Four on Watch

There were four on watch. That was all I could tell myself to keep me sane that night. I told myself, over and over again, that there were that many keeping us safe tonight. Our encampment was more of a small hideaway hole than a fort, the walls had long ago crumbled, and its rooms were caved in from falling earth. It was defendable, easily escapable, and most importantly, it was easy to miss in the starless night in which we found ourselves. But knowing there was even a chance he was out there, and that he had possibly started to form a band of his own, I could not shake my apprehension. There were four on watch tonight, and that didn't make me feel any safer.

"You should get some sleep." A voice pierced the inky black, one I recognized almost immediately. Mercy. I'd lost count how many times she had snuck up on me, and I'd long since given up trying to stop her. She was the only thing I could never keep track of. I adjusted my grip on my pole axe and turned my attention towards the source of the sound, her mask greeted me, lit only by the distant fire from within one of the cave ins. She slowly walked beside me and took her place by side, both blades gripped tightly in her hands.

"I'm not tired. Besides, there are too many uncertainties to let my guard down. If O'Carrick really is out there, we must be ready, all of us." I responded. I had mourned my fallen brother the night after Svengard, I remember feeling conflicted over doing so. As Blackstone, we were always told death in battle was a noble end, and the ones that felled us were to be celebrated. Wolves one and all. Despite that, it had felt like such a wrong way for O'Carrick to face his last day, burning for something he hadn't fully understood. If he was alive, I knew he would harbor resentment for the legion. Mercy turned her attention away from me, instead peering out into the void.

"Any Warden could be wearing similar armor, Cross. O'Carrick was a simple man, and his armor reflected that. It's a trait everyone in his order shares. Rather, those who still believe in it." She observed. I followed her gaze into the night, sentries had just passed back into sight. A lieutenant rested a two handed longsword on his shoulder with one hand, holding a lit torch in the other. Behind him was a soldier, lazily swaying his sword at his side and letting his shield hang from his fingertips. Two more soldiers appeared on the opposite side, and the two groups passed by one another as their paths intersected. Four on watch.

I wondered just how much of a fight those four would put up against a group of bandits. More than enough, I thought. Untrained bandits were no match for members of the Blackstone legion, of that I was sure. Wolves or a bear might give them a greater challenge, maybe even maul one of them before they bested the beasts. Even then, I did not believe any would fall. Against Stone, they'd land maybe one good hit before he brought them down. He'd be tired, but eager to go on, a difficult problem to deal with, but manageable. Against O'Carrick? They'd be dead in a matter of seconds, and he'd be fully capable of marching on. I could best him, but not before he'd slaughter my remaining men. Four on watch, and it didn't seem nearly enough.

"How certain are you?" I asked. I didn't need to specify, Mercy would know what I meant. She always seemed to have a talent for those sorts of things. Her reply came almost immediately.

"Certain. I saw him drop below the hills and into flame. He is well and truly gone." There was nothing in her words, as I'd expected. She sounded neither convinced nor doubtful of her statement, neither honest nor deceitful. No sounds escaped my lips as I turned towards her, studying every small move she made. There was nothing to see. She stood unmoving, even her breathing seemed stalled while she remained perched by my side.

I was not a suspicious man. When my companions told me things, I was fairly certain they were telling me the truth. That said, I was a cautious man. If O'Carrick was alive, he could easily represent a clear and present danger to Blackstone, especially if he was gathering allies. Stone's identity was certain, and I could not see him forming an alliance with any random knight who crossed his path. Besides, we knew it was an unaligned Warden that had been to both Morrowgale and Herongale, immediately after Stone no less. The connections were too convenient for me to dismiss, I had to be certain.

"The bard you spoke with, what did she say?" Mercy had made no secret that she'd found a wandering eye on our meeting, nor the actions she had taken. Normally such things would be handled by myself or by Belial, but Zulan and Kharion had been insistent on handling things their way. I was content to leave it there, justice would be served either way, and we had important business to attend to regardless. The bard had likely suffered enough anyway, stabbed by Mercy's blade.

"She told me nothing, as I told you." Mercy said, still unmoving. I couldn't explain why, but I was not convinced. There was nothing new in her voice, nor did her stance shift even slightly, but for some reason I could not shake the feeling there was more to it than what she said.

"Her exact words Mercy, what were they?" I demanded, raising my voice to emphasize my intent. This did catch her attention, and she slowly turned her head back to me, though only enough that she saw me out of the corner of her eye. She was silent for a time, I couldn't tell if she was simply ignoring me or weighing her options. I glared at her behind my helmet, as if willing her to tell the truth. Finally, she turned away and spoke again.

"Go to hell, Blackstone." She confessed. I paused and began to think. A bard had said that to a member of the Blackstone Legion? I knew most bards had fire in their veins, but to curse a Peacekeeper of Blackstone to her face? Even with a dagger at their side? That didn't come from mere bravado, nor sheer stupidity. She was protecting someone, she had to be. But which one was she protecting, Stone or the unidentified Warden? Stone seemed unlikely, but he was a valiant warrior in his own right, and certainly a man of moral character, if not punctuality. I couldn't be sure going off only this information, let alone my own assumptions. I needed more accounts of this Warden, and I knew where to get them.

"Siegemund and the elder, are they still awake?" I asked. Mercy still seemed disinterested in my questions, not so much as twitching as she spoke.

"The warrior keeps watch, the elder is asleep." She confirmed. Without a word I turned away from Mercy, content to leave her to her own thoughts. If my suspicions were correct, then she was either wrong, or she was lying. I wasn't sure which possibility concerned me more as I marched across that dark field, past the fallen stones and into one of the caved in holes. A controlled campfire lit the insides of the room, casting the shadows of my sleeping companions onto the rubble around them. Among them was the elder, resting against the hard stone uncovered, instead using a blanket to serve as a makeshift pillow. By his side was Siegemund, still fully armored save for his helmet, leaning against the wall.

His blade rested comfortably by his side, well within grabbing range. He would have to be a fool to challenge me if it came down to it, but so too would it be foolish of me to ignore the danger. If a bard was willing to insult a Knight for her benefactor, there was plenty that a trained warrior could be capable of, even one I was sure I surpassed in skill. Siegemund turned his dull green eyes towards me and grimaced, likely confused as to why I was approaching him, he would not have to wonder long.

"The Warden you met with, tell me about him." I demanded. Siegemund furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly. Had he not understood me? Unlikely, I thought. He was likely composing his thoughts, and if my hunch was correct, deciding just how much to say. Siegemund finally sighed and stood up straight, as though at attention.

"Did we not explain already? He came asking for a companion. He left to find him." He said. This time, I was able to read my subject clearly. The phrase was chosen deliberately, just enough to answer my question, but not enough to do so properly. He was hiding something, something big. I walked closer to him, letting the pommel of my weapon land heavily on the ground below. The ringing of steel on rock echoed gently around us, and Siegemund tensed. I was within striking distance of him in only a few steps.

"I need specifics, Siegemund. I was content to leave our discussions until Blackstone Castle, but certain parts of your story have been making me think." I spoke deliberately, letting each word boom out of me like a divine decree. The effect on Siegemund was instantaneous, his resolve did not shatter, but I could see his nerve fading. It only faded further when I came to a halt by his side, our pauldrons nearly touching one another. I was a good half head taller than him, and I was willing to use that as I glared down at him.

"Thinking of what, Cross?" He inquired. His voice did not shake, but I could tell he was anxious, his posture had completely changed. Once he had stood tall and straight, now he seemed to lean back against the stone, almost folding in on himself. He was trying to keep away from me. I didn't enjoy using tactics like this, but if he hadn't told me anything at the hamlet, my usual methods wouldn't be effective. Besides, this information was too critical to be left alone.

"The Conqueror you met with before is a deserter of the Blackstone Legion, as we explained. But I know this deserter, he was headstrong, difficult to work with for most. Save for one soul." I explained. I kept my gaze locked on him, looking for any hint of recognition, or thought. He was thinking alright, and looking away didn't mask it at all. I hoped that shifting the direct focus onto Stone would loosen his lips.

"And I suppose this Warden is that soul?" He pondered aloud. I waited for a moment, not replying. Silence passed between us for an uncomfortable length of time before he finally relented and turned his head back in my direction. His features were twisted in deep consideration, despite his efforts to mask it. I couldn't help but feel he should have kept his helmet on if that was his intent. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing. Regardless, I relented and gave him a nod.

"I suspect so. Few outside of Blackstone would willingly chase after that Conqueror. Even fewer still would do so because they called him friend." I explained. Siegemund seemed to understand, and sighed as he looked away again, focusing on the fire before us. I was patient with him, I knew this was much to process. Eventually, he looked back at me with a neutral expression, seeming to have composed himself.

"He requested to know the whereabouts of the Conqueror. We didn't trust him, so I dueled with him." He confessed. I stumbled a bit at this. He dueled the Warden, and still lived? Had he bested him? That didn't sound like O'Carrick. A swordsman like Siegemund shouldn't have been able to kill a master of the blade like that. Then again, I also found myself lingering on the word 'requested'. A Warden was the equivalent of a lord even in Ashfeld, they shouldn't have needed to request anything. I tried not to let these thoughts cloud my judgement, they were musings, nothing more. Besides, Siegemund had just said the Warden had left his hamlet, of course he had lived. So who had won then?

"You bested him?" I further questioned. Siegemund actually laughed at this, shaking his head as he did.

"Not at all. He wiped the floor with me, threw me around like I was a sack of potatoes. Had his blade at my throat at one point…" He admitted. My thoughts continued to stir as he concluded; "…Even then he was begging for a truce. Never seen a man so desperate for one." Now that was telling. Only a man of righteous intent would call for his opponent to a truce even as he was winning. Few Wardens still held so true to their order that they would do such a thing. Even then, I still needed one last bit of confirmation before I was sure.

"This Warden, did he say his name?" Siegemund did not respond immediately, only looking toward me with a soft smirk on his lips. I hadn't given anything away from my tone, and yet he still seemed to realize the weight of what he knew.

"Now what would it say about me if I surrendered the name of a man who spared my life? Especially to those who certainly wouldn't grant him that mercy?" He asked. More defiance, the same as the bard that defied Mercy. At least one of them was driven by an act of true good done by the Warden, and I was willing to bet the same held true for the bard. I did not voice any of this to Siegemund. Instead I glared at him a moment longer, then turned my back on him, leaving him to stew in his arrogance.

I marched out of the chamber into the cold night as I continued my pondering. Two were hiding the identity of this Warden. Both were likely fueled by his actions, one of them for sure, and that only spoke more volumes of his character. He was looking for Stone, and called him a friend. One link might have been a coincidence, two may have been a similarity. Three? Now I was almost certain. I looked around the expanse before continuing, but Mercy was long gone from the crumbled wall. Most likely, she was doing her own watch separate from what was scheduled. But the possibility of her hiding something did not fade from my mind. Beyond the wall, both patrols had circled back around, meeting once again.

"Soldiers of Blackstone!" I called out, letting my voice echo through the tree line. The lieutenant and his men came to a halt in front of one another, each of them turning to face me, weapons dangling lazily at their sides.

"Yes Lord Cross?" One asked as I came to a stop in front of them. I considered them again as they waited for my next commands. Trained warriors and soldiers, fearsome members of the Blackstone legion. Four were on watch tonight, and that was nowhere near enough.

"Fetch Belial and his lieutenant, and assemble another team of four aside from them. Bring them to me at once, we will all keep watch tonight." I instructed. The soldiers seemed confused at my orders, each looking to one another as they tried to process what I had just said. The Lieutenant lifted his torch and looked me in the eye.

"My Lord, the next watch doesn't begin for another hour, and it's only supposed to be Belial and his lieutenant." He protested. I glared back at him.

"Do not question my orders, Lieutenant, we have reason to believe a grave threat may be plotting against us. We have three more days before we arrive at Castle Blackstone, I intend to ensure we survive them." I told him. He looked back at his companion, who only shrugged in response. I was sure I sounded paranoid to them, they were free to think that. Confusion was evident in his eyes as he shook his head, and looked back at me.

"If you insist, my Lord. We'll assemble them and have them report to you." He agreed. I nodded and marched past them, planting my pommel firmly on the ground below and scanning the horizon. The dark was nearly all consuming as the light of the torches faded behind me, the idle chatter of the others fading into the distance. Even without clear sight, I would not take my eyes off the tree line. I didn't know how, but I was sure that Liam O'Carrick was alive. Worse, I suspected he was gathering allies…

…And I knew exactly why.