgren's army, you could have fled to Etruria or Bern and found work as a mercenary. You've never even met Lady Lyndis. As far as you know, she is still just a 'savage' and a godless pretender to the throne. So then why did you come here? Why do you fight against Lundgren? Why do you fight in Lyndis's name, with these…people?"

Glenn didn't answer for a moment. When Kent looked up, Glenn turned away and placed his hand on his hip, but he didn't look Kent in the eye. "I dunnae," he said. "I can't answer that question, friend. Lord Lundgren did in the true marquess, I'm sure, and he'd done something terrible to General Eagler, something worse than hauling him to the platforms. Maybe that's the reason I'm fighting now…but I dunnae. That's—well, I can't be thinking about that. Oi, listen, Kent." Glenn turned to his old friend. "You don't belong here, I know. Maybe I'm a rogue, maybe I belong here with these boys; you don't, that's true enough. But you can't just leave. Lord Hausen gave you a mission, didn't he? To find Lyndis and bring her to the throne she deserves a chance to sit. You've nowhere else to turn. You know your history. You can read and write, something I never learned well as I should. You know that history has plenty of bloody, purposeless battles fought in the name of good kings and queens, righteous dukes, and honorable marquises. If you run away from your duties now, you'll not be any better than this lot of deserters and jackanapes, these ruddy, soot-faced vagabonds, whoresons, bawd-pricks and no-goods. This is where you need to be right now. Heh, when you were serving in the Castle Guard, your epithet was the 'Crimson Shield', wasn't it? Hell, with a name like that, it seems to me like fate brought you to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with the boys in the 'Crimson Company', wot? It's better a name than, say, 'Hotspur', at any rate."

"If...if I were to die here...if one of them were to cut my throat in the dead of night, then..."

"You afraid to die?" Glenn laughed. "Listen. As long as I'm around, I'll watch your back. Just remember, Kent...you're not the one who needs a watchman right now."

Glenn gave him one last shrug of the shoulders and turned to walk away, across the hall towards the hole.

"Glenn, Glenn, anon," said Kent.

"Oi?"

Kent walked to the center of the empty room where he'd fought for his life just moments before, and picked up a small knife from the floor. "This is yours," said he, half a statement, half a question.

"Aye, 'tis," Glenn said, without even looking back. Kent brought him the knife and he took it, spinning it once between his fingers before slipping it back in its leather sheath. "Some say 'tis better to be fortunate than t'be good, but I'd wager a good friend beats good luck on any good day. Else maybe it was just blind fool luck that a knife just happened to go sliding across the floor like that."

"That was a duel," Kent said, incredulous. "A one-on-one battle, a trial of combat. You…you shouldn't have…"

Glenn chuckled. "Aren't you glad you're not dead?" answered he matter-of-factly, and he walked away.

It's not as if I was prepared for that duel, but….

Kent had almost considered turning about and walking out of the shit-ridden cave they called the Ur-Hole, walking back across the land he called home, walking away from it all, and maybe doing as he had told Glenn: making himself an expatriate, emigrating to Etruria or Bern and becoming a mercenary. He'd almost considered leaving Caelin behind, leaving Lady Lyndis behind, leaving everything he'd known, adopting a new name, adopting a new life where his ghosts would dare not haunt him.

No. If I ran away, Lord, what a coward I'd be! Sain would, he'd tell me to fight. He would have told me 'even inglorious men have their moments of glory' or some foolish fabricated axiom like that. And Lady Lyndis…

His heart skipped in his chest.

God of gods, Lyndis…she would never forgive me. And milord Hausen would hate me for eternity, shouting down at me from heaven, down to the pits of hell if I fled now. After all he's done for me, no, I cannot turn my back on him in his time of need, no. I must. I must fight. I've no other choice. Even if it means these…bloody people stab me in the back somewhere along the line, I must fight. I'll do it. I'll do it. I WILL.

Now brimming with a resolve he'd not had since he first set out to locate Lady Lyndis, Kent made his way down the trapdoor, through the winding cavernous halls until he found Glenn standing in the cave's high hall, smiling as if he knew all along someone would be coming. When he saw Kent approaching, the blond swordsman grinned.

"Took you long enough. Come, follow me."

Glenn led Kent into one of the cave's back rooms, where a group of people had gathered near a nigh-empty rack of armor and a cache of varied, mostly rusted-over weapons. Hanuman was there, and when he saw Kent, he nodded and began to sift through a large wooden crate.

"Knew you'd see't our way," said the leader of the Crimson Company, seemingly pleased.

Kent noticed three other men in knight's regalia standing in the corner of the room, and when he caught the eye of the tallest of the three, he stepped forward.

"Sir Kent of Caelin, is it?" he said. His voice was high and dignified. "My name is Ataine, and these two—" he gestured to the two knights beside him— "are called Caeldwyr and Schreiber. We've abandoned our service to the throne of Bern and have come here to aid the rebels in their fight against Lord Lundgren."

"If only on a human level, we've all an interest in seeing that villain deposed," said Caeldwyr, and Schreiber quickly concurred.

"And I," came a voice from behind Kent, "as well."

Kent turned about and was startled at whose voice had called out to him. He'd not seen the man known as Merovech in a long time. The general had been stationed at a fort near the border of Santaruz ever since Lundgren had begun to make his presence felt more in the court of Caelin. General Merovech had made it no secret his dislike of Lundgren, and the longer Kent thought on it, he was somewhat less surprised to see him among the ranks of the rebels. Upon seeing him, Kent could not help but smile.

"Well met, General Merovech."

"Indeed, Sir Kent," he replied. Merovech was a tall man with short black hair and a small, well-kept beard. His armors proudly bore the colors and emblems of Old Caelin. "I had heard news that you and Lady Lyndis were set upon. It pleases me greatly to see you yet live. I would have been disappointed to see you buried so young, lad."

"Th-thank you, general," said Kent, but nothing more.

"What Lundgren did is unforgivable, see no doubts in that. He and all his kinsmen that followed in his bloody footsteps will be dearly punished for his misdeeds, and all the wrongs he has done to Lord Hausen and his kin will be avenged thrice over. This I solemnly swear on my blade."

"Yes. As do I."

"Oi, Kent. I' this crate. A few relics fr'm long ago. O'er here."

The leader of the Crimson Company handed Kent a large full helm, wrought of steel and painted a dark, blood-red. The young knight of Caelin took it in his hands and beheld it, simple but majestic. The empty visor seemed almost to stare at him, as though it had been the head of a haunted suit of armor long, long ago.

"I've gauntlets, greaves, and plate all t' match," Hanuman said. "Let it not be said that serr Kent of Caelin was seen fightin' alongside a bunch'a louts n' braggarts like us. As long's you fight with us, you ain't a proud knight a' the realm a'more. You're a killer. Fits you perfectly. You're name back at the castle was the 'Crimson Shield', wot? Well, now you're the Crimson Knight. Soon enough ye'll be a legend 'neath your dark helm, an' no one'll be the wiser that serr Kent the honorable once fought with lowlifes like us,"

"Why are you doing this?" Kent said, incredulous. He looked from Glenn to the Bernese knights, to Merovech, and back to Hanuman, and all of them seemed to be smiling.

"Yer a bit slow, wot? Let me tell y'something, serr Kent. E'ery army needs a hero. There's none here good enough, good-lookin' enough, young enough, loyal enough t' great Caelin to play the hero. No one to play the legend. No one t'make the bloody smallfolk get off their ruddy arses and realize Lunngren's 'n the wrong. Yer the legend, serr Kent. A man c'd bash as many bloody skulls in as they want, but no sane man'd fight in a losin' duel without a brave champion to serve in their stead, not u'less they knew they were goin' be on th' winnin' side. Yer Caelin's champion. Yer the man t'make the smallfolk get up off their arses and till th' fields a' victory f'r us, th' reason they stand up'n hurrah. They might'n't stand next to you...but they'd stand with you, bugger me twice sideways if I inn't true."

"You ended up here for a reason, Kent," said Glenn. "General Eagler wanted you to see. He wanted you to see how great you could really be. I'm just a rank-and-file, no matter what I might say, but you've a charisma that few others have, mate. And you know it, too. You're the only one who can do this."

After a few moments of silence, Kent slowly lowered the great sanguine helm down onto his head and shut the grille tightly. A rush of something that might have been pure joy or perhaps righteous anger swept over him. He could feel his pulse quickening, his heart racing, his eyes narrowing and looking around through the new set of eyes that were to be his own. When he placed the helm on his head, suddenly Kent of Caelin felt invincible.

This is all I need. This is the last bit of strength I need. Maybe I have to be a hero now. Maybe I am a hero now. The 'Crimson Knight'? Yes…I am. I will be. I must needs be. And I will not fail.

---

(Author's Note: You may have noticed that one character is conspicuously absent. That's right, the tactician. For now, let us just say that he doesn't exist here. Hey, look on the bright side: Now he can exist as a half-raven half-dragon half-cat Branded swordsmaster world destroyer hero in the Tellius-verse. Or as Robin.)