Chapter 32: Despair and Hope

Lucia's people fought savagely.

Lucia's people died.

The Karayan chieftain crested the hill and looked across the valley. The battle was centered on the road, but it had spilled out in every direction. Clansmen fell upon the Harmonians with desperation. She recognized a Chishan man, a gentle farmer raising sorghum on the plains. The man stabbed a snapped spearhead into the mutilated body of an enemy soldier, again and again as if each thrust might bring his fields back, his family. Her own Karayans swept the field, hunting down archers where they found weaknesses in the faltering Harmonian formation. There remained no thought of mercy or honor on the battlefield.

Lucia cursed the Harmonians. Why had they brought all this hate and destruction to her lands? Spirits, she should be with her people, leading the retreat! Not interfering in some Bishops' quarrel!

Her attention was drawn by the strange scene playing out at the foot of the hill, no more than fifty paces away. The Masked Bishop—unmasked at last—had raised a wall of wind to such a height, Lucia and Nash had seen it from the other side of the hill. Now the barrier had collapsed. Nash had made a ragged sound of relief at the sight – Lucia supposed the man took it for a sign that Bishop Sasarai had triumphed against his adversary.

Not so.

The Masked Bishop stood over the wind-lashed body of Bishop Sasarai. A blinding pale-golden glow erupted from Sasarai's body, outlining the Masked Bishop in a halo of light as he worked. Something floated from Bishop Sasarai's body, something that had rested there for a generation but had now been wrenched free. The True Earth Rune, torn from the Bishop's body. Luc hunched over it, cradling the floating emblem, preparing to irrevocably sever the true rune's connection with the Bishop.

"By the Absolute One's balls!" Nash breathed. "He means to steal the True Rune!"

Lucia flexed her fingers on the handle of her whip. She had been surprised when the man returned her weapon. She had expected treachery, and still feared it. "One man cannot bear two True Runes… That is a fact of the world."

"It all makes sense now," Nash whispered. "The Destroyers… They're gathering True Runes. But why…?"

Lucia felt torn between two duties. She recognized the danger the Masked Bishop posed to her people. But when she looked out over the battlefield, she saw Grasslanders charging and dying. She saw Grasslanders' bodies feathered with arrows. All she could think of was the debt she owed to the spirits of her forefathers.

"I should be with them," she said uncertainly. "Not interfering in this feud between Bishops…"

She hesitated long enough for Nash to grab her wrist.

"Chief Lucia. Listen to me." He turned her to face him. His face was very close. "Whichever Bishop walks away from this battlefield alive will lead the Harmonian army. If that man is Bishop Sasarai, he can be reasoned with. He can show mercy. But if that man is the Masked Bishop, you may not even live long enough to regret your mistake."

Nash held her firmly in place. Lucia could break free with some effort, but his words gave her pause. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the Masked Bishop enveloped in ever-brighter light. Time was running out. Bishop Sasarai's life hung in the balance, and she had his destiny in her hands. The trouble was, she was not sure what she wanted. The Bishop had brought war to her people. His soldiers had burned her villages and killed her people. And Nash could not be trusted. How could she even consider heeding the spy's honeyed words?

Except, she knew he was right. She did not know much about Harmonian politics, but she did know this: Bishop Sasarai was one of the High Priest's chosen. Once word of the Bishop's death reached Crystal Valley, the conclave would have no choice but to send a punitive army, an army twice as large as anything Bishop Sasarai could have brought to bear. If the Masked Bishop was one of the Destroyers, a powerful group seeking chaos and destruction in the Grasslands, then her duty was to resist them.

Lucia nodded. "Let's go."

Nash's face almost sagged with relief.

A pillar of bright light enveloped the Masked Bishop. His hands were stretched out to the sky, the glowing orb hovering over him like a miniature sun. Carved within it was the emblem of the True Earth Rune—a jagged star with an overburdened base, like crystal formations growing beneath the earth.

Lucia and Nash padded on soft feet until they were only a few paces from the Masked Bishop's back. No one had seen them. No one could have heard them. The fighting was fierce all around them.

And yet, the Masked Bishop turned to face them.

Lucia had enough time to take in the man's features, and she stared in confusion. Sasarai? But no. The blue-clad Bishop lay sprawling on the ground, hair splayed out, face pale in the light of the rune that had once sustained him. The likeness in the Masked Bishop's face must have been an illusion, she decided.

Luc raised a warding palm, and the True Wind Rune flashed green on the back of his hand. An invisible force smashed into Lucia's stomach, like a giant fist. Nash yanked her aside, so hard her arm hurt. Lucia felt a strong wind rush past her cheek, fluttering her hair.

Lucia gasped for breath. Her eyes teared. The blow had forced the air from her lungs. Another woman might have fallen to her knees, might have slowed down. But Lucia was the chieftain of the Karaya. She could not be another woman. Drawing a deep breath, she steeled herself against the pain and lunged at the Bishop. She snapped her whip at his face. The Bishop staggered back, clutching a hand at his cheek. Her attack briefly stunned the Bishop, gave her time to charge in. Lucia leapt, aiming a knee at the Bishop's head.

Something grabbed Lucia. Vertigo surged through her body as the invisible force of the wind rune lifted her into the air, up and above the Masked Bishop. She tumbled through the sky and plummeted down on the hillside. She rolled ten yards before she caught a bush and halted. She felt dizzy, and her shoulder felt numb, but when she sprang back to her feet, everything seemed to be in working order.

The Masked Bishop slammed fists of air at Nash. The spy had raised twin swords and held them crossed over his chest. Each attack dissipated against the weapons, but each hammering blow pushed the spy back, further away from the Masked Bishop. Lucia ran to his aid.

She should have known the Masked Bishop would sense her approach. She was halfway there when the man turned sharply and gestured at her. Pure force grabbed her leg and yanked her into the air. Lucia lost her balance and dangled from the True Rune's invisible fist. The Masked Bishop tossed her back and forth, causing her head to loll. She tried to curl up to keep from having her neck snapped by the lashes. She cracked her whip blindly, hoping to hit something. But she was out of reach. Hanging upside down, she saw the earth disappear below her. The Masked Bishop pulled her higher and higher. Lucia fought down the terror, and braced for the devastating impact of the inevitable fall.

There came a sound like clattering knives. Then she heard Nash shout something. Lucia tried to shift so that she could see, but the world turned on its face, and she saw clouds. She twisted her face to see below, and became witness to a strange scene.

Nash charged at the Bishop. His twin swords had extended, stretching out like whips, each one dangling a brace of razor sharp metal plates – the sword blades, separated into fragments. Nash advanced, swinging his strange weapons. The Bishop raised columns of wind in defense. Nash's whip-blades struck the columns and curled around them, as if the Luc had turned the air into solid shapes. Step by step Nash advanced, but the Masked Bishop deflected each blow. The Bishop raised his hand to counter-attack.

Nash snapped one blade back into sword form. He twisted the weapon, then thrust it forward. The sword expanded, growing in length as it raced towards the Masked Bishop's heart. The Bishop was unprepared. He waved a hand in desperation and flung a fist of air against the surging blade. Nash's attack hit the invisible force and shot wide. But for the first time, the Masked Bishop was off balance. Nash surged forward.

There was a flash of light. A white-clad woman appeared at the Masked Bishop's side, hand clutching the Bishop's arm protectively. The woman's blonde hair was bound in a braid at the back of her head. She raised her staff and beckoned gently. The True Earth Rune darted towards her. She cradled the rune in her hand, its light illuminating her face. She raised her staff again, and there was a blinding flash of light. Lucia blinked. When she looked again, the woman was gone.

And so was the Masked Bishop.

The True Wind Rune's power faded in an instant. Lucia fell.

She saw the ground rush up to meet her. She tried to curl her body, to land on her side if not her feet.

Hands gathered her up in mid-air. For a brief moment, Lucia thought she had struck the ground, and she screamed. She thought her heart would burst. When she looked up, she saw Nash's face. One of his hands was pressed against her breast, and the other propped her butt up. Before she could protest, the man unceremoniously dumped her onto the grassy slope.

Lucia bounded to her feet, rubbing at her bottom. She glared at Nash, but couldn't muster the anger to chastise him over her injured pride. A man can be excused a bit of impropriety, if he saved a woman's life. And, as Nash knelt over the pale and limp body of Bishop Sasarai, she saw genuine worry on his face.

Rina wiped her brow. Her eyes stung with sweat.

All around her, men and women were dying. Screams of rage and pain tore through valley, and the dusk air was hot with the press of bodies. Drums sounded from somewhere ahead, urging the Harmonians on. Bishop Sasarai was gone, vanished behind a wall of magical wind, but his army still fought. The Harmonian infantry advanced in formation, eight men side by side, six ranks deep.

Her warriors fought a running battle, retreating along the road while wave after wave of brave kinsmen met the Harmonian front lines. All hope of victory had been extinguished. The men and women of the Grasslands fought only with the fragile hope that they might halt the Harmonian approach, if only for a moment, and give their families more time to escape. Each wave left dead behind, their bodies trampled beneath the feet of the advancing soldiers.

They were losing. Before each wave attacked, Rina flung earth and wind magic at the column, hoping to break their formation, or at least put a dent in it. It proved futile. The soldiers would instantly repair their column with fresh soldiers from the back. She might as well have been throwing stones at a lake. At first, Rina's power had been enough to weaken the Harmonians and allow her warriors to strike true. But it had been some time since Rina could muster an assault of such strength. Now, her Cyclone Rune could manage barely a whisper, and her Mother Earth Rune couldn't knock an ant over. She felt faint. Her whole body ached.

She had failed her people, and she would die here.

As if sensing her weakness, the Harmonian officer gave a war cry. The entire column took it up. The soldiers surged forward, shields raised, spears out.

The column hit the front line of the Grasslanders like a hammer. Men shrieked as their bodies were skewered by spears and carried backwards, impaled on long shafts. The Grasslander line broke, and scattered. The soldiers bowled through, picking off those few warriors who had been left standing alone, isolated.

Rina howled. She raised her arms and pulled on all three runes at once. Cyclone Rune, Mother Earth Rune, Resurrection Rune. She drew all the runes' remaining power through her body, bolstering her strength and vigor. The earth felt firmer beneath her feet. The air around her hardened to protect her limbs. She knew it would make little difference. But she could not yield. Not here.

Not ever.

A charging soldier thrust his spear at Rina. She met him with a sweeping blow of her fist. The soldier's eyes went wide with shock as the spear's shaft shattered into kindling. Rina took a step forward and smashed her foot against his shield. The metal buckled beneath her heel, and the soldier stumbled against his own shield. He fell to the ground, and disappeared beneath the press of people as another soldier rushed past him, and then a second man.

Rina met them. She slammed one spear aside, but this time it did not break. The other man shoved his shield into her face. The metal disc sent a wave of agony through her body. Rina's vision grew hazy. She stumbled and fell onto her back. When her eyes cleared, she found a soldier standing over her, drawing back his spear to strike. Beneath the helm, she saw a mixture of terror and hate grip his face.

The sky bloomed with fire.

The soldier stopped in mid-motion. He jerked around. A hush came over the soldiers, and the Grasslanders too. Then the screams started. The soldier stumbled back and forth, looking around, trying to see what was happening. Then he panicked, threw shield and spear to the ground, and ran.

Rina struggled onto weak knees. Her eyes tracked the horizon from where the fire had appeared. She saw more flashes now, fire burning on the horizon. She heard more screams. They were the screams of men being burned alive, she realized.

Then she saw him. A silhouette stood on the hillside. A man, one arm raised and outstretched at the Harmonian army. The setting sun haloed his body in gold. The light of a true rune glared on his hand.

The Flame Champion had returned.

Rina stared. Every hair on her body stood on end. Vaguely she grew aware of the others around her. Warriors, who until moments ago had been fighting or running. Now they stood frozen in place, like statues carved from stone pillars to bear witness to something unbelievable. Something great. Rina struggled up the hillside, leaning on trees. She moved closer to that figure. What was happening now, she needed to see.

The Harmonians burned. Soldiers pressed against each other in throngs, shoving each other down for a chance to escape back along the road. Others scattered up the hillsides, stumbling and crawling, seeking any route of escape. It didn't matter. Fire erupted where the Harmonians stood, where they walked, where they crawled. The Flame Champion's hand tracked the horizon, and where his fingers pointed, pillars of fire burst into being. The soldiers who had invaded these lands now roasted in their armor. Bones licked clean by flame clattered together where bodies had been moments before. Steel armor reduced to puddles of molten liquid bled into the soil. Fire swept the valley, drowning the invaders in incinerating flames.

Rina staggered closer to the Flame Champion. She got close enough to see the silhouette resolve into the features of a young man, as the treeline blocked the setting sun.

"Hugo!" she said. She should have known it was him. Even so, she felt shock at the sight of the True Fire Rune gleaming on the boy's hand.

Rina became aware that another figure had stood at Hugo's side, as if guarding him. This figure now resolved in the darkness, strode from the shadows. She held a sword out, but lowered the weapon when she saw Rina's face.

"Chief Rina," Chris said, bowing her head. "It is good to see you alive. We had feared…" The knight left the words unspoken.

Rina laughed. "Good to see me? By the spirits, it's a marvel to see you!" Rina closed on Chris and crushed her close in an embrace. The knight seemed unsure of how to react. She remained still in Rina's arms, though smiling faintly.

Rina let Chris go and turned to Hugo. The boy still hadn't registered her presence. His eyes were glazed over, distant, focused solely on the destruction of the Harmonians. She saw rage twist his lips. Rina felt a stab of worry. The boy had unleashed destruction on a scale not seen since the Fire Bringer War. What would it do to his mind? Worse yet, the flames raging in the valley below threatened to spin out of control. If he couldn't stop himself, the Grasslanders might be endangered too.

"Hugo," she said. "Stop this!" She clutched at his shoulder, shook him. "Please listen to me! We've won! Stop this now. You'll burn us all alive!"

Hugo flinched. His eyes turned to her, but he seemed not to recognize her.

"I…" he mumbled. "I have to… I have to destroy them all."

Chris appeared at his other side. Her brow was creased in concern as she pressed a hand at his chest. "Hugo, please listen to us. You have already destroyed them. Now you must contain the flames, before you lose control."

The war within Hugo was all over his face. He glanced between Chris and the battlefield, mouth working but not speaking.

Chris placed a hand on his cheek. "Please, Hugo. Stop this. Contain the flames. Your people are down there."

For a moment, Rina saw rage build in Hugo's features. For that moment, she feared he would destroy them all. Then his face softened. The True Fire Rune pulsed with a gentler light, and Hugo swept his hands out. Below, the fires died down as suddenly as they had burst from the ground. Smoke rose from a valley covered with ash and dust.

Hugo crumpled like a ragdoll. Chris was there, gathering him up in her arms. He leaned on her, breathing heavily.

From below the hill, shouts of victory rang out. The Grasslanders honored their savior.

The Flame Champion.

As always, Salome hesitated before crossing the threshold into the drawing room. To him, the chamber was sacred.

The captain's quarters spread out to fill two stories of Brass Castle's southwest tower. The drawing room had once been the local baron's master bedroom, but now formed the centerpiece of a suite of rooms set aside for the Captain of the Knights. Suits of ceremonial armor ringed the stately chamber, each one graven with the emblem of a former Captain of the Knights, in tribute to a succession of military leaders who had seen the Zexen Confederation through centuries of bloody war and tenuous peace.

The last of their line stood by the window.

The shutters were thrown back and a light breeze fluttered the orange-and-white drapes. Sir Alron leaned on the windowsill, staring out at the landscape below. On a normal day, he would have enjoyed a pleasant view of the west bridge leaving Brass Castle and the pastoral vista flanking the Vinay Road beyond. He would have watched a sleepy procession of scattered farmers driving ox-carts filled with hay, and chattering women carrying baskets of apples and cabbages on their backs.

Today, the road Sir Alron stared down on would be choked with refugees. Exhausted families displaced from their farms and villages. Women and children too tired to walk but too afraid to rest. All hurrying towards Vinay, to seek shelter within the walls of the capital.

Many of them would die. From starvation, from disease. War had that effect, no matter the victor. Salome had done what he could to provide for the refugees, but the knights' resources limited.

Especially when the captain did everything he could to undermine Salome's efforts.

"Captain," Salome said. He hoped the word did not come out as bitter as it tasted in his mouth. He approached, but kept a respectful distance.

Sir Alron turned to regard him. The man had shaved since they first met in Brass Castle. He hadn't seen a bottle in weeks, and his manservant had found him the proper uniform, gotten him a bath, cut and combed his hair. In every inch, he seemed the perfect Knight Captain. The citizens, the soldiers, even many of the knights looked up to this man.

They did not know him at all.

"Sir Salome," Alron said. "Here at last. I sent for you an hour ago." The man kept his hands clasped at his back.

"The refugees take their toll," Salome said, "My Captain."

"Yes," Alron said, nodding slowly. "That's why I sent for you. Have the gates closed. Brass Castle will admit no more of this rabble."

Salome gaped. "Sir?" He fought for words. "But the refugees, if you close the gates—"

Alron made a dismissive gesture. "Yes, yes. They'll be at the mercy of our enemies. Salome, you and I both know that these people are doomed. They'll starve no matter what we do. They drain our grain stores, consume our water and rations like locust. Peasants are useful, but what we truly need are soldiers. This riffraff isn't fit even to tend the stables."

Salome's blood chilled. He stole a glance at the ceremonial armors ringing the room. To hear such words from the captain of the knights… He felt his resolve grow steely.

"Sir Alron," he said. "Captain. I've come to beg you to resign your captaincy."

Alron spun towards him, eyes flashing angrily. With two long strides he advanced on Salome. "Have you gone mad? Do you realize that what you're saying amounts to treason? I could have you arrested."

Salome fought to keep his voice level. "Resign," he repeated, "Hand over the captaincy to me. Or to another. It matters not. A storm is brewing. There's a war coming to Zexen. Do you truly want to stand at the head of the knights, knowing that history will judge you for the outcome of that war?" Salome made a sweeping gesture at the armors along the wall.

Alron's face grew redder with each word. The man gnashed his teeth, balled his fists. Salome thought he'd punch him, but the captain of the knights mastered his anger.

"You're a fool, Salome Harras. You think I'm a traitor to your precious ideals, because I have the strength to do what must be done? What are the lives of some filthy barbarians worth next to the safety of the Confederacy? Hate me if you must, but you will respect your captain. I was appointed by the council!"

"The puppet regime that supported you is fallen. The council that appointed you is gone. You have no power base left in Vinay."

"Vinay! Bah!" Alron spun around, waving his arms as if to banish the notion. "What does the capital matter now? Politics? You said it yourself, a storm is brewing. And I will be at its center."

Salome was quiet for a moment, contemplating his options. He followed Alron through the room. "There's a good chance the new council will see you hang for treason, once the storm dies down. Since you came to Brass Castle, all you did was stare at the bottom of wine bottles. Now you want to save the Confederacy? Sir Alron, why are you doing this?"

At this, Alron stopped in his tracks, his back to Salome. His shoulders sagged.

Salome took it for doubt. He advanced slowly, put a hand on Alron's shoulder. "It's not too late to make amends, Sir Alron."

Alron wheeled around, backhanding Salome across the cheek. Salome toppled backwards, slammed into a set of ceremonial armor that tumbled to the floor with a loud crash of steel pieces coming apart. Salome briefly glanced at the breastplate, saw the emblem of Sir Emmerick, the Blue Fox. The man who had held Brass Castle against invasion on three separate occasions.

The doors burst open to admit four soldiers. They rushed into the room, spears in their hands, looking around for trouble. When they saw the scene before them, all four halted, unsure of how to proceed.

Salome got to his feet, feeling at his aching jaw.

Alron spared Salome a venomous glare before turning his back on him. "Make amends… You're a vainglorious fool, Salome Harras. It is you who shall hang for treason, before all this is over. You and your entire cohort of traitorous knights." Alron turned to command the four soldiers. "Guards! Escort Sir Salome Harras to the dungeons and place him under lock and key. I am relieving Sir Salome of all rank and authority, pending an investigation in a court martial."

The soldiers stood slack-jawed, stunned by the captain's words. None of the men wanted to be the first to move.

"Now!" Alron roared.

The soldiers snapped to attention, saluting before scurrying over to grab Salome's arms, drag him away from the wall and out of the room. Salome wiped blood from his cheek. His heart felt as heavy as stone. Forgive me, Lady Chris... I tried.

"You're wrong, by the way," Alron said. The soldiers paused at the door, allowing Salome to turn his head to the captain.

"There will be no war," said Alron.

"What?"

Alron smiled. "The Harmonians shall find the gates of Brass Castle open to them when they arrive. I will welcome them as liberators, not as conquerors. And once the Harmonians march into Vinay, I'll personally oversee the construction of the gallows where the rebel council will hang."

Salome stared in dumb horror. He kept staring, unable to produce a word, as the soldiers dragged him away to the dungeon.

Luc waded through ashes, spinning tiny whirlwinds to scatter the black flakes around him. The valley was covered in ash. Fire had stripped the hillsides bare, and turned trees into skeletal charcoal statues covering the ridge. In the gray dawn light, the valley resembled a scene from the cold future of Luc's own nightmares.

The Flame Champion's work.

"A thousand men dead," said Albert, "in minutes." The general's voice was a mixture of frustration and morbid fascination. Sarah stood in silence by Luc's side. She watched him, always vigilant, searching his face, his body languages. He knew she looked for signs of anguish or tumult.

That's why he showed nothing.

A figure moved along the valley ahead of them, wading through dense ash. Luc gave a crooked smile.

"One man at least returns alive…"

Albert squinted, wiping flakes of ash from his face. "I'm not sure 'alive' is the right word."

The figure came closer, resolving into the shape of Yuber, clad in black armor chased with gold, and a horned helm hiding his eyes. The warrior's twin swords formed an X across his back.

Yuber drew up before them. His lips twisted into a macabre smile. "I seem to have missed out on something beautiful." Only now did Luc see the damage to Yuber's armor. One side of the helmet, and one shoulder, had partially melted and cooled in a distorted, pocked pattern. As if something white-hot had instantly liquefied the black metal.

"Your armor," Luc said.

The smile vanished from Yuber's lips. He shook his head. "A trifle. It doesn't matter."

Interesting, that. Damage to Yuber's armor. And yet Luc knew that the warrior could reforge his own armor, swords, indeed his own body, with little effort. So why had the dark warrior chosen not to heal the damage to his armor?

"You were driven away," Albert remarked.

Yuber glared at the general. "I had to retreat. I ran into the bearer of the True Lightning Rune."

Luc raised an eyebrow. "That is useful information. The pieces are all moving. Coming together…"

"The Grasslanders claimed the True Fire Rune," Yuber said, scowling.

Luc turned, ran his gaze over the ash-covered valley. "I had noticed," he said.

"Lord Luc," Albert said, "The Grasslanders have retreated safely into the woods of Alma-Kinan. We cannot follow. The army needs time to recover and regroup. I suggest we suspend military operations for a few days to supply our troops and restructure the corps. After that, we will still possess by far the most powerful fighting force in the Grasslands region. What do you intend to do?"

Luc turned to the general. Albert had an anxious frown on his face. Luc supposed the man felt he should have anticipated the outcome, impossible though it seemed to Luc.

"Do not see this as a defeat," Luc said. "Master Silverberg. This is only a minor setback. Things are moving according to plan. And," he said, turning to point at the distant Alma-Kinan Woods, hidden behind the hills. "We have been given a boon."

Albert tried to follow his gaze, then looked at Luc. "What is that, my lord?"

"Hours ago, the presence of the True Fire Rune beat in my chest, like a second heart. Now, I can no longer feel it. Do you understand what this means, general?"

"I do not," Albert admitted.

"It means," Luc said, smiling, "that the True Fire Rune is currently shielded. Its bearer must be in Alma-Kinan. It means we have found the location of the Sealing Rune."

Slowly, comprehension dawned on Albert's face. And with comprehension followed all the implications. Albert grinned. Then he burst out laughing.