The party hammered down the capital road in a hell-for-leather charge just to keep up with the emperor; Lukas spurred his horse as best he could, and only fell farther behind. He glanced up at the city when he was able, but there was little good to see; smoke rose from its center in a great cloud that obscured most beyond the walls. They rounded past a postal station with its stables, among the dozens of other buildings hugging the road, when a man in green armor jumped onto a horse and broke off after them. He caught up to Lukas, his mount not fatigued from weeks in the field. Lukas recognized him at once.

"Sir Lukas!"

"Forsyth! For what reason are you here?" Lukas shouted.

"Sir Clive - Sir Clive sent me ahead! To meet the emperor, for all is well with the army. What happened here?" Lukas didn't know. He wasn't sure he wished to know.

The city gates were left wide open, the walls abandoned by the guard who had either rushed into the city to assist, or fled their posts. Panicked civilians filled the gate, and Alm had slowed rather than plow through them, giving time to catch up with him while he weaved his way through the crowd.

"Make way!" Lukas shouted, the guard copying him. He reached Alm and grabbed him by the arm. "Please, Alm, take care. I beg you."

Alm tugged his arm away and bolted as soon as the road cleared, Lukas taking off after him. The smoke and destruction only grew with every step, visibility creeping down to a block's length, then half that within minutes, screams of fright and pain echoing against the pavement and buildings. Rigel was deep into winter, but the fires throughout the city left the air stifling, and Lukas began sweating beneath his armor. The cracks in the pavement grew deep and wide as they approached the city's center, and the site of the explosion: the remains of the capitol building, which had housed the imperial treasury and administration. The explosion was centered at, or more likely beneath it, and caved the entire building in upon itself. What was stone was smashed, and what wasn't stone was aflame. Uncoordinated groups of men were working to lift survivors out of the light rubble, but had no chance of clearing the heavier debris. Alm dismounted and began walking straight through the chaos, in a path only he knew. Lukas had no clue where Alm was leading them, but kept by his side.

"Caution, Alm, danger may yet lurk here. We have no idea of what happened."

"Speak for yourself."

They weaved between fires and piles of rubble, until Alm found what he was looking for and stopped. He never said what they were looking for in the pile of concrete, which was easily twice the size of a house. Alm just tucked his gloves into his belt and began clearing his way through the broken slabs. Lukas and the others hurriedly got to work helping move smaller pieces aside, but only Sonya could make much of a difference, levitating rubble with her magic and tossing it aside. After a quarter of an hour, which was enough to coat all of them in dust and smog and leave Lukas' entire body burning from exhaustion, Alm lifted a slab and stopped, looking beyond it. He tossed it aside

"This is it," Alm said.

Upon closer inspection, the ground they cleared was not solid at all. It shimmered and crackled, the air on Lukas' face sparkling and tasting like metal, but what now seemed to be enchanted air had one minute prior supported thousands of pounds of rubble. Lukas crouched by it, and poked in his knife. It passed through - without any enchantment going off and killing him on the spot - with just a bit of resistance, like pushing it through syrup. Most likely it was to slow the fall of a man or object passing through it, so it wouldn't suffer damage at the bottom. There, forty feet down, was a large tile glowing with bright blue magic arrayed in an insignia Lukas couldn't identify.

"It is a warp tile," Sonya stated. "It will transport us somewhere when activated."

"Can you activate it?" Alm asked.

"Yes," Sonya replied.

Alm turned around to address the rest of the group.

"The skulls of Duma and Mila were stored in the treasury's vault. Nothing but the Kingsfang could destroy them. The building once stood where we are now, yet the skulls are no longer here. The only group capable of this is the Duma Faithful."

The series of short statements all led to one conclusion - the Faithful had stolen the skulls, destroying the building either as cover for their heist or as a necessary part of it.

Unless, that is, the skulls were launched directly upwards into the sky and out of all our reach. How droll a twist that would be.

"Why do the Faithful want the skulls?" Tobin asked, not seeing the obvious.

"For something fucking horrible, idiot," snapped Gray.

"To resurrect the Gods, in whatever corrupted forms they must," stated Alm. "We have but one chance to stop them."

Then, without debate or deliberation, Alm stepped forward into the air, sinking down into the tunnel. His hand forced, Lukas followed, and then the rest. The feeling it gave Lukas was an unnatural one, one he hated. He wasn't weightless, as if floating, carried by angels; it felt as though he was sinking, being dragged down into the mouth of hell. When his feet touched down on the floor's shining runes, he felt no better, the air sparking and prickling at his face and eyes.

The emperor stood at the head of the tile, holding the Kingsfang in his right hand. On his left, the brand was burning bright red. He slid his hand up the blade, leaving a trail of blood on either edge. It grew bright orange, spreading to the whole of the blade and giving off a burning heat and a rotten smell. He gave it a test swing and smirked, his pale features illuminated by the horrid orange light. Emperor Albein's eyes had a dim red glow, a darker match to his brand. Lukas stood next to him, still.

When everyone had touched down and taken a square - careful to keep a wide spacing, lest they be melded into each other in the warp - Sonya reached her hands up and conjured a bright orb of magic, slamming it down to the ground in a blinding flash of light. The tile drank the power up at first, faded to black, and then burst into a white flash, and Lukas was gone.

Celica rejected Mycen's plan of flight from the Tower, and pushed it and his note from her mind entirely. Hestia never mentioned it again, and Marla never found out. She could mostly understand, but not speak, the Duma Faithful holy language, but felt it was wrong for her to attend their services, and Jedah denied her request to pray in the great hall to Mother Mila while it wasn't in use. The foot of her bed would suffice.

But the freedom was odd, and chafed on her in its own unique way.

Celica found herself with an excess of free time, which matched poorly with a deficit in worthwhile activities with which to fill it. Celica ended up reading Mycen's book, and got a good understanding of the Tower of Duma' layout. The circular tower was at the complex's center; it stood nearly five hundred feet high, with the middle section hollow, its circumference large enough for Duma himself to fly in or out in His draconic form. However, due to its awkwardly massive size, the Faithful spent most of their time in the two additional wings constructed sometime after the central building. Though simpler and not nearly as high, they were still magnificent feats of engineering, constructed in the age of the gods, - and much cheaper to heat. The western wing connected to the road, a remnant of the imperial highway system, back when the Deadlands were functioning imperial provinces, rather than wastes picked over by the beastmen. In it, the Faithful conducted all non-magical religious rituals, storing ancient artifacts of their faith. Most personnel and office space was adjoined to the western wing, including the library and Celica's room.

The southern wing sprung out from the tower and had many above ground connections to the west, from massive water pipes to tunnels and walkways through the thick walls and others besides. It had no open route to the road, and instead ran underground, into the massive network of tunnels, teleportariums, magical chambers, and 'storage' space buried beneath the earth. The extent of the tunnels was unclear - either how deep they ran, or how far around the region, or how densely they were dug. It was just as unclear if anyone knew the answer, alive or dead - the tunnels were extended in dozens of projects, spread over hundreds of years. Just as the book reached a discussion of the storage chambers which fed into the central tower's ritual grounds, however, Celica found the rest of the chapter missing, all the pages excised. The final few chapters concerned the walls, which she didn't care much for, and initially skipped

When she wasn't reading or at prayer, Celica practiced her swordplay and magical skills with Marla and Hestia. She was far stronger than either, and even fighting against both at once was little challenge. Witches were trained and conditioned to the peak of human ability, but to Celica they seemed like they were moving through water; weak, slow, and helpless. Their offensive spells flared and fizzled away against her barrier, while Celica's blew through theirs' like thin air. After the second day of practice, neither Marla or Hestia had been able to put up meaningful resistance, and Celica gave up, fearing she would hurt them.

On the third morning, a messenger spoke through the door in hushed tones to Marla, who then announced Celica was to remain in her room until told otherwise. She could hear some muted commotion far outside, like thousands of people moving, some shouting, muffled cries, thumping. It lasted from morning to evening, every day. Celica paced around the room, counting her laps into the hundreds, for something to burn her restless energy. Marla and Hestia just stared at her. She finished the book on the Tower, reading all about its damned walls. Thirty feet high. Enough murderholes and arrowslits to slaughter the Arthegnii, if they attacked. They were pointless - the Arthegnii mostly fought each other - and so the walls were left to decay and break down. From her window looking south, Celica could see three sections of the wall so reduced she could climb over without much effort, if only the window wasn't barred.

The fourth morning she was still confined to her room, and after prayers and breakfast she began her pacing again, even more restless than the day before. She couldn't stop thinking, wondering about questions she didn't want the answer to.

What is happening? Why can't I leave?

'Something' was the obvious answer. Something Celica wasn't supposed to see. Perhaps it was fine for Jedah to have his secrets, parts of the plan she didn't need to know. The reason she couldn't know… must have been solid, something valid. It wasn't her place to question, she decided, regardless of what Mycen said. It brought her no peace, not when she had a pile of hard questions and all the time in the world to struggle with them. Marla was called away before noon, leaving Celica and Hestia alone. Celica still couldn't understand why the witch hadn't reported Mycen's treason, and bored out of her mind, decided to speak.

"Hestia?"

The witch was sitting by the door, staring at Celica where she read at the window. "Yes."

"In my travels, I knew a woman. She was a powerful sorceress, by the name of Sonya. She mentioned that she had two sisters she was separated from… by the names of Marla and Hestia. That her father is Jedah himself…"

Hestia looked at her. "That is correct. We are family."

She did not elaborate. Celica decided to say what she meant, rather than hope Hestia would make it easy for her.

"Why did you not tell Marla?" she asked, in a quiet tone, if someone was listening at the door or wall.

Hestia looked away. "Because Marla would tell Jedah," she mumbled, as though she was unsure, either about Marla's actions or Jedah's response.

"But Nymec poses a threat to the plan, does he not?"

"To Jedah's plans…" Hestia muttered. Her face shuddered - all witches kept to a blank, neutral expression, which Hestia usually held. But her expression trembled, her teeth lightly chattering as she flashed into half-grimaces, a tide of anger barely kept in check by the witch curse. "Jedah…" she hissed.

"Do you hate your father?" Celica whispered, feeling Hestia's repressed fury, stoking it to see where it led.

"Hate... " Hestia mumbled, "Cruel, wicked father. Yes…" She regained her composure, the shakes stopping, her expression turning almost neutral. "I hate my father."

Celica nodded. "So did I. I... I always used to think about my father burning, buried beneath a tonne of flaming coals. He was an evil man."

"Your father did not die by fire," Hestia stated, confirming.

"No, merely a traitor's knife. One evil man slain by another. Our time has no shortage of them," Celica concluded.

"Perhaps we may reduce their number," Hestia mused. "Bring death to all the wicked… or enough, enough to bring the rest into line."

Celica thought of Hestia's immature notion. It was known that humans were created of Duma and Mila's essence, but lacked the perfection of the creations. Mankind was motivated by shallow desires' power, greed, lust - though the Mila Faithful looked upon the last as comparatively benign. Humans committed wicked acts because of their wicked nature; to improve man was impossible, to eradicate evil would mean to eradicate humanity. It was only through the blessings of Duma and Mila that they could be guided onto the right path, and even then, there was only so much that could be done. Humans were flawed creations.

"It is a blessing that they put each other to the sword with the innocent. But only the return of the gods will right the world," Celica said.

Hestia didn't respond. Celica felt on that point they differed. But talking to someone, anyone, who would listen, and she could perhaps trust, was liberating, and she didn't wish to stop.

"I have a... friend, Hestia. I think he sees the world the way you do. That there are evil villains who roam about committing horrid acts, and that it is the duty of heroes to slay them. He only means well - I would not question that for a second. But the damage he has caused in his ignorance… I am not sure it can be undone. I only want to keep him safe, yet our ideals are just so far apart. He will not understand he is wrong, and I fear he will ruin everything we have planned. And I fear I will have to face him once more… and stop him from doing so."

Celica spent the final sentences looking past Hestia, at her feet, anywhere to avoid meeting her gaze.

"Alm," Hestia said. "The Emperor Albein Alm Rudolf, the Second."

Celica sighed. "So, you have been told everything?"

"You moan his name while you sleep. You dream of him in bed with you."

Celica jolted at that, her face going red. "N-no! No, nothing, nothing like that!" she stammered. Hestia's stare was unchanged, and she said nothing. Embarrassment gave way to emptiness, then despair.

"I dream of him… but not that we are together. He is fighting evil men, just as he believes is just. One by one, he cuts them down with his blade, until he doesn't. He slips, or misses a strike, or gets caught with a blow. Then they all rise up, all the broken bodies, and tear him apart. I hear how he screams, his bones snap, his flesh tears, and I can do nothing. He doesn't hear my cries to stop, and I cannot move to aid him. He just fights on and on, until one fateful error, and then he dies again. Every night I sleep, always that."

She said most of it looking into her lap, her arms wrapped around herself. Celica had never told anyone before, and hated the feeling. She hated the clothing she was given, how short the skirt was, how it exposed her chest, baring so much skin even in the cold of the Tower. She hated the Duma Faithful and all its hideous, evil men. She wanted them all to die, to burn. Or Alm, to swoop in and slay them all, take the choice out of her hands. Celica labored over every decision she made, was pained by each in its own way as they invariably turned to disaster. So much power was thrust upon her, embedded in her flesh, that she had no choice but to wield it. But all Celica truly desired was for the greater beings she served to rule Valentia with a benign, distant hand, and to be granted Alm and a quiet life to live with him.

It had never seemed more certain that she would receive none of what she hoped for in the end.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Hestia," she said. The witch made no response.

Celica laid her head down on the desk, let her sight lose focus and stared blankly at the purple-tainted snowflakes dropping down on the windowsill.

It was on one of the days with the noises of movement throughout the tower that Jedah finally called for her. The sound had ceased half an hour prior, just before sundown, and she was waiting for her dinner to be delivered, when a knock came at the door. Marla and Hestia recognized it and stood in unison.

"Jedah will see you now," Marla said.

Marla grabbed Celica and tugged her towards the door, causing Celica to drop her book, it falling open-faced on the floor. Hestia closed it properly and followed them out, shutting the door behind her. Whoever knocked was gone by the time they left the room. Celica knew the way to Jedah's room, but they took a different route that avoided the great hall, with Marla keeping a tight hand on her wrist the whole time. Hestia walked a foot to her right, but didn't grab her other hand.

As they approached Jedah's room, Celica heard his voice, his shouts barely dulled by the walls.

"YOU PROMISED ME MORE! THOUSANDS MORE!" Jedah screamed. "THE LAST RITUAL CONSUMED HUNDREDS, JUST FOR A GIRL! HAVE YOU NO CLUE - NO CLUE AT ALL - WHAT IS AT STAKE?"

"We tried!" a man groveled before he cried out in pain. Hestia opened the door and pushed Celica through. Inside were five Arthegnii savages, perhaps chieftains, ragged from travel and cowering from Jedah, who stood backed by other ranking cantors. The bishop was not tall, while Arthegnii were large and brutish, but Jedah loomed over them. One held his reddened face, tears dripping down his dirty cheeks- but Celica doubted from the pain.

"Emperor Albein, he, he… he killed everyone! The Arthegn-slayer tore his way through our lines like an enraged beast, he tore King Zekstriss' head clean off with his bare hands! Nothing could be done, nothing!"

"You could have marched faster, fool, and crossed the river before he brought you to battle. But you and your barbarian king were too busy indulging in your ravages to think of it. I've no more use for you."

The chieftain snarled - perhaps at the humiliation of being dismissed, or seeking a warrior's way out - and reached for the blade at his side. He had it halfway from its scabbard before Jedah's spell struck him; a jagged purple bolt that impacted the center of his chest. In an instant his whole body lost all strength and he collapsed backwards like a limp sack of grain, completely unmoving in his place on the flood. Dead.

"Take the rest to the others," Jedah said. Four knights each grabbed a man by the collar and dragged them from the room, blades pointed into their backs. The dead one was left on the floor.

"You are early, Anthiese," Jedah said, not turning to face her. "I meant not to upset you with violence."

"I have seen it aplenty. I know I will see more."

"You will. But I've something else to show you."

Jedah led their group out through the great hall this time, which was abuzz with construction and preparations. The grand staircase leading up from the lower levels was being fortified. At its top, rows of stakes were being emplaced pointing downward, channeling anyone who walked through into a narrow space in the middle. Statues and relics were being taken down and moved elsewhere to open up sightlines; two small towers for archers to man were near completion, while on the two upper balconies overlooking the hall Celica could see two napthem siphons pointed to project fire down at the stairs. A few bonfires provided light and warmth for the builders at work, overseen by Bishop Vespasian who saluted as their group passed. They continued deeper into the great hall, which wrapped around the center of the Tower, through another two weaker defensive lines before reaching the gate to the tower's center.

Jedah shouted up for it to be opened, and a slow cranking began in the walls. The gate creaked open, revealing a long platform. Her eyes darted about the room - the pages detailing its layout had been lost from her book. To the left of their entrance was a staircase leading a full hundred feet up to what seemed like a balcony and room overlooking the platform. Beyond the stage was a staircase leading downstairs, while the ground plunged away to either side of the massive, broad platform they stood on. Celica couldn't see the bottom. In the center of the platform, though were the only things that mattered, two bony shapes she identified immediately.

"The dragon gods, Duma and Mila. Their physical forms retaken at last.," Jedah said.

Celica could barely restrain herself from running, but forced calmness upon herself while Jedah led their group to the skulls. On the right, Mother Mila's, punctured in the forehead by a single horrid blow from the Kingsfang. On the left was Father Duma. His skull was so mangled and degraded Celica's gut turned; the center of His head had been torn open by a hundred brutal strikes, so that she could see into His empty brain cavity. A dozen other strikes had broken bone away, removing half the shape of his skull. The skin and soft tissue had all rotted away, leaving all the bone bare, giving off no foul odor.

"The blessed War Father, the Earth Mother. Such a wretched state they have been placed into, all at the hands of Emperor Albein. Your own Alm."

That wasn't exactly true, Celica knew. It was Emperor Rudolf who killed Mother Mila, not Alm. She felt an impulse to say something in his defense, but Father Duma's murder was Alm's work, and it disgusted her. She remembered her final moments, after the Kingsfang tore through her, two precise, skilled blows. But what had been done to Duma's skull was the work of a feral beast, not the sensitive boy who held her so tenderly as she slipped away, crying. Reconciling the two seemed impossible.

Celica thought of the day, years ago, when she was forced to leave Ram after Slade's knights attacked them in the cemetery. Mycen had unhorsed one knight, who had lain stunned on the ground. When Celica ran to him to kick away his sword, Alm raced past her, and planted his dagger in the man's eye. As Mycen ran the others off, Alm cheered, and turned to her.

"We'll always keep you safe, Celica. I won't let the evil men hurt you." He had blood on his face, and a smile.

Killing a defenseless man at ten. Alm always had it in him, he must have. He must have.

Something seemed to be missing, to explain the savagery of the wounds inflicted upon Father Duma. But Celica decided to be satisfied with her own explanation. Jedah was leading them forward again, closer.

"It will all be over soon, child, I promise. We retrieved these from the Imperial Capital just hours ago. The end of this era approaches; with it, the dawn of a glorious new age. Both of the gods, made whole once more, to rule all of Valentia, all of the world. The other continents will be brought under our banner, the whole world united under Duma... and Mila." He had the smile of a merchant peddling suspect goods.

Celica had no appetite for conquest. But what Jedah missed was that his own views for the world order after the return of the gods would be quickly subordinated to that of Duma and Mila. Whatever it was they decided, Celica would devote her heart to.

But what that was, she could make no guess.

"What happened to Alm?" she asked.

Jedah turned at her, like a teacher to a pupil who asked a stupid question. "He went insane. Mad with his power. He brutally persecuted the Faithful in Rigel, provoked a war with the Arthegnii. He originally fought to free Zofia from Rigelian influence, so he said, yet your brother Conrad lives only at the whims of Emperor Albein."

He walked towards Duma's skull, placed a hand against the snout. His ugly blue fingers, nobbly and too long, were like tendrils on the pure white bone. "He is coming for us. We must conduct a grand ritual, which mustn't be disturbed, or disaster will befall us. If Alm comes… we must stop him. And you must help me do it."

Celica knew none of the ritual's details, but such a grand undertaking would have to be performed with absolute precision. It wasn't unknown for mage adepts to burn fingers off while learning to cast their first fireballs. Resurrecting gods would be orders of magnitude more difficult, the price of failure proportionately higher.

"Will he die?" Celica asked.

"Only if he forces our hand," Jedah said, still examining Duma's skull.

"I will," Celica agreed, looking down at Jedah's chest. He sensed her hesitation, and approached her, conjuring a pink glow in his hand.

"I can help you, child, with your doubts. This will dull your fears, end your hesitation," he said, reaching towards her forehead. "You will see more clearly-"

Celica's hand swept into Jedah's wrist, knocking his arm aside and throwing him onto his behind. She stared him down coldly, the whole party behind her drawing blades at her, preparing spells.

"Do not even think of it, Jedah," she growled. "Touch me, or try this again, and you will die."

He stared up at her, conflicting emotions running through him, leaking through to his face. Rage, from humiliation at a young woman's hands. But caution, need for her cooperation, won out. He faked a regretful smile.

"Of course, Anthiese. My sincere apologies."

Celica walked over to him, her expression still hostile, then leaned forward, gave a warm smile, and offered him a hand up. Jedah looked at it for a long second, then at her face, then back at the hand, his mind processing the contradiction between the seeming sincerity of her gesture and the threat ten seconds prior. Caution won out. He slid himself away from her and stood up on his own. Celica almost laughed, but forced it down. It was a power rush, lashing out and terrorizing him, both of them knowing she could kill him in an instant. For a second she understood what drove Slayde, the pirate kings, Jedah himself… and her father.

Jedah straightened himself out, as though nothing had happened. Swords returned to their sheaths, magical energy was dispelled.

"What will we do now?" Celica asked.

"Preparations must be made for the ritual, and the great hall must be fortified for Emperor Albein's arrival."

"I would remain, if possible. I wish to pray to Mother Mila," Celica said.

Jedah looked at her, his composure regained. "Yes, for a time. I have other priorities, and will see to them now. I bid you well, Anthiese."

He turned and led the group away.

"Hestia! Marla! I wish that you stay," Celica called. Without another word, Hestia flashed away, appearing at her side. Marla looked Jedah in the eye, and he flicked his head in Celica's direction - she warped over a second later. Jedah stopped and stared at Hestia, pondering her acting without his direction, but decided against making an issue of it, and left.

"I can become… lost in thought, while I pray. I would enjoy it if you watched over me," Celica said to her witches.

Marla turned away, to watch behind Celica. The corner of Hestia's mouth twitched upwards, almost halfway to a smile, before she turned away.

Celica knelt down, some distance from the skulls, out of the way of the men who would be preparing for the ritual, laying down trails of salts and holy powders around the skulls. They would be no bother - she had long since learned how to calm herself, slow her breathing and heartbeat. This time proved no different. The clerics who moved past her, working and chanting, were in another world, and she was alone.

Oh, glorious Mother Mila…

Alm… the ritual… Jedah…. Father…

She was alone, crushed under the weight of a thousand questions, endless knots to unwind.

A million questions, I have, Mother. And yet my time will be cut so short.

Lukas dropped an inch down and his feet landed on solid concrete, as did all the others around him. Warp spells always dropped one slightly off the ground; it was better to arrive a few inches above the floor than a few inches embedded into it. The room was pitch black, but Lukas still instinctively crouched down to minimize his visibility. He heard nothing but the noise of the other knights' breathing, but they weren't all shot down instantly by a volley of arrows as he had expected.

Alm started walking forward, lighting up the ground in front of him with his sword. Lukas shuffled after him, to not leave him to go alone. He thought to warn Alm to be cautious, then decided it was pointless. The others came after them, trying not to stumble into each other. The room was large, with broken chunks of cement littered about, but the path directly ahead of them was cleared of all debris, and Alm seemed to know exactly where he was going.

They kept walking, and a few minutes passed without death or ambush. The walls, a dozen yards to either side of them, were visible from the light, and clearly had extensive decoration in some sort of square tiled array, but Lukas couldn't make much more of it out. Alm was content to just keep walking. More time passed. Lukas was hungry, tired, and most of all, cold. He doubted it would matter for long. Off, in the distance, there was some sort of light; a rectangle dead ahead of them, the walls around it lit.

The beginning of the end.

Lukas couldn't look away from the light, growing closer step-by-step. He jolted when Alm stopped walking, turned left, and approached the wall. The last tile was placed at chest height on the wall; the rest of the tunnel from that point on was like an empty set of deep shelves, sized for a man's body. On the tile was a lifelike mosaic of an infantryman at march. His helmet was slung over his shoulder with his heavy packs, his shield was held in his opposite hand, his javelins rested against his shoulder. His hair was midlength and blue, and his nose looked like it had been broken at least two times, but he had a friendly sort of expression.

His portrait was captioned:

LEGIONNAIRE ARKAN VALISS

III COHORT, LXXIV LEGION

XIV YEARS SERVICE

KILLED IN XIII BATTTLE OF KAVNEN RIDGE

BURIED WITH HONORS

Below, second last, was a blond knight with cold eyes:

SIR KARN SELEREN

IV CATAPHRACTARII, LXXIV LEGION

IX YEARS SERVICE

KILLED IN XIII BATTLE OF KAVNEN RIDGE

BURIED WITH HONORS

And last, a black-skinned knight, with his hair tied back:

SIR LAVIS VANARLS

IV CATAPHRACTARII, LXXIV LEGION

III YEARS SERVICE

KILLED IN XIII BATTLE OF KAVNEN RIDGE

BURIED WITH HONORS

The tiles were square, three feet along the sides. Each was a burial place for a man who fought and died thousands of years past. And yet they were just what fraction were returned to the tower intact, to be honored for their service in the wars of the gods. Lukas checked the two columns to the left; as far as he could see they were only men of the 74th legion, killed in the 13th battle of Kavnen Ridge, a place Lukas had never heard of once in his life.

It all made Lukas wonder. Wonder if there was a fourteenth or fifteenth battle at the Ridge. Wonder if Duma's forces won, where it was, why they fought thirteen battles for it. What units beyond the 74th legion took part? There were a thousand more questions that buzzed in Lukas' mind, and he knew he would never answer. One bugged him more than the others. Why were these the last men buried? Others followed from it - was thirteenth Kavnen the final battle of the war? And if so, was it the decisive battle that brought about the war's end?

Or… was the war already decided, so that victory or defeat had no impact in the end? Was the battle fought for no meaningful reason, with some bloodthirsty general jumping at the final chance to win his glory as peace loomed, poised to snatch it away? Lukas couldn't tell why it bothered him so, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the men who died at Kavnen died for nothing. On the scale of history, a few thousand men meant less than a raindrop in the ocean. But to those men, it was everything. Lukas knew it was irrational, to wring his hands so much over a subject so distant, which he knew so little about.

Then Lukas realized why it bothered him, the thought that Arkan and the others had died without changing anything in the end. He was about to do the same. The Faithful had won, snatching the skulls while they were off butchering the Arthegnii. They were a dying creature, thrashing and screeching even after the lion's teeth had pierced their throat.

It is impossible for us to accept that we have failed, and nothing we do now can change that fact. So we charge to our deaths, rather than live with that awful truth.

The Kingsfang's orange light shifted, as Alm wordlessly began advancing again, so Lukas and all the others followed, leaving Arkan, Karn, and Valis behind in their shamble towards the light. Focused forward in the dark, Lukas bumped into someone. He muttered an apology, glancing sideways to see Sonya. There was a sort of smirk on her beautiful features, while her gaze was locked on the light. Lukas wanted to take her hand, just to feel it once. But he didn't. It wasn't the time, never would be.

The group kept shambling, a line of heavily-armed and profoundly misguided trained dogs following their emperor.

After two hours and almost thirty minutes, Jedah returned. Celica was still low, praying at Mila's skull, when the door's mechanics began groaning again. Jedah approached her, each of his light footsteps echoing in the silent room. As he got closer, she felt a prickling at the back of her neck, an unease in her stomach.

"Anthiese," he said.

She didn't turn or acknowledge him, but he knew she heard.

"The time has come."

Celica felt sick, her gut all twisted up, telling her everything was wrong. Her prayers hadn't calmed her. She couldn't run, but she could kill him in an instant if she decided. She could draw the royal sword, stab it through his hideous body, tear him to pieces and burn him to ashes...

But she couldn't.

They passed back through the gate into the great hall, joining with the other bishops. Galba, Otho, and Vitellius, who had been in Jedah's room when he interrogated the Arthegnii chiefs, and Vespasian, who had organized the defensive constructions in the great hall. There was a man she didn't recognize - he had a blade at his side, and wore a gambeson and red chaperon. He looked Celica up and down, and she glared back.

"Didius, my lady. You yourself killed my prior employers. I was fortunate that High Bishop Jedah needed talent," he said, offering his hand.

"A shame we were not more thorough," Celica responded.

"Hmmh," he laughed.

"That is enough, both of you. Emperor Albein has arrived. There is no turning back from our plan now. All you must do is follow my lead," he said. "Everything has been calculated in advance. Victory is ours."

With a spring in his step, Jedah led the group, through the fortified great hall, down the stairway into the basement, and into the dark caverns of the southern wing.

They stepped out of the tunnel into a wide, rather odd atrium. The ceiling was glass - likely thousands of years old, Lukas guessed - and let in what little natural light was available in the Deadlands. Which was a fairly small amount, necessitating the enchanted light bricks installed every five feet along the walls, which cast a summery sort of glow on the desolate room. Before them was an elevated walkway ten feet above the lower area of the room, which led to a center platform, which had a stone roof installed over it, held up by pillars. Most were even still standing, though two had collapsed inwards. On the far end of the room was another platform, ten feet up from theirs and connected to the lower floor by a staircase. It had a counterpart to both the right and left of the center platform. Stairs from each platform led to the open lower area between them. Discarded and smashed winepots were littered everywhere in the room - it was hard to walk ten feet without stepping on or around pottery shards of various sizes. Lukas couldn't tell what the room had once been intended or designed for.

They walked out into the center platform, looking around the room for danger or a sign of what to do next. After a minute, however, fate decided for them. The doors on the other platforms swung open, while the door to the tunnel behind them slammed shut. Faithful knights streamed out onto each of the other three platforms, moving to the bottom of each platform's staircase to protect the archers and cantors that followed them out.

"Ahh, fuck," Gray muttered.

The odds were poor. The Faithful knights covered all three open entrances, around two dozen armed men at each, compared to their party of sixteen. Then more joined the men ahead of them, and Alm's breath audibly hitched.

Jedah, the Archbishop, stood before them, flanked by six witches, four other ranking cantors, and a young woman with red hair. She wore the garb of a witch, but her sking was pale, rather than a shade of purple. Lukas had no clue who she was. Alm hissed, clutching the Kingsfang tight in his left hand, thumping the tip against the floor with a shaky hand, breaking the floor beneath him.

"Jedah…" Alm mumbled. "Jedah…"

Jedah began to laugh. Magically-projected, his voice filled the room, coming from every direction at once, like he was speaking just into Lukas' ear.

"You fools," he said. "You thought you had won. You thought, with a mere mortal's weapon, that you could defeat the mighty Lord Duma! You thought my plans could be undone so easily! You thought that after you made war upon them, that the Duma Faithful were gone, no longer of threat! What contempt I have for you idiot children, who-"

"SILENCE, JEDAH!" Alm screamed, his twisted voice drowning out the Archbishop's voice and piercing Lukas' ears. He slammed the Kingsfang into the ground, piercing six inches deep.

"I will not be interr-"

"YoU fOoLs," Alm mocked, in an otherworldly, yet idiotic falsetto, "YoU tHoUgHt YoU hAd WoN. YoU tHoUgHt, WiTh A sPiNeLeSs CoWaRd'S sPeLl, ThAt YoU cOuLd ReSsUrReCt YoUr DeCrEpIt, BuTcHeReD gOd."

What in the…

Everyone was silent now, but Alm, who chuckled a bit.

"Hmmph," Jedah scoffed. "Your insanity is worse than we had even heard, Alm. Was it slaughtering your fath-"

"SILENCE! Silence, you piece of filth! Ever since you scurried away, I knew we would meet again. I've destroyed your cathedrals, slaughtered your priests, pulled down your monuments, smashed your idols to pieces. And today I end your whole wicked cult, once and for all!' Alm screamed.

Jedah harrumphed. "So you say, Alm. But you are surrounded, outnumbered. Your friends will die in seconds. And can you not see-"

"You invertebrate, quivering coward!" Alm screamed. "If your precious god's teachings mean a penny to you, come down and face me. Let us see who He favors! Hell awaits you, with the pathetic lizard you call your god!"

"SILENCE AND LET ME SPEAK!" Jedah screamed out of frustration. "Did you come here only to trade insults? I've someone to-'

"I have waited five hundred and twenty-nine days for this moment!" Alm interrupted again. "Not one has passed where I didn't think of what I'm going to do to you, Jedah. The feeling of your flesh, as I rip it from your body. Every bone snapping one-by-one, every tooth crushed into your skull, every limb torn off, your innards popped and smashed beneath my boots..."

Alm broke into a wicked, distorted laugh that shook him.

"Enjoy the last seconds of your life!" Alm screamed, his voice like a blade dragged on slate.

The archers on Jedah's platform looked terrified, shaky with their nerves. They would start shooting any second, regardless of whether Jedah gave the order. Lukas scanned around the chamber looking for something - anything - that could provide an edge or escape route. He smelled it first. A faint aroma, coppery and sharp.

Napthem?

He couldn't get a sense of direction from the scent, so he looked all over, to try and spot where it was kept. At the entrance to their front, below Jedah's raised platform and behind his knights was a collection of old, discarded pots, broken and intact. One had a conspicuous red sigil, for fire, painted on it facing Lukas. He looked left, then right, and spotted a matching pot by each of the other two sets of knights.

How completely and utterly contrived.

"Sonya," he whispered, not turning towards her, "do you see the fire-marked pots?"

Without a word Sonya glowed with magic, and arced a fireball overtop the knights nearest to Jedah. Everyone broke out shouting and the cantors threw up a shining blue magical barrier, but the fireball landed short of Jedah, and nothing happened for a second.

"How pathetic of you, Alm!" Jedah shouted. "For all your talk, your subordinates attack as we speak, yet so poorly they couldn't even hit an eleph-"

The napthem erupted in the middle of Jedah's sentence, drowning him out with a deafening explosion, engulfing his knights in a ball of flame and shooting burning ceramic shards in every direction. Alm's whole party dove to the ground for cover, but for Sonya, who shot another blast of fire left, then right.

"Sonya, down!" Lukas shouted, when she didn't move for cover. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her between a fallen pillar and himself, trying to cover over both of them with his armor as falling glass and pottery shards pelted them. One struck his backplate, two his helmet, and one cut into the back of his right thigh. Lukas hissed from the pain, but the bombardment stopped, and he shifted away.

The napthem filled the air with thick black smoke, and in the tight quarters there was no way for it to clear. Between it and the massive quantity of dust thrown up, Lukas could see nothing beyond ten yards. The roaring flames and echoing screams of burning men told him all he needed to know. The other party members began moving, now the danger from stray projectiles had passed, and Lukas could tell none among them was seriously injured. Plate armor did its job admirably, and those wearing full harness had done well in covering those without. Still, they kept low to avoid breathing more smoke than necessary.

Except Alm.

He jumped to his feet. "RUN, JEDAH, RUN!" he cackled, as he sprinted into the smoke.

"Alm! Wait for us while the air clears," Lukas advised. Alm did the opposite. Lukas scrambled to his feet after him, and kept up with Alm's dark figure as best he could, barely breathing, the heat growing stronger as they approached the burning patch of men.

"A-ch, Alm! Stop," Lukas sputtered.

Alm jumped into the patch of lit napthem, over forty feet long, and landed on the back of a burning knight, springing along to grab the railing of Jedah's abandoned platform, hauling himself over and disappearing into the smoke. He slowed, stopped, and backed away from the pool of burning liquid. He knew he was tough, that he could stay on his feet and fighting after beatings that would kill other men. But whatever capabilities Duma's grasp had given to Alm he lacked. Jumping into the burning liquid would mean his death - a stupid death - and do no-one any good.

Lukas lay down and took off his helmet, then poured some of his water onto his scarf and wrapped it over his mouth and nose, then crawled back to the party.

Celica lay flat on her stomach, stunned by the explosions in the confined chamber. She felt the buzzing aura of magical barriers beng cast around her, even with her eyes closed, and she was alive, and not in pain. Slowly, she looked up. Jedah, Galba, Otho, Vitellius, and Didius were all prone, while Marla and the witches stood still and apathetic, holding the napthem and shrapnel away with their bright blue shields. Celica stood.

"What the fuck was that?" swore Otho.

Vitellius peered into the smoke. "No mere spell…"

Then he was cut off by a shout from the room.

"RUN, JEDAH, RUN!"

Alm's voice. Twisted and distorted by some horrible influence, but unmistakably his raspy tone. She wondered if he had recognized her, or whether he was gone entirely. Her _

Celica's stomach twisted when she heard it. Alm's voice, twisted and distorted by some horrible influence, but unmistakably his raspy tone. What had done this to him? She ground her teeth, directionless anger boiling inside of her. She cursed whoever had harmed him so, swore she would take revenge. But she had no time to stew over it.

Celica looked beyond the railing. The Faithful knights nearest to them were screaming and flailing about, soaked in the burning liquid. They were lost already. It coated everywhere nearby that wasn't covered by the witches' barriers, and dripped down from the ceiling to crackle and spark against the blue shields. Even the path behind them was aflame. A delayed explosion went off and Celica spun toward it, seeing a fist-sized blob of napthem flying at her face. Didius swiped his blade at it, deflecting the sticky fluid aside at the cost of the blade, which he swore and dropped as flames spouted off it. She ignored him, offering no thanks.

A roaring wind erupted from behind Celica and she turned around in fright to see Hestia casting a spell directed into the hallway they had entered through. The napthem burned brighter, fanned by the blowing air, but it flowed away, clearing a long path a yard wide. When it was clear, Hestia stopped her spell and turned to Jedah. "You would do well to vacate this chamber."

He needed no prompting, immediately hurrying through the exit. Otho ran with him, then Hestia grabbed Celica by the hand and pulled her along, the others filing along after. The napthem hadn't blown far into the long, dark chamber behind, so they moved cautiously to avoid tripping on the broken stone floor, until they heard a crash on the platform outside.

"It's the Emperor!" shouted Galba, and they accelerated to a sprint, Alm chasing after them, his armor plates clanking with every step.

They reached the end of the first chamber and passed into the next, and Jedah shouted up to the posted archer. "It's Emperor Albein! Shoot him down! Shoot him now!" But as the tower came into sight, there was no movement; the longbowman was lying spread-eagled on the floor beneath it, his throat slit open, bow and arrows scattered around him.

Jedah gasped, Otho swore, and they kept running, Alm entering the room just as they left it. In the third chamber all the torches and candles were put out, leaving it as dark as night, with no sign of where the passage onward was. Celica ran in blind, pulled by Hestia, but clattered into Didius, the two of them tumbling over together, then a witch tripping over them while they sprawled on the floor.

"Lights! Lights, you idiots!" Jedah screamed from somewhere further in, before leading by example and conjuring a glowing white ball above his head. Celica stomped over Didius and ran to Jedah's left, others joining them until Galba and Otho were both at Jedah's right and Celica on the left, the witches standing in a line in front of them, the swordmaster grumbling and crouching behind the group, impotent without a weapon.

"Listen! Prepare a spell, and we'll kill him when he comes through the door!" Jedah hissed, evoking purple magic around his fingertips. Celica murmured the hymn for ragnarok, charging her hands with magical energy. Alm's movement in the other room grew louder, closer and closer every second, then stopped, no more noise coming from the dark end of the chamber. All was silent.

Something whizzed by Otho's head and crashed into a witch next to Celica, throwing her to the floor dead, her face crushed by a chunk of ancient tile. Half a second later they all released their spells, an enormous volley of fireballs, lightning blasts and magical projectiles roaring across the length of the room and erupting at the far end. Two dozen explosions in under a second turned the entire room from pitch black to bright as day, and a roar of hot air rushed over them.

They stood stiff and still, fearful to disturb the silence. The terrible rush of combat faded for a second. Alm… have I just killed you?

"Did we get him?" Galba asked.

Not at the entrance, but at a far corner, Celica spotted a dark figure shifting, outlined by the fire, then Galba gurgled and hunched forward before collapsing, an arrow lodged in his throat. Half a second later a witch standing next to where Galba had been collapsed, hit in the head, then another just next to the Archbishop.

"He's aiming for Jedah!' she shouted, knocking him over, an arrow missing them by an inch. Another witch collapsed, and Otho surged forward, shouting and firing a spell across the room. An arrow caught him in the face and he dropped.

"W-w-withdraw!" Jedah shouted, scrambling to his feet and bolting, Didius in the lead. Celica and Hestia followed, Vitellius last in line, with the other witches standing their ground to cover their retreat. Even after their losses and Jedah's flight, the witches fought on. Far behind her, Celica could hear their spells exploding with fire and lightning, as they were silenced one by one. She and Hestia outpaced Jedah, then lost each other in their blind sprint. Celica panted and gasped, running alone in the darkness, tears forming in her eyes. After an eternity, she burst through the open gate into the light of the great hall.

She looked up. The stairway was blocked by pikemen - what looked like a hundred of them - their ranks closed, staring back. Behind the railings were archers, just as many as there were pikemen, and on two raised platforms stood the napthem siphons. Attacking up the staircase was suicidal…

But supposedly, so was an attempt at the first room, where Jedah had first cornered the Rigelians.

If only I had convinced Alm to stand down…

It was a stupid, wishful thought. There was nothing she could have said. The only real question was how pots of active napthem had been placed exactly to foil the scheme, and Celica knew exactly who was responsible.

Didius passed through the gate, then Hestia a few seconds later. More time passed, until at last, huffing and puffing, Jedah stumbled through.

"Shut-shut, shut the gate! Now!"

Someone chanted a hymm, at the top of the stairs, and the gates swung shut, slamming and locking tight with a loud thump that filled the large room. They were two feet thick, reinforced wood and steel bars, hardened by magic.

Impenetrable. Unbreakable. Indestructible. They must be.

They made four; absent was Vitellius.

"We are one short," she stated to Jedah.

Immediately, she heard a thumping on the gates. "OPEN! OPEN, PLEASE!" Vitellius screamed, muted by the gate's thickness, hammering on the wood with his fists with little thumps.

"K-k-k-k-keep it sealed!" Jedah shouted.

Vitellius kept pleading and beating on the doors, to no answer. Jedah led the surviving four up the stairs, to whatever he had planned next, his hands down at his sides, shaking in tiny spasms. Celica's heard rate began to die down, her skin feeling hot from the terror and exhilaration. She just climbed the stairs, putting Vitellius' screams out of her mind.

But after just a few seconds, his voice changed.

"NO! NO, PLEASE, I BEG-" he shouted, then was cut off. Celica whipped around to see a blade punched through the gate at chest height, casting its burning orange glow over them. Jedah ran. Celica stared at the gates, her heart beating up once more. The sword was drawn back, and for a second, nothing happened.

Then the gate recoiled backwards, like a battering ram struck it. It remained shut, but then it was struck again, and again, splinters breaking off, dust drifting down from the walls. Celica couldn't move. There was no way in the world the gate would hold indefinitely. Alm was going to smash it down - the only question was when.

Hestia grabbed her hand, and Celica ran along, climbing up the stairs to relative safety behind the pikemen. Jedah had already passed through the Faithful knights, who had opened their ranks to let them through. Behind was a ring of knights, armed with poleaxes, along with lower-ranked cantors and their witches. Finally, past them, was a concerned Vespasian, who approached them. The gate kept banging every few seconds, the sound filling the hall every time, making Celica tense up with each smash, expecting it to come flying open.

"What… what happened, Jedah?" Vespasian stammered.

Jedah didn't say anything for a moment, thinking. "W-we… Errors, stupidity, treason! There was a traitor, our ambush was undermined by his acts. We will find him! You must stop Albein here, while we complete the ritual. If he breaks through… sell yourselves dearly."

Jedah began shuffling away, at an unsteady, stumbling gait. Didius stepped in his path. "What did you just say? I did not come here to die for your cult!"

"...y-you will be paid dearly! That is what I said!" declared Jedah. "You've no hope of leaving now, sellsword." He stopped, and looked over everyone, all staring at him. "Come, now! Victory has never been closer!"

Vespasian nodded, glancing to Celica, Didius, and Hestia, the only remnants of the twenty who went to confront the Rigelians. He was unconvinced.

Celica turned to follow Jedha back to the main chamber, when Didius coughed.

"I have been left without a weapon. I won't be of much use unarmed."

Celica looked at him. His gaze went from her face, down her body, and settled at her swordbelt. She had two - his implication was obvious. For a second, she wanted to hand him the royal sword, just to watch him drop it. But it was no time for a childish trick. She drew Beloved Zofia, hesitated for a second, then shoved it at Didius, thumping the guard and flat edge against his chest, sending him stumbling back to avoid falling, swearing in pain and trying not to drop the sharp blade. Celica ignored him, following behind the witches.

Around the hall's corner, Jedah had his back to the wall, gasping for breath, his hands and knees shaking. "I… my…. My…. My avcen! My avcen, now!" he hissed.

One of Vespasian's aides hurried over, a boy in his mid teens, with a fist-sized jar he opened. Jedah reached a fumbling hand in, and took a fistful of bright green powder. He held it under his nose, as it slipped through his fingers to cover his robe, and snorted with all his strength. He gasped and fell to the floor, a thin cloud of white powder now around him. Celica stepped away.

"Hmm," she grunted.

Jedah's shakes were slowing, but his panic showed no signs of stopping. "More!"

The boy knelt and extended the jar to Jedah. He took another clumsy handful, and shoveled it into his mouth, swallowing. A second later he coughed, hacking out a cloud of fine powder, spewing it all over the floor, and his chest and arms. The gate kept pounding, taking a blow every few seconds while Jedah convulsed on the ground. After a few seconds, he composed himself.

"Water," he hissed.

Another aide sprinted over, and handed him a flask. Jedah drank greedily and tossed it away when it was empty. He stood, his shakes finally gone, and strode off, beating his hands against his robes to clear the powder away.

"Almost there, my lord," he muttered. "Almost there, almost there, almost there…"

The others had abandoned the raised platform for lower ground, where they could sit without breathing smoke.

"Alm ran after Jedah," Lukas shouted to them. "The pathway after them is uncrossable, and we will require another route forward."

"Fucking idiot!" screamed Tobin. "He's going to get himself and every one of us killed! He's gone insane! Absolutely fucking insane!"

"Do not question Emperor Alb-" one of the knights shouted, cut off by Grey.

"Shut up! You know it too!"

"Silence. All of you. Shut your mouths and don't breathe more smoke than you must," Lukas instructed. The others went quiet.

After a few minutes, much of the dust had settled to the ground, easing visibility, though the fires still burned and gave off smoke. Lukas rose to a crouch and shouted. "Take a look through the chamber. We need to get one of these doors open - look for material to put out the napthem, or knock open a gate."

Grumbling, the party rose and began creeping around the room - there was a large amount of detritus scattered about. Lukas wondered how there came to be a pot of active napthem by each group of knights in the ambush.

Leaving incendiary weapons lying about in perfect position to counter their own trap requires a mind-bending degree of incompetence I am unwilling to ascribe to the Faithful so easily. Have we a friend on the inside?

Lukas doubted that any building of the last century had secret passageways, but the engineering done in the age of the gods was something entirely unlike human constructions. They built towers hundreds of feet high, or underground chamber complexes such as the one they were at that moment within, which no human king could match, let alone had any use for. The gods loved Their needless complexity.

Lukas walked along the wall nearest Jedha's position, tracing his hand along the ancient inscriptions picturing Duma's displays of strength, killing monsters and human heroes who challenged him. After a few seconds, he switched to tapping his lance against the wall a few feet ahead of himself, remembering a man who lost a hand to a wall-built trap. Sonya walked behind him, silent apart from her heels clicking against the stone floor.

Fixated on the wall, Lukas was taken by surprise when his boot splashed into a shallow puddle of water, half an inch deep. He stopped and raised an eyebrow, looking down at the floor ahead. It was dark, but the ground ahead of him was covered in water.

"Sonya, do you know anything about the Tower? Is there a river that runs nearby?" Lukas had no idea what depth they were at - perhaps an underwater stream had weathered its way into the stone.

"It draws from underwater springs. The mire water is undrinkable."

Lukas continued forward into the puddle until he found a trickle of water, running out through an ajar grate. He wedged his lance into it and pushed, popping the grate off and dropping it to the floor with a clang. Sonya crouched and conjured a light in her hand, shining it into the wall. Lukas joined her and peered through: inside was a rounded pipe, perhaps two and a half feet in diameter. To his right it ran at a slight upward angle, to his left it went downward. It smelled overwhelmingly of used water, if not excrement.

"A man-sized pipe, left open in a room intended for use as a killing zone. Where might this lead?" Lukas muttered.

"We have found an aqueduct," declared Sonya, using a spell to fill the room with her voice.

The others assembled nearby, all taking turns peering into the darkness. "I will climb through and see where it leads. We lack any preferable option," Lukas dictated.

Sonya stepped forward. "I will go as well. My presence would aid more than any knight's," she asserted.

"And me!" Forsyth interjected, never to be outdone. He was tall, but of a narrow enough build to fit.

"Very well," Lukas allowed, ending the conversation before the entire company had volunteered. "You two can follow after me. If we find anything we will signal to you," he said to the rest of the guard. "Can you conjure anything?" he asked Sonya.

"Balls of ice." she said.

"It is settled, then," Lukas stated. "Sir Emma, I ask that you remain in charge whilst we are gone. Clime up with what arms you can bring when you see ice balls roll down. Keep searching for another passage, if just to hedge our bets. "

Hedge against us not returning, Lukas didn't say.

The hard-faced Rigelian knight nodded. "We'll be right up after you once we see the ice."

Two knights helped Lukas and Forsyth out of their armor, and he stripped down to his breeches and tunic. At first, he wanted to bring the lance, but decided against it, opting just for his dagger. Near bare and already cold, Lukas clambered into the wet pipe, and began the crawl. Inside was pitch-black, too dark even to see his hands before him, but the aqueduct's construction was perfectly smooth; it ascended around the tower clockwise, and once he had his bearings he didn't need to see anything to climb. Still, it was slow going. Sonya was a few feet behind him, so that he didn't kick her by mistake, and Lukas presumed Forsyth had done the same behind Sonya. He couldn't hear anything but their faint grunts and heavy breathing - the concrete muffled all noise from outside the aqueduct.

They had been crawling for around fifteen minutes when Lukas first felt, then heard something from above. It was a shaking, then the noise of water rushing towards them. Panic struck him and his breath caught in his throat.

"Grab on, quickly!" he shouted to the others. Lukas pushed his back against one side of the pipe and pushed his legs against the other as hard as he could, and dug his fingers into handholds, but still couldn't see anything. All he could do was wait and listen as the rushing water sped towards them, louder, louder, louder every second. A trickle of water touched his fingertips, then a second later the whole rush of water struck him, running over his arms and soaking into him, pushing him an inch down the rough tunnel. Lukas sucked breaths in as best he could, but in seconds his mouth was full of the disgusting water.

Don't fall, don't fall, don't fall, don't fall…

He repeated the thought endlessly in his mind, while his arms grew weak and shaky, and his legs began to give. Lukas was slipping and losing strength, cold, tired, weak. When Alm had run off, Lukas realized that his words were meaningless to his friend. That nothing he had ever done would matter much in the end, that everyone he had cared for was dead, soon to die, or had abandoned him. That he would die a painful death in a forgotten underground ruin thousands of miles from Zofia. He couldn't tell why he didn't just fall on his lance, or sit and wait until the smoke filled his lungs and he slipped away. Both felt unnatural, wrong even if they filled the same purpose as dying on a faithful knight's blade.

So Lukas carried on, to see where his proper end would lie. His fingers, cramped from gripping on for so long, began to shake, his legs giving way. He slid down, inch by inch…

When the water stopped. As abruptly as it had begun the flow disappeared, so fast Lukas jolted with shock, then began coughing desperately with his mouth full of filthy water. He spat out a throatful of liquid before getting the first good breath of the last two minutes, slumping down on his side, unable to make himself move. Lukas rested his head on the damp concrete, lost in the black. He wanted to sleep more than anything, but that meant death for him, for Sonya and Forsyth, for Alm, and so many others.

I will not die here, he concluded, almost laughing. Not in this spot.

He shut his eyes and counted to three, then cleared his throat.

"Are you two well?"

They were in the same state as Lukas, coughing and groaning, but alive.

"Y..es," mumbled Sonya.

"I think I swallowed something!" shouted Forsyth.

They kept climbing.

Lukas didn't know how much long it took - five, fifteen, thirty minutes - but a light came into view some ways ahead. He hushed the other two and crawled up to it. It was a grate, just like the one he had entered in, letting in natural light and chilling air. Lukas peered through; outside was a room with smaller pipes, and what seemed like valves. It was loud within, from the sound of rushing water, but Lukas could hear screams in the distance. Then, something cut through the noise - an explosion, so massive the walls around Lukas vibrated, the roaring boom echoing through the building.

Battle, no doubt. But what could cause such an explosion? Yet more napthem?

Lukas groped around the inside of the grate but couldn't find an internal latch, the only one being outside. He poked his knife through to prod at it, and popped it open on his third jab. He brought his legs up and planted his feet on it, shoving out as hard as he could, throwing the grate off and slamming it to the floor, then scrambling out after it.

Lukas came face-to-face with a man at the other end of the room. He looked thirty, perhaps, and was sitting, slumped to his side, his throat open from ear-to-ear. Their friend's handiwork, Lukas supposed. Sonya climbed out of the pipe and approached him, equally haggard, her underclothes soaked and covered in grime from the pipe.

"Shall I signal the others to make the ascent?"

"Yes, that… that is a good idea," Lukas muttered, sitting up. Forsyth climbed out, and he and Lukas went forward to investigate. There was another room, and they cracked the door open, expecting a room full of unhappy Faithful knights, or arcanists and cantors.

Instead, it was a massive walk-in closet, filled with all manner of supplies. Easily thirty sets of dry clothing of Faithful make, thick and warm, with armor, weapons, food, towels, and more. It was a small fortune's worth: a knight's suit of armor cost well more than a laborer's wages for a whole year. Such a quantity of arms being left lying about in a seemingly-abandoned wing of the Tower was too ridiculous for Lukas to believe. He grinned, then broke out into a chuckle.

"This sequence of events has been all rather too fortuitous for me to attribute it to luck," he said to Forsyth. "Napthem, an opening to the aqueduct, then all the supplies we may wish for. We've a friend inside the Faithful. A most generous one indeed."

Forsyth poked around through a shelf, looking through different marked jars. "It's all, well, quite comprehensive!" he said. "Anything we could need for infection, fever, even drowsiness."

The latter caught Lukas' attention. "Would one help with fatigue?"

"Yes," Forsyth mumbled. Then, "Yes!" he shouted, remembering his exhaustion. "During my studies we sprinkled these powders into our drinks during our finals so we could study without sleep. We ought not to use too much. Avcen… it's horrible stuff. Addictive after regular use, and the side effects… The rumor was that it melted holes into one's brain."

Forsyth passed Lukas a jar filled with bright-green powder, as fine as dust. Lukas crouched and opened a bottle of wine. "How much is a safe dose?'

"A pinch, perhaps. No more than two, for a few days at most."

Lukas put twice that into the top of the bottle, then gave it a thorough shake. "We will split this," he said, and took a long drink from the wine. It was decent enough, though it had been diluted with seawater and flavored with pine tar in the Rigelian fashion, and the avcen did little for the flavor. Sonya joined them, and they waited, passing around the wine, bread, and dried meats. Lukas was hungry, but also thought drinking himself into a stupor on an empty stomach would be unwise. When they had finished their first round of food, they sorted through the clothing and armor for what pieces fit well, then changed, Lukas and Forsyth stepping into the room outside to give Sonya privacy. The thick gambeson, breeches, and boots left Lukas far warmer, and they would - visually, at very least - blend into the Faithful.

Lukas' coat had the name "Titus" stitched into it, so he decided he would adopt the name for the infiltration. Sonya looked like any other witch after she changed, which would lend more credibility. He and Forsyth took gauntlets, helmets, and a brigandine vest each from the room and helped each other into their armor. It was inferior to the plate harnesses they left in the basement, but Lukas reckoned being able to blend into the Faithful was worth the loss in protection - and no-one felt like climbing back down the tube for their armor.

But Lukas still knew nothing of what to expect. There was screaming, off in the distance. Alm must have been enjoying himself. Lukas smiled, glad for a second. That was odd, his mood had changed. Was it the food, or drink?

No. The avcen, of course.

He felt physically lighter, and a bit less hopeless. He wasn't a lightweight, as least when it came to alcohol, but stimulants were something new to him, and he decided it was best not to use more.

Some grunting came from the aquaduct, then a pale hand reached out of it. A second later Tobin tumbled down from it headfirst and slumped to the floor, groaning. Lukas heard laughter from the water pipe and laughed along, then Gray exited with a much better landing, Duma's Lance in hand.

"Hello, you two. Get dressed, and have something to eat!" Lukas invited, unable to stop himself from smiling. They gave him an odd loo, but proceeded into the closet. Tobin leaned Duma's Lance against the wall by Lukas. He was surprised they bothered bringing it, but appreciated having the weapon. One by one, the rest of the group emerged from the aquaduct, shivering ,cold, and in their smallclothes, then proceeded to the closet to clothe themselves. Lukas, Forsyth, and Sonya sat against the walls, passing food and wine back and forth. It was an odd sort of picnic, with distant screams audible and near-naked knights dressing, but it didn't stop Lukas and Forsyth from eating an entire bag of honey biscuits. Sonya preferred a bottle of oiled olives, from which she ate by hand.

When Lukas began to feel full, he wiped his hands on his breeches, and leaned back against the wall. Sonya sat across from him in their corner of the room, Forsyth to his left.

Sonya looked toward Lukas, her gaze lingering on him.

"Why are you two here?" Lukas asked.

Forsyth gave him an odd look. "Because Alm needed us. It's the only right thing to do." Lukas nodded. Satisfied, Forsyth stood up tall, and went to help the others equip themselves.

It is so simple for some.

"And you?" he asked Sonya.

"Because Jedah is here," she said.

"What if you kill him, and survive? What will you do then?" Lukas asked.

Sonya looked at her knees. "Then… Then I will find another reason to live.

"I think about it, sometimes. More than 'sometimes,' perhaps. Nothing seems to matter very much, the more I think of it. But while I cannot feel great passion for anything, giving up on life feels… unnatural, wrong. I've no appetite for it. Do you see it the same way?"

"Yes. It is wrong, giving up," Sonya muttered. "I want my revenge, and to live to savor it. Talking with you makes me feel… settled. I am glad we had the opportunity."

Lukas smiled. "As am I."

Sonya's mouth twitched, almost into a smirk. "Quite an odd one, you are." Lukas chuckled.

Most of the others had finished eating and dressing, and they had no intention of slowing it. Sonya stood, and extended an arm to Lukas. He got up, unsteadily, his legs tingly from the avcen's influence. They were very close, for a second, both dressed up as cultists, smelling like bad water, still holding hands. Sonya stared at him.

"Everyone's ready!" Forsyth shouted from across the room. Lukas turned, to see most of the knights waiting, pretending not to be looking at the two of them. Focus, now, he told himself, as hard as it was under the Avcen's influence. He sobered.

"We will march now, to thwart Jedah's designs. We must conceal our allegiance until we find the best time to strike. Refer to me as "Titus" - the name is stitched into my coat. I will lead with Sonya."

"What, exactly, is the plan?" asked Tobin. He had a crossbow taken from the closet, a bolt already loaded.

"There is none. We don't know what we are up against, or what their plans are. But if we cause chaos, throw the Faithful into disorder, it might buy enough time to find how to stop them," Lukas stated. "I will be honest, and say that is the best I can offer you. If any of you have a better plan, I would ask that you tell it."

Lukas meant that, sincerely, not as a rhetorical question to shore up his flagging authority. But no-one spoke, and the responsibility fell to him.

"We will go, now. I wish good luck to all of you," he said.

Helmets were fastened, scabbards checked, poleaxes hefted over shoulders. Lukas ran his finger over his lance's head, finding it sharp as ever. He walked to the door, the others assembling behind him.

"Ready?" he asked.

Sir Emma spoke, her voice filling the room.

"Glory to Emperor Albein! Glory to Rigel! Death to the Faithful!"

The Rigelians nodded in agreement, but they all knew better than to shout a battle cry.

Lukas turned to the door. For Alm, he thought, as he pushed it open.


Notes:

I seem to have forgotten to post this chapter for the last few weeks, despite having it completed and uploaded on AO3. My mistake. Not exactly satisfied with it - one bit from Celica's POV basically repeats a section from Chapter 5, and I'm disappointed with Lukas and Sonya's conversation at the end of the chapter, which should've turned out better. But here it goes.

This chapter doesn't take place in perfect chronological order. Because I'm weaving Celica and Lukas' perspectives together, and trying not to spend too much time on one or the other, in actual chronology it would be:

- Celica moping around in her room- Alm and Lukas seeing the explosion at the capital (last chapter)- Celica called by Jedah, sees the skulls- Alm and Lukas reach the capital, warp to Duma's Tower

Then everyone converges at the same point in time in Jedah's ambush room. Celica runs away with Jedah and the others, chased by Alm, then Lukas goes for a crawl up the pipe. At the end of this chapter, Lukas' POV is further ahead of Celica's, chronologically speaking. The explosion Lukas heard will be heard by Celica as well, at the same time chronologically, which would give some indication about what's happening and when.

Apologies for how long this chapter has taken. I've had two busy semesters with classes I need to do well in, which have also been fairly difficult. The bigger problem has been weaving these different POVs together, which is dull and frustrating. As well, it's hard to motivate myself to actually finish the story. In earlier chapters I know I've got some wiggle room to adjust things as I go, but with this everything needs to be wrapped up. I don't know how long the final chapter (and perhaps an epilogue) will take, but it shouldn't involve as much POV hacking, though more committing to how I end the story. But it will come. If I don't finish the story it's because I died.

This chapter seems to have involved a lot of people grumbling about how they hate things, mostly on Celica's end. A fair amount of navel-gazing on both her and Lukas' behalfs (behalf's? behalves?). Having a witch to bounce ideas off seems useful. That part sort of just fell into place, rather than happening by design. I hope it wasn't unbearable. I fear chapters 2 and 3 were just moving pieces into place for more important events in chapter 4, and I worry this chapter comes across that way too. If so, I guess I hope the payoff in chapter 8 is worth it.