CHAPTER ELEVEN- STEP ASIDE- COMMANDER OF THE ARMY
Arthur found Scamandros in the interior of the Star Fort's council room, speaking quickly with some other Denizen that he dimly recognized as having some superficial sorcerous knowledge. The other Denizen was nodding, but in the absent way one does to seem like understanding when one has no idea what the other is talking about.
"Hey, doc!" Sunscorch called. "Tend to Arthur, will ya? I gotta get back out there and give those Nithlings a piece of my mind."
"Of course, Sunscorch," Scamandros nodded, and scuttled over to Arthur. "How are you, Lord Arthur?"
"Fine. It's nice to see you again," Arthur replied, removing his buckler and lying it down, then stretching his aching muscles, careful to avoid moving his wounded shoulder. "Aaaahh! I'm so stiff."
"Combat has a way of doing that," Scamandros said. "I see you are wounded. May I take a look?"
"Yes, please," Arthur said, pulling off the crude bandage he'd applied. It was already soaked through.
"Hmm, yes," Scamandros said. "The cut has entered the muscle. I assume you still want little to no magical contamination?"
"Yup," Arthur confirmed, just now realizing he'd lost his power spear somewhere. That was a shame. He had a feeling it might come useful later.
"This might sting," Scamandros warned, then dabbed something that bit into his shoulder almost as painfully as the original wound- disinfectant of a sort. Then he applied a high-tech bandage that Arthur was sure only the House would have.
"Thanks," Arthur said.
"No problem, Arthur," Scamandros dismissed. "Will you be running back into the battle?"
"I have to find out what happened to Thursday," Arthur informed him.
"Something happened to Thursday?"
Arthur turned.
Marshall Dawn helped Dusk limp into a bed, and Arthur's eyes boggled as he saw that where Dusk's left leg used to be, there was only a stump. Both of them were looking at him with an intent look of horror and fear on their faces, and worry was clearly painted on Dawn's.
There was no point lying.
"Yes. I saw the Piper drop something that looked like Nothing on him," Arthur told them.
"Show me," Dawn said, her voice barely trembling. She remained composed, but something in her eyes showed Arthur there was something between them that was more complex than simple soldier loyalty.
Dame Primus was not sure how he was lasting so long against three Keys, especially three Keys wielded by the Will.
Then again, she had to admit that she was holding back for some reason. Time and time again he was wide open, and she either avoided hitting him or didn't hit him hard enough. What was stopping her? She had no familial affection towards him. She was the Will, not his mother!
"Something wrong?" the Piper taunted.
Primus said nothing. There must be some way to get rid of him, quickly. She had three Keys, and he had all but a Pipe!
What is wrong? Four asked. Don't tell me you're getting emotional.
Dame Primus pursed her lips. For a second, Four's scalding touch seemed to burn even hotter against her skin as she contemplated her next move. Justice. That was what needed to be done. She could not let her feelings- the Architect's that were projected upon her, to be more exact- get in the way. These weren't even her memories, her emotions. They were the Architect's. As close as they were, they weren't the same being.
At the current moment, in any case.
"I need make no apology for righteous action," she whispered to herself. It was much easier to say it to the Piper when her thoughts were less tumultuous, but there was no turning back now. It was either her or the Piper. There was no middle ground.
Primus took a deep breath, her eyes flashing as the Keys began to glow softly. "How would you like to die?" she asked the Piper. "I'll let you pick. Instant dissolution via Nothing, or being skewered at the end of the Third Key? Or perhaps you'd prefer a beheading by the First? There is the traditional piercing of the heart too, if you'd so wish."
"I'm not picking any," the Piper snarled. "Would you rather I play you a dirge or cut you to ribbons with my rapier?"
"What pitiful choices," Primus smirked. "I'm not one to settle for what's just offered. After all, I am so dreadfully avaricious."
"Of course you are." The Piper raised his Pipe to his lips and played again.
Primus nearly burst into crazed laughter as she easily avoided the spikes that came rumbling out of the earth towards her. He was weakening! That sorcery was nowhere near comparable to what he'd been doing earlier.
He's probably nearly dissolved, Four hissed, rearing up and baring its fangs. I sense he's far weaker than usual, and now that your battle is longer than expected…
"I see," Primus whispered. "Is this a challenge of endurance?"
Endurance and wits. Drain his energy as quickly as possible.
"All right, then," Dame Primus said. "Round two will be a speed round." She raised the First Key and moved into the stance of a well-practiced fighter.
"Justice will prevail!" she said at once with Four.
Dawn and Arthur ran out of the Citadel towards the scarred, blackened area where Sir Thursday lay. Several Denizens called for them to return, but they paid no heed. Arthur had a hard time keeping up with Dawn, even without the added weight of his buckler, which he'd left behind- it was useless to him now that his wounded arm couldn't raise it enough anyway. No New Nithlings came at them, either too busy attacking the Denizens or too wary of how close they were getting to Primus and the Piper's ongoing brawl.
Dawn skidded to a stop short of Thursday's limp, motionless form, and bit back a gasp. Thursday was nearly unrecognizable, a deep gash across his face, swelling his left eye shut. The rest of him didn't fare any better, and his grip on the Key was slick with blood, but he was breathing. Alive, but only just.
Dawn rushed right to his side and leaned over. "The Architect, Thursday! Say something!"
Thursday's eyelids fluttered, and Arthur saw he was fighting unconscious. "… Dawn…" he whispered, and then her name. Arthur smiled at the warmth it sent flooding through him, but he was uneasy. Any moment now the Piper might decide to come after him instead of Dame Primus, and even if he didn't, they were so close that their titanic clash might envelop them.
"I'm here," Dawn said, voice choked. "Sir…"
"Stop doing that," he croaked.
"Stop what?"
"Calling me 'sir.' Is Penhaligon here?"
"Arthur!" she called.
Arthur ran to his side. "Yes?"
Thursday held out the Key weakly. "I, Thursday, Trustee of the Architect, ask into whom's hands shall I place that which is entrusted to me?"
"Sir… I don't understand. You have orders."
"Orders can go to the Void if they'll kill my soldiers," Thursday said, then fell into racking coughs that brought up spurts of blue. "Besides, I'm nearly dead. I might as well do something of my own free will at least once before I die." He seemed to take it for granted that he would. "Please… hurry up."
"I, Arthur, anointed Heir to the Kingdom, do accept this Key. I claim it through blood and bone and contest, in testament, truth, and against all trouble," Arthur said, finishing the incantation. He didn't understand Thursday's change of heart, but he wouldn't protest. The Key glowed, and it flew from Thursday's grasp to the boy's.
Thursday gave a loud cry of agony.
"Heal!" Arthur cried instinctively. "Heal, be healed, don't die, heal!"
The Key flashed vividly, and Arthur remembered that he didn't want to use it, to be contaminated. But it seemed immensely selfish to let Thursday die because he wanted to remain human, even if Thursday deserved it. Arthur wasn't sure he did. As far as he could tell, Saturday and Sunday were the ones behind the breaking of the Will, and Thursday was just following orders.
Because that's what the Architect had made him to do.
"Heal, in body and mind!" Arthur repeated, more firmly, the Key bursting into brilliant iridescence that surrounded Thursday's body. When it subsided, he was sound- physically and mentally- but he seemed weaker and paler, his breaths shallower.
"It shall take me a while to recover fully," Thursday panted, sitting up. It was clear that was an obvious effort. The gash along his face had healed, leaving a long, thin scar that cut through one eye and didn't stop until it reached the base of his chin. The look somehow suited his feral yet tamed brutality, the coldness and sense of honor he had as a soldier. "Lieutenant, use my Key well. Save my- our- your troops."
"I will," Arthur nodded.
"You are honorable, both of you," Dawn said. "Lieutenant, I thank you from the bottom of my heart." She leaned over and kissed Arthur on the cheek, the way his mother would when he did something that made her especially happy. Then she pulled away and looked back at Thursday.
"Dawn," Thursday said, "thank you."
"For what?"
"Why haven't you left?" he asked. "Honestly. Why haven't you requested you transfer somewhere else, out of the Great Maze? I can tell you're not happy here."
"I'm a soldier, sir!" she said, sounding surprised and slightly offended at the thought. "Where would I go? Why would I go?"
"I would have thought it would be difficult to be around me every day," Thursday chuckled grimly.
"Don't be ridiculous," she protested. "Every day I'm just glad you're alive." And she pulled him into a kiss. Thursday's eyes widened, but he didn't try to stop her.
Arthur turned away. He always felt awkward when people showed affection around him, whether they were his parents, other adults, teens, or immortal beings who were in the middle of a battlefield and really should know better. Then he frowned, his resolve strengthening. Without saying anything, he ran straight towards Primus and the Piper.
On his finger, glinting in the moonlight and fires of the battlefield, his ring was exactly one-half gold.
Dame Primus wasn't going for strategy. She wasn't going for creativity or power. She was going for speed and precision. Attack after attack after attack after attack she sent the Piper's way, and his motions got slower, clumsier, with every one. He wouldn't last long. He was nearly at the breaking point. All she had to do was trick him into making a mistake. One mistake, even a second's opening, was all she needed…
Something flashed through her mind, either a snippet of memory or a revelation from the Architect. I don't like the Border Sea, Mother. It doesn't like me.
Don't be silly. Waves don't take likes or dislikes to people.
But these do. They don't like me. I don't like the water. Drowning's the worst thing that can happen to you, isn't it? And you can only drown where there's water.
She lifted the Third Key as if she was Poseidon heralding the seas, and a salty, damp wind stirred through the battlefield, tossing her hair and whipping the Piper's black locks around in a frenzy. He must have known what was coming, but he paid it no heed, taking a deep breath, and then blowing a minuet as hard as he could.
A giant wall of fire rose around him as Primus's summoned monstrous wave materialized and bore down on the lone masked figure. The fire roared brighter, blazed hotter with a rage that reflected what resided inside the Piper's own heart. The wave, in response, growled as it washed over the flaming barricade, sizzling the fire to small embers and still continuing. It completely swallowed the Piper, circling him and trapping him in a bubble of water. Some water kept running, nearly subduing Arthur, but the boy fought against it and waded through it to stand next to Primus.
Dame Primus couldn't see his mouth, but she imagined it moving in pleas for mercy and gasps for breath. The Piper feared water, and now he was surrounded by it. He could not play a sodden Pipe. His pitiful attempt was terrible. Did he really expect such a pitiful ring of coals to be able to stop her onslaught?
With a savage smile, she pinned the arm that held the Pipe to the ground, the tines of the Third Key piercing his flesh. She stepped on his other arm with her foot, pressing down with a strength that was unusual even among Denizens, as the water collapsed. The Piper gasped, a grateful intake of air that turned into a howl as his bones cracked and snapped under the pressure.
"Arthur, pick up that Pipe," she ordered.
The Piper writhed, trying to free himself, but Arthur tore it from his grasp without any difficulty. Primus didn't spare more than a glance at him. He was becoming more Denizen, she could tell- his hair was a more lustrous color, his skin free of blemishes and his eyes brighter, more vivid. Blue, like the Architect's and Her very first Denizens.
"Strike him, Arthur," Primus said. "Right in the heart with the Key."
"I can't!" the boy cried.
Primus turned to face him, making sure she wouldn't release the Piper as she did so. She glared at him, her eyes shining with an alien ferocity, glowing almost like the Keys. "Why not? It is justice. He deserves it."
Four reared up and hissed, baring its long fangs in agreement. He was paler, seemingly more faded, as if any moment now he would dissolve into the air- they had begun assimilating.
"I can't," Arthur protested. "I can't kill somebody."
"Very well." She lifted the First Key, poised for a downward strike into the Piper's heart.
The Piper said nothing, though a strange fire burned behind his mask where his eyes should have been, the unspoken challenge penetrating her, its meaning ever-so-clear. Even now her hands shook. I mustn't let emotions get in the way now, of all times, she thought to herself. I am not his mother. I am wisdom, hard work, perseverance, moderation, and justice. I am all these things and more. But not his mother. He deserves it, he deserves it… it's like disciplining, in a sense…
"No, stop!" Arthur cried, reaching out just as Primus plunged it down.
The Piper jerked, trying to avoid it, and gave one last strangled cry, then fell silent as Primus hissed, "Die, you fool."
Then she delicately pulled it out and wiped the blade against the grass to get the blood off of it as the Piper's body crumbled to dust, leaving behind naught but his mask.
Primus picked it up and handed it to Arthur. "This may prove useful to you. I sense it has several sorcerous properties that may aide you. I suggest keeping the Pipe as well. I might teach you how to play it." Then she strode away from the marred ground that served as her arena. After a moment's hesitation, Arthur followed her.
"Where are you going?" he demanded. She recognized the anger in place on his tone. Primus understood it well. She was quite wrathful herself, when needed. Unlike others, though, her anger was righteous, well-placed. Arthur's was simply childish.
"To deal with another traitor," she said.
"Don't kill Thursday too!" Arthur shouted as Primus walked towards the sitting soldier.
Dawn scrambled to her feet. "Kill? Is this the thanks you give him after he saved your life?" she demanded. "Execution?"
"He is a criminal," Primus said, her eyes strangely slitted and reptilian.
"I won't let you," she said, and drew her own sword. "You will find Thursday has committed no grievance against the Architect that was not of his nature."
"It is the nature of Denizens and humans to be fallen!" Primus snarled.
"Then why ask them to do something that is beyond their power? Why demand what cannot be done?" Dawn challenged.
Dame Primus's lip curled into an arrogant sneer. "I know you, don't I?"
She's familiar, isn't she? Thursday's fiancé, Four said. Unfortunately, his wrath ruined the relationship.
"It was you!" Dawn accused, pointing a finger at the snake. "You drove him to this!"
It's true. I may have worn his nerves thinly.
"Step aside, dear," Primus snorted. "Your pretending to have such devotion is amusing, but misplaced."
"I'm not pretending!"
"What you feel is loyalty, not love," Primus said coldly.
"What," Dawn asked, voice low and so unlike anything Arthur had heard before, "is the difference?"
"What an anomaly," Primus hissed. "Since when were soldiers so soft-hearted?"
"Soft hearts are something all soldiers need," Dawn retorted. "It's all that's between you and madness. Because that's what war is. Madness."
I did wonder why he picked you to be his Time. I suspected there were personal reasons behind it. Lo and behold, I was right, Four said smugly. You should have left once your hundred years were over.
Dawn stiffened. "You too? I am a soldier. I was created to be one. Where would I go? If I don't belong here, then where?"
"You clearly don't fit anywhere if you don't understand the concept of error and punishment," Dame Primus said. "I don't like to repeat myself. Step aside now and let me take care of him."
"I won't let you," she said.
"As of now, Arthur and I control the Army," Primus said. "You are disobeying orders, general."
"I am a marshall."
"Not. Anymore." Dame Primus pointed the First Key at Dawn's chest. "Last time. Step aside."
Dawn scowled, stamped her foot, and remained in place. "No, you step aside. I'm not moving."
Arthur shook his head. She was doing it again- the disobeying orders. He had to admit that every time she did, he agreed with her actions. Even now.
Especially now.
Arthur tugged at Dame Primus's sleeve. "Dame Primus, now is not the time. We have Nithlings to deal with-"
"Where?" she demanded, sending him a glare that sent shivers down his spine and legs.
Arthur turned. All of the Nithlings were watching him, not one attacking. No, not watching him. Watching his Pipe.
A crazy thought entered Arthur's head. What if he now commanded the Nithlings as well, because he had the Pipe?
"We will deal with them," Dame Primus said, "but first, Thursday must have a trial. I shall be judge, jury, and executioner."
"That's not a trial!" Dawn protested. "That's a mockery!"
"Stop speaking for me," Thursday cut in. "I can handle myself." He laboriously stood, shaking. Dawn immediately ran to his side and allowed him to lean against her. He smiled gratefully, then turned to look at Dame Primus. "Kill me now, if that's what you want."
"No!" Dawn said. "Sir-"
"Don't call me that!" he said.
Softly, she whispered a word that resonated in the air. Thursday closed his eyes when he heard it, exhaling slowly.
"Call me that," he whispered.
"As touching as this may be," Primus said, voice high and strident, "I will get on with things." Idly, she twirled the First Key, then plunged it straight at Thursday.
Dawn's sword flew forward and intercepted it, but only for a second. The First Key cut straight through the slim rapier and continued, nearly unhindered. In that time, Dawn had shoved Thursday back, so the blade whistled over his head.
"What was that for?" he demanded.
"Oh, you want to let her kill you, is that it?" Dawn replied.
Dame Primus struck Dawn across the cheek, so hard that the Denizen dropped to one knee. "Are you disobeying orders? You do know what the penalty for that is, don't you?" Dawn's gaze fell upon the Keys, and Dame Primus smirked. "Who goes first? The fallen commander or his loyal aide?"
"Arthur, do something!" Dawn cried.
Arthur shook his head to collect his thoughts. He couldn't just stand by. "Dame Primus, stop this," he said. "You're my Steward, and I'm the Rightful Heir. That means something, so you can't just go and kill-"
Dame Primus drew the First Key back, sighed, and nodded. "Yes, Arthur. But this does not end between us."
"And Marshall Dawn is staying a marshall," Arthur continued, ignoring her last sentence. "You can't demote her or kill her for telling the truth. That's no better than-" He bit his lip. He was going to say, No better than Thursday, but he restrained himself. He had a feeling neither Dame Primus nor Sir Thursday would appreciate being compared to each other. "… no better than tyranny," he concluded lamely. It sounded dumb and sappy even to him.
"I suppose," Primus sniffed. "Now, how shall we deal with the Piper's Army and the Children left scattered throughout the Maze?"
"May I make a suggestion?" Thursday groaned.
"Yes, do," Arthur said, before Dame Primus could get a word out.
"I'll need to get to the Council Room," he said, "and someone fetch the communications figures."
"I hope your plan works Dawn said.
"So do I," Thursday said.
It was, in essence, a relatively simple plan. Thursday had basically simply told every single head of a Fort the situation and the change of power. They were, in turn, to tell any lower-ranking platoon or troop leaders who they had the figures for. Thursday ordered all his soldiers to hold out white flags to the Nithlings, and to tell them they were free to either egress the Maze or settle in one of its abandoned villages. The captured Piper's Children were requested to be returned, without harm.
Within several hours, a Nithling dressed in a yellow and red version of a marshall's uniform arrived in front of the Citadel, begging for audience with Thursday and Arthur.
"My liege," he gasped the second he saw the Pipe and mask Arthur was holding.
"Uh, me?" the boy said. He was feeling incredibly useless. He hadn't done anything the entire battle except claim the Key- which he supposed was a major victory for him- and stop Dame Primus from murdering Dawn and Thursday in cold blood. It felt so insignificant compared to how Thursday had been managing the campaign, and how Dame Primus had taken out at least half the New Nithling army single-handedly. He was starting to feel more like a pawn than anybody's liege.
"Yes, sir," the New Nithling said. He looked handsome enough, and could have been mistaken for a Denizen, were it not for the way his limbs bent and contorted at odd angles, making him seem like some sort of arachnid.
"Um, okay. That's me. Listen, please accept our offer of peace. We don't want to fight any more. We're sick of it."
"So are we," the soldier replied. "We just wanted to be farmers."
Arthur broke into laughter at this. The soldier frowned, wondering if he should be offended, but Arthur couldn't help himself. It wasn't that he was meaning to make fun of their wants, but that he was struck by hysteria. All this fighting, all this murder and killing to capture the Maze, and they just want to farm!
"Sorry," he apologized, wiping away a tear that had sprung at the corner of his eye. "The Maze has, as I understand, many abandoned tiles and villages that serve no purpose other than to serve the Campaigns. You are welcome to stay in any and all."
"Indeed," agreed Thursday. Now that Arthur had healed him, he seemed far more peaceable than usual. "In fact, this may prove interesting in the next Campaigns. We have never had to defend civilian populations before."
"If there will be more Campaigns," Arthur said.
Dawn and Thursday looked as if he'd just told them he was cancelling Christmas, which was strange because, as far as he could tell, neither one of them enjoyed fighting. They just did it because that's what they knew to do- it was their nature.
"Well, there's no point!" he continued. "Shouldn't the Army defend the House instead of just randomly fighting Campaigns for sport?"
"They're not sport, they're training," Thursday protested. "We defend the House via the Four Gates."
"But there are other areas that need defense, tons of breaches into the Void where Nithlings emerge," Arthur pointed out. "What if we spared just some soldiers to guard those areas, and consider expanding the military so that we'd have outposts in all of the House…?"
"Don't be ridiculous!" Dame Primus snapped. "Soldiers outside the Maze?"
"I think it's brilliant," said the New Nithiling, and Dawn and Thursday nodded their consent.
"The rest of the House won't agree," she said, "especially now that Arthur controls the Army."
"The rest of the House will soon be Arthur's anyway," Thursday said, "if he continues at this rate." If he harbored any resentment towards Arthur gaining his Key to "save his troops" even though Arthur hadn't done any actual saving, he didn't show it.
Arthur sat down and sighed, the Fourth Key he held in his hand lengthening into the form of an ivory marshall's baton. It didn't really suit him, but it was the form it seemed to prefer. Of Four, there was no sign, so Arthur presumed it'd finished 'assimilating.' Which was a shame, because he didn't like what little of it he had seen so far.
"We will see," Dame Primus said. It seemed to be her new mantra. "Very well, Arthur. I see you have things under control. Now, I haven't had time to control the Border Sea, but I hope the filling in of the Pit is continuing as planned. This means that you must go straight to the Sea right away and-"
"You do it," he said. "I'm still being human. I need to check up on my home and make sure my family's all right. I need to see if the Spirit Eater's been destroyed, because if it isn't…"
He pulled out the blackmail letter and showed it to her. He'd kept it not because he was going to give in to Saturday, but as a last resort. Was he willing to subjugate the House to more mismanagement and tyranny at the hands of the Morrow Days for his family and a mortal life if he had no other choice?
Yes, he would.
Did that mean he was selfish? It made him feel that way, but he knew that he'd still do it anyway. Only if there was no other choice. Only then.
Dame Primus read it quickly. "Of course she'd tell you that you have no idea what you're dealing with," she sniffed. "Typical. She must have lost her touch. The last blackmail I saw was far more convincing."
"What was the last one you saw?" he asked.
"The one that broke me apart," she answered, but gave no further explanation.
"We need to decide on a plan of attack for taking on Lady Friday," Thursday said. "I could aide you with that."
"You would do that?" Arthur said, incredulous.
"Of course. I am at your service, sir." He said it easily, as if Arthur hadn't been under him just a few short hours ago. "I think you will find I have some... insider's information. Lady Friday and I have been…" He glanced at Dawn. "…close over the years."
"Very close," Dawn snorted, and crossed her arms.
"How 'close' is 'close,' exactly?" asked the New Nithling soldier.
Thursday reddened, and Dawn scowled.
"Very close," Arthur concluded.
"The Great Maze has not fallen, but is the property of the Rightful Heir."
"Either way it is one step closer to dissolution."
"Yes, it is." A pause. "Are you not worried?"
"Not at all. Why do you insist on calling me? I have better things to do than listen to your blather."
"My apologies. I ask again, may I please-"
"Do as you wish. It is no concern of mine." There was a click, and she knew he'd hung up.
The woman sighed and hung her own phone up, then glanced back at her desk. So much work to do, so much scheming to attend to, and so many plans to be carried out. All in a day's work. Or a century's. Or even a millennium. Time was nearly irrelevant to her.
She picked up her pen, a quill with a beautiful shining nib. The quill was the same luxurious blue as her eyes, providing a strange similarity. She scribbled something on a piece of parchment and placed it into a tube, then massaged her temples and glanced into the mirror. The worn expression that looked back was not at all to her liking. Then she looked slightly to the left, at a painting taken ages ago, before the Breaking of the Will. She, like nearly everyone else, had noticed that her eyes were lighter then, a different shade. Now they resembled the Key too much to be coincidence.
With a scowl, she turned back to her desk and picked up a leather-bound tome, flipping it open to a page with the current date on it. She watched as lines of writing wrote themselves out without her having to draw them. She read what was written for several minutes before sighing once more, shutting the book so that it was closed, and placing it on her desk. She waved her hand, and another phone appeared in it.
"Yes, operator," she said. "Get me the former Sir Thursday. I'd like to have a word."
There was silence save the pitter-patter of rain, and then a nasal voice whined, "Putting you through, ma'am."
She said nothing, but pursed her lips and gazed out the window as the dial tone filled her office. The rain was of a softer sheen today, but other than the color, there was no difference in it. The rain was very regular and always uniform.
She hated that.
The dial continued, and at last she heard someone say, "Hello?"
"Hello, Thursday," she greeted, though not warmly. It was an icy, cold greeting, as chilling as downpours of freezing deluge, torrents of rain. She stood, the phone somehow following her as she moved to another room where she could speak confidentially.
She left the book behind, whether on accident or simply having no more need of it. Its gleaming cover reflected the glow of the office, light bouncing off its gilded letters.
A Record of a Mortal, the title read. Underneath, a soft subtitle added, Arthur Penhaligon, Possible Delegate of a Rightful Heir.
A/N: So there it was. I don't really like this chapter, mainly because I felt the Piper's death wasn't good enough, and that Arthur didn't really do anything in the chapter. Oh well. He'll do more stuff in the next one.
Thanks to all the reviewers so far: LostPipersChild, DarkPaladin000, and Human Barricade. A special thank-you to Human Barricade, who helped with some of the interactions this chapter and future Dawn, Primus, and Thursday conversations.
Until next time!~
Dragonlord Stephi