The little tavern by the roadside was always active, but tonight was no exception. There was no special event happening, no reduction in the price of ale or an extra helping of mashed potatoes and lard to be found. It seemed like everyone was out and about that night, and most of the men were unconsciously directed to the tavern, a place where a warm meal and spicy brown ale could be bought with a silver coin or, if you were lucky, just a handful of coppers.

The tavern was thronged with men of all backgrounds and ethnicities; dressed in leather jerkins and quilted tunics, plain linen shirts and tanned overcoats, a few wearing rusty ringmail, they all gathered at tables and at the bar itself, holding their mugs of ale in one hand and propping themselves up with the other. Every man had a story to tell, but the most interesting ones attracted the most attention.

"Stanislaus Antar's pulling back, I heard from one of them northern outriders," an old lumberjack said, his voice quavering as he quaffed his ale weakly. "Came down the timber road today, wearing that bloody glowin' circle embroidered on his jerkin. Told the manager the news, then rode off again."

"He's pullin' back? To where?" someone asked.

"Didn't say where. Said Antar's army is retreatin' from Crestan, back west I would assume," the lumberjack growled. "I only heard this, mind ya..."

"I hear talk he's going back to Dunnefold, to hold his lands. Maybe he's lost a lot of men?" someone from another table suggested. All around the tavern, the talk turned to Stanislaus Antar, as one man heard the conversation and vociferously delivered his opinion, before returning to his drink.

"He hardly participated in the last battle..."

"S'not what I heard," the lumberjack grumbled. "Heard those massive beasts of his plowed through the southern hoplites like a cleaver."

"His entire army was laid to waste! Archon Sykardos himself led the charge that crushed him!" a young blacksmith piped up.

"That's a lie, ya damn bastard..."

"The Archon was murdered by his own second-in-command! Didn't ya hear?" someone added.

"We don't get news like you do. No bloody riders come down to the stream tannery, too far they say. Save their news for the damn woodsmen!" the blacksmith snapped.

"They pass right by us. Not my fault you work at the tannery, with your dog shit," the lumberjack grumbled from his ale. His jab went unheeded as the conversation in the tavern began to fluctuate; it went from Antar to the Kleisardathan host, and then back to Antar, and then back once more, flowing like a river of words. What was clear was that both seemed to be retreating, to what purpose nobody knew. Rumors flew like mashed potatoes flung by drunk, bull-headed louts, but few could be trusted.

"They both took a hard beating," the chubby tavern keep said amidst the chaos, as two young boys began to engage each other in a fist-fight in a back corner. "Fighting the undead and what not…"

"That's a rumor as big as your fat ass, Luther," the woodsman complained. "Skeletons are dead, they don't walk again."

"I've heard from a dozen people, the dead walk the earth once more!" the tavern keep named Luther affirmed.

"You've heard that from a dozen morons who believe whatever words are thrown at them. Think for yourself will ya?" the woodsman demanded, downing the rest of his ale and handing the vessel to Luther, who took it for cleaning.

"I just know that both of them are retreating. Everyone is, even Cymander," Luther shook his head, wiping the mug clean with a ragged leather cloth.

"Piss on those blue cloaks. They barely did anything up there," the old man cursed them.

"Cymander's not a fighter," Luther scowled.

"Aye, that's true…"

"As long as we aren't in the path of those southerners, I'd say it's not our problem to worry about," another man at the bar added, and the lumberjack agreed with him.

"I'd say so. He wouldn't have any reason to come down here anyway."

"It's not our war," the other man said.

"Aye. We're good."

"You want some more to drink?" Luther asked, having just finished cleaning the old woodsman's mug.

"Yeah, sure, pour me some more. I could use-"

All of a sudden there was the loudest of crashes at the tavern door. The old lumberjack was instantly cut off by the sound of splintered wood and cracking hinges as the door itself was busted down and someone yelled something incomprehensible. A small, cylindrical black object flew into the room, bounced between two tables of shocked drinkers and then suddenly the entire tavern was white.

Every single man fell to the floor, writhing as their vision turned white and their ears rang with the burst of the flashbang. Even above the ringing gunfire could be heard, the loud roar of several muzzles pouring shot throughout the bar, assault rifles screeching as they gunned down dozens of unarmed patrons. The tavern keep had fallen to the floor during the initial assault, his ears pounding and his eyes struggling to see. He had landed hard, hitting his elbow upon a row of mugs and sending them cascading to the ground, shattering many as they landed. His fall escaped the notice of the armed gunmen as they entered the tavern, sparing no man, firing casually at anyone who was still standing. Those who were wounded were set upon by the Harvesters who came into the tavern after the gunfire had ceased, armed with knives and scalpels and cleavers, hooting and shrieking as they descended upon the wounded to finish them off. Luther the tavern keep regained his senses, and just as he began to rise the swinging door to the bar opened.

The man who stepped inside stepped in rather casually, his heavy boots crunching over the broken shards of the mugs as he walked. He wore what looked like a pilot's vest, with many pockets on both sides, and he was smoking a cigarette as he entered, holding it in one hand and clutching a handgun in the other.

"I don't care what you do with the bodies, no one's going to be left to see them," he barked as he stepped behind the bar. Only after turning away from the scene of chaos and puffing on his cigarette again did he notice the bartender huddling on the floor, whimpering quietly as he hid his face between his arms.

"Well, well. Lucky you," the pilot said heartily, with a wicked tone to his voice. "Get up."

"D-don't kill...kill me, p-please-"

"Oh, I have nooooo intention of doing that," the pilot drawled, extinguishing his cigarette. "In fact, I'm glad you're alive. I was afraid I had, hah, accidentally killed every last one of you!"

"I…"

"I have need of you," the pilot cut him off before he could form another coherent sentence. "The name's Konstantin Raam. My first question: can you write?"

"I...yes, I can write," the bar keep answered shakily, wiping a saline mixture of tears and sweat off of his cheeks as he stood before this Konstantin Raam.

"Good. Now, the question is, will you write what I want you to?" Konstantin asked.

"Wh...what would you have me do?" Luther asked nervously.

"I do not intend to kill you, boy," Konstantin told him. "Stop quaking and talk straight. I have need of you. I need a man who can write, in good handwriting, copies of this-" and he withdrew a pamphlet of paper from one of the pockets of his vest. "This here."

Luther picked up the work and scoured it quietly, still appearing anxious. "I think I can. It looks legible enough…"

"It's typed out. Of course it's legible," Konstantin snapped, seizing the paper back. "The question is, will you or won't you?"

"I...I will," Luther affirmed. When a man's life is on the line, he will do anything to protect his own self, even sacrificing the good of his fellow human beings; the bartender Luther was no exception to this. "I'll do it."

"Good, good. Standardized Energy will pay you well. I am glad that I found you in here," Konstantin said pleasantly, now smiling once more. "I apologize for the rather unfortunate passing of your...customers, but it was a necessity. It was our job."

"What...what jo-"

"Already the rest of the town is being cleared out. If only we had found someone as notable as you before, they could have been spared. But perhaps the next village will have better luck, hmm?" Konstantin said, raising one eyebrow back at the barkeep as the former began walking back towards the open doorway. Already gunfire could be heard from outside, distant and removed yet still threatening.

"Wh...what are you doing?" Luther asked once more, on the verge of fearful tears again. Two Harvesters still stood before the bar, their vacant eyes watching him keenly. Konstantin Raam turned back once more, holstering his pistol quite casually.

"My job, of course. And you are going to do yours. Are you coming, or would you like to share the fate of your fellows?"

Luther did not respond, but he began to trudge towards the door. He did not dare look back at the savages behind him, and looking forward was almost as unbearable. He could smell the gunfire and the smoke, and knew that his village was gone up in flames. Somewhere in the distance, helicopter blades were slicing through the warm evening air.

VVVVV

It had been nearly two months since Matt had last laid eyes upon the two towered-gatehouse guarding the sole entrance to the Ditch, but he recognized it instantly the moment they came into sight. The two jutting keeps almost brought a smile to Matt's face as his palfrey, along with the rest of the mounted caravan, drew nearer to their final destination.

A journey of nearly a week and a half had exhausted the entire caravan; several horses had given out from fatigue, and two of the older men had died of exhaustion along the way, with four other men succumbing to disease or injury. They had made the fastest pace possible, trying to reach the Ditch with all due haste; the faster they reached it, the better.

Now that the gatehouse was within sight, Matt felt some kind of cheer lift what had been gloomy spirits. They had passed through the boneyard earlier; the remnants of the great battle between the two kings, Kastner and Antar, that had left the great plains that spread before the Ditch's gatehouse littered with bones and rusted weapons and mangled siege machines and a clutter of various parts and mechanisms, all decaying or chafed by wind or marred by constant exposure. The journey through the battlefield had been a rather grim one, as even the road was littered with bone and unidentifiable remains of the engagement. But now that home was within sight, Matt was putting the fatigue of the journey behind him and was looking forward to collapsing in an actual bed for the first time in what seemed like months. It had only been eleven days, but each day on the road felt so much longer.

"I haven't even seen pictures of it," Sora's voice chimed in as she pulled her own horse up to his. Initially, her riding skills had been atrocious; having never ridden one of the beasts, she was unused to everything about them and had difficulty simply staying in the saddle, much less controlling the animal. But a week and a half of trial and error had given her some measure of comfort with riding, even if she held the reins too tightly and was saddlesore every night. Despite the pains the riding had caused her, she seemed just as optimistic as Matt, having caught a glimpse of the gatehouse. "Everyone makes it out to be an incredible place."

"The first time I came here I thought I would fall off one of the bridges," Matt chuckled, knowing that such a thing wasn't true. He figured it would serve to interest her.

"Bridges?"

"Connecting the two sides of the ravine. There's plenty," he explained. "The city is built into the cliff wall. It's impressive, to say the least."

"So I was told. That sounds a bit...ah…"

"You get used to it. Trust me," Matt reassured her, smiling warmly. She returned the smile in kind, and such an exchange always made his heart flutter a little bit. It was a warm feeling, and a welcome one.

Their greeting party at the gate was nothing short of impressive; an entire welcoming committee of men, most of them on foot but a few officers mounted, came out of the gateway as the mighty doors opened to meet the caravan. The two groups stopped within twenty feet of each other, and one of the ambassadors bid Matt to ride forward with the heads of the column. He did so, leaving Sora and the rest of his party behind.

In the end, Will and Cassandra had gone with them, having nowhere else to go and having grown tired of the bitter taste of Lord Kurnias' cold and hands-off hospitality. Will wasn't the least bit happy to be moving even farther west, away from home, but Cassandra was excited for what she considered to be another "adventure" and he gave himself no choice but to follow her. His life was intertwined with hers, and thus he could never leave her side; glumly he had traveled the entire way, neither conversing nor complaining, riding in the saddle and walking when necessary. Kellan, too, had come with them, quiet but rather cheery, especially as the caravan drew nearer to home. They were all left behind in the back of the column as Matt moved his palfrey forward, joining the envoys at the front of the group.

"You seem to be shorter of men and horses," one of the greeters noticed as the envoys dismounted as a sign of respect. As soon as Matt rode up behind them and brought his horse to a halt, he recognized Darius at the head of the welcoming committee, rather haggard and worn with battered ringmail. He nevertheless greeted Matt warmly as the latter dismounted, and had his hand shaken vigorously by Darius.

"We lost a few along the way. Nothing major, no attacks," the envoy continued to answer the question. "We arrived."

"Well, that's what matters. I was hoping you'd come back in full, but perhaps I was too optimistic," the guard sighed. "Well, show yourselves in. Stablehands will take care of your mounts and your supplies, and you all are requested by Lord Walker in the Main Hall. He didn't assign any time, but the sooner the better."

Darius approached Matt just by himself, ignoring the rest of the conversation.

"Leon wants to talk to you straightaway. He asked me to bring you to him directly," Darius told him. "You've been a long time away, and he wants to know every detail. Especially about Rykar Bergensten." Matt noticed his eyes glance ever so slightly downward, at the pendant chain that hung out of his pocket. The broken pieces were in there, useless as they were but still potent.

Matt had not heard that name mentioned in weeks, and it felt like much longer. A cold chill ran through his blood as memories of ice and blood and the tangy stench of gunpowder flashed back to him.

"Rykar...Rykar is dead."

"I assumed just as much," Darius said. "But he must know everything."

"He tried-"

"Don't tell me. Tell Lord Walker. I'll listen, but I'm not the one who needs to know all of this," Darius interrupted him. "Nevertheless I'm glad you're back. We were giving up hope."

"How'd you find out about me?" Matt asked as he was led into the gatehouse, passing underneath the great stone archway, lit only by the guttering light of pale torches.

"Lord Kurnias is good with communications. Bats travel fast."

"He seemed pretty avid to get the word out…"

"Mind you, Lord Kurnias and Lord Walker do have contact, even if they aren't technically allies," Darius dithered on. "We have need of every acquaintance we can, especially with the invasions and the fall of Kastner's power. Kurnias may be weak and lacking in manpower, but he's an intelligent man and a cunning soldier and he can hold his own. We need him."

Matt really did not care to hear the specifics of feudal politics from Darius; the man had embraced his return, sure, but most of his concerns seemed to hover around the nexus of political development, and how it affected the Ditch and its standing in the crumbling factional world of Connaughtsshire. If anything, Matt wanted a hot meal, a warm bed, and private time to himself.

Sora would be nice too. I…

"We've had no more attacks recently. Antar has somehow forgotten about the Ditch, perhaps because his concerns lie farther east," Darius continued to ramble, explaining as much as he could. "I know this is a lot to sponge up…"

"It's okay," Matt warded him off, ignoring most of the conversation. "It's good to know."

"Information is your critical ally. Leon would tell you the same."

And he'd tell me so much more, Matt thought. Darius seemed to lack the wisdom and knowledge of Lord Walker; not that the former was stupid, at all, but his mind seemed to be honed for military operations and drills, rather than politics and philosophy.

With all of the others left behind in the care of the guards and the stablehands, Matt let Darius lead him across the multitude of bridges and down the sloping stone stairwells to the Third Level, where so much activity took place. Despite the war and the inevitable economic recession, or worse depression, that would come with it, the Ditch seemed to be relatively active. While not thronged with people, the streets were flowing with civilian life, each person minding their own business and going about their own affairs without trouble. Compared to the pre-War Ditch, which Matt had only seen a small slice of, it felt somewhat empty. Eerily quiet, too.

The Main Hall itself was empty, spare the few omnipresent guards at the doorways, but Darius led Matt deeper into the government hall, back into the back corridors where Matt had so often wandered during his stay at the Ditch as a guest of Rykar and Leon. The conference room where so many important, heated conversations had been held was where Matt found the lord and keeper of the Ditch, sitting in the farthest back chair, wearing refined but not luxurious clothes, raiments befitting a politician but not made for a king. The tunic was simple, a warm crimson with golden sash, and the pants were roughspun leather dyed the same color. Leon was the spitting image of a nobleman attempting to disguise himself as an elevated commoner.

"Well, he's alive and well," Darius smiled as he entered the room, guiding Matt in with a hand. Leon did not return the warm greeting, but he smiled anyway as he saw Matt. He offered with his own hand a seat right next to him, and without a word bid Darius enter as well. The guard captain took a spot in one of the corners as he closed the door behind him.

"I'm sorry for the delay-"

"That's alright. Like you said, alive and well," Leon interrupted Darius.

"Of course, my lord. He is returned."

"And I am glad. We're glad to have you back, Matt, all of us. I was afraid something ill had befallen you," Leon spoke directly to him.

"Well, define ill…"

"I know that your journey was not without event, no. But you are safe and sound, as far as I can see, and I'm overjoyed to have you returned-"

"Are you happy to see me back, or happy to see the pendant back?" The words left Matt's mouth before he could consider the impact of what he was saying. Neither of the two men spoke, but Matt could see that Leon was visibly taken aback by such an offensive maneuver. Matt felt his cheeks begin to turn bright red in embarrassment and shame.

"You...you accuse me?"

"I'm sorry, I did not mean…"

"I have always cared for your safety and wellbeing, Matt. The pendant was always a secondary concern when it came to your health," Leon reassured him, rather rigid and minutely menacing. "Even if I sent you out on such a journey, even if I put you in harm's way, I took measures to ensure that you were protected. That is why I sent Rykar with-"

"Rykar's dead," Matt spat out.

"I presumed that. But he died protecting-"

"He betrayed me. He died trying to take the pendant," Matt checked Leon. At that point, the nobleman seemed more perturbed than upset. He stroked his chin cautiously, eyes fixated on Matt and glancing down at the broken pearl from time to time.

"He betrayed you."

"He tried to take the pendant from me. Tried to reason with me, convince me that what he was doing was right. I do not remember what he said," Matt struggled to recall. "I do not remember why. But he did, and then he drew his blade. So I killed him." It was blunt, as blunt as it could be; and yet still Leon was not moved to emotional response. His eyes betrayed only some hint of reaction, and even that was not very telling.

"So you killed him?"

"I had to," Matt defended himself. "He was…"

"Enraged," Leon implanted the verb. "Insane, angry enough to slay the man he was sworn to protect…"

"I think he had control of his senses. He explained everything to me, tried to convince me that he was right and you were in the wrong," Matt explained, remembering the icy chill and the blowing snow and the blood and that tangy stink again. "He only got angry."

"And now he is dead. I trusted him so much," Leon said, the disappointment in his voice obvious. "Hero trusted him. We all did. I never could have imagined…"

"He set everything up. I wish…I wish I could remember," Matt growled, desperately trying to recollect their conversation in the bitter biting cold of the Iceport underneath. "He deceived even Herobrine…"

"That's hardly possible," Darius added. "Hero...Hero had Rykar under his control. How could he not see this coming?"

"He's not a god, Captain," Leon said, rather stiffly. "He may be powerful, but he is no oracle. Even an ancient can be deceived by a cunning man. I have read books of old, from our world and from yours," he continued, indicating Matt's home. "Remember the Iliad. Man and god waged their battles of metal and mind, and the cunning and daring men took their advantage and overcame their immortal opponents. Even a mighty pillar may be fallen by a tiny pebble, if the rock and the throw are true."

"Rykar fooled us all," Matt summarized the issue concisely. "He...tricked me. He tricked you. He tricked all of us."

"And he ended up paying for it with his life, if you are to be believed," Darius said.

"Did you break it?" Leon asked, pressing onto another point.

"Break...the pendant?"

"Yes, yes," he said, irritated. "Did you break it? That is what all this was for. If the entire journey was in vain…"

Leon glanced down at the chain in Matt's pocket and saw the two halves of the shattered pearl, answering his own question.

"I see. I don't care to know how you did it, but it is done. And now you know what lies inside."

"Numbers."

"Yes, numbers. I would like to see for myself, but in a more secure location," Leon said. "Hand it to me."

Matt handed the shattered pieces to Leon without any measure of exertion. The pendant, now broken, no longer held sway over him. It was as simple as lifting it up, and passing it over.

"I will take this to the Vault. It needs to be kept safe. It's even more dangerous now," Leon warned Matt. "I'm sorry if it was a burden."

Are you really? Do you really care about me? Matt wanted to say what was vexing him but only allowed himself to nod.

"We'll get you good quarters for yourself and your people. According to Darius you brought some company."

"Kellan returned, and I've picked up three others. Is there room?" Matt inquired hopefully.

"We'll make room for them. There's still some minor disorder after the uprising…"

"Well, that's news to me," Matt said, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. "Uprising?"

"Against Antar's force. There's a lot of details, but that's the jist of it," Darius answered.

"The details are chaff. Separate the chaff from the grain and you find the meal of it. Stanislaus Antar's control over this region has been overthrown, and he hardly knows it. He's stretched himself out too much in too little time. His 'unified state' is paper-thin," Leon said.

It concerns me little. Why am I hearing all of this? Matt wondered. Leon dragged on a bit more, providing some major details about the current situation, but the unrest on Matt's face was plain to see and Leon saw that his protege was not interested in the grand scheme of things.

"I know that a lot of this is beyond your sphere of influence. It's not your concern, and I understand."

"It's okay," Matt dismissed him wearily.

"Captain Loyhrs," Leon called for the man behind Matt. "Find the steward. Tell him to have his servants prepare five suitable lodgings for five guests of mine."

"Five?" Matt perked up sharply.

"Five for five, yes."

"Well, Kellan lives here in the Ditch. He...stowed away with us…"

"Alright," Leon nodded, waiting to hear the rest.

"And...well, the rest of us can sleep together, right? Two people to a room? That way we only need two rooms, and…" Matt trailed off as he saw Leon's face darken ever so slightly. Despite his reservations, the nobleman seemed to concur.

"Of course. Two for four. Save space and time, yes. Good idea," he said, with little hint of any other emotion.

"It's good quarters, lad," Darius reassured him. "I'll take you to the steward and you can choose your setup, is that alright?"

"No," Leon interjected. "Have one of yours escort him. I need to speak with you."
Matt was led out of the room by one of the guards, who was whistled in by Darius. The moment the boy had left Leon stood up and withdrew the pamphlet from his clothing.

"I've read it and re-read it. It drips with venom and shines with our saving light. Both are dangerous and I find myself trapped between truth and treachery," Leon mused.

"Three days it's been. What more could you think about it?" Darius asked, genuinely curious.

"So much encompassed within so little. I do not know what to think."

He handed the pamphlet to Darius, who was slow to take it.

"Read."

"I've already read it-"

"Read it again," Leon ordered. "And again and again if you have to. Like I have."

"There's no point to that," Darius argued, throwing open the pamphlet hastily, but he did so, begrudgingly. When he finished, he handed it forcefully back to Leon.

"It's from Crestan, that much is still obvious," he observed.

"What we know about Crestan is about the battle, and that's pretty much it. Perhaps new circumstances have arisen?" Leon suggested.

"It's not for me to consider," Darius shrugged.

"Well, keep it in mind. Tomorrow, perhaps, we will provide the key to the padlock and find the treasure within our little message, hmm?"

As the captain of the guard excused himself, Leon opened the letter once more and read it again, for what seemed like the fiftieth time. He mused over the words in his head and, finding them no less dangerous than before, scoffed at it himself and rolled it back up for safekeeping.

VVVVV

The stony outcropping overlooked the entire flat plain below, all the way down to the Delphos River running its lazy course amongst the grass. The Xonos led his scouting party up onto the outcropping and took a long, hard look at the scenery before him. It seemed tranquil enough...but he had to expect something.

They were still moving south, slowly and not so surely. Why, was the question?

Why?

The prospect of a greeting by the open arms of comrades had faded away into the oblivion of politics, such hopes dashed by a single pamphlet of deadly words. Perhaps the men on the beach still held their oath to the Xonos; or perhaps money, power, loyalty or a combination of all three had swayed them away. It was a risk he shouldn't take; perhaps he would, but he shouldn't. But where else would he go?

"It looks clear, my lord…"

"Looks. It looks," the Xonos repeated, echoing the scout. "Looks. Such a deadly word."

"My lord?"

"We never see our enemies, do we?" he asked. "They see us, but we don't see them. They could be hiding down in that tall grass and we'd never see them until it's too late."

"Of course, but our vanguard parties...they would take care of them, my lord," the scout promised.

"Like they've done before. And they'll die just as they always have."

The Xonos would've turned back down the hill in disgust if he had not heard the faint fluttering of wings. He turned around to spot the tiny brown dot slowly descending from the cloudless sky, growing larger as it came in for a landing. It was a bat, a small brown creature with a letter attached to its leg. It came down to the Xonos and alighted on the ground beneath him, glancing around at all of the towering soldiers with curiosity. It squeaked once, twice, then shook its nimble little leg at the Xonos as if to clearly indicate its package.

The Xonos, quite bemused by the tiny mammal's arrival, awkwardly reached down and effortlessly plucked the slip of paper off of the bat's leg. The creature squeaked again, almost as if it was happy to deliver, and took off into the air, disappearing once more. The Xonos unrolled the letter and read.

To those who receive this,

A dark day has come. The earth trembles and the fires roar in the mountain, and the dead walk the earth come to dispel the darkness, to bring faith back to those who have lost it. Crestan stands, a city of brave young men, and we have come not to aid just it, but to aid all. If you have weapons or troops or arms of any sort, find your way to Crestan and come to us. We mass ourselves for the battle against the dead, and those who must have needs their faith restored may walk the path of light and stand with us.

The Northern Men

Lord Alaf Rolf

Lord James Kleiner (incapacitated)

He read the letter once more, and then again, while his scouts waited around him. One of them asked what it was, but the Xonos did not answer.

In that moment, standing on the hill, he knew what he would do. Perhaps it was not the right decision, but it was more than just an impulse that made his mind.

He had a plan, and he was going to follow through. First, march back north.

Crestan, and its promise of "faith" awaited him. And soon much more.