Chapter Twenty-Six: Actions and Reactions

Sir Derren and Paladin Anesti were poring over the maps spread out on the central table in the command tent when Sir Horatio, Commandant of the Rangers, strode inside. He clasped his fist to his heart in a salute, bowing his head to the Auspex. "I bring word from General Vespasian," Sir Horatio reported. "Legio Tertiadecima Regis Felix has repulsed the latest attempt by the vampyres to break our lines."

Sir Derren gave a single nod in response. "Thank you, commandant; that will be all."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but there's more," Sir Horatio paused to clear his throat before continuing. "On my way back from the XIII Legion's lines, I had an encounter with a mage from Tethys, a member of the Old Guard. Wouldn't tell me anything about why he was here, only that he needed to see the Warmaster, concerning a matter of utmost urgency."

"A member of the Old Guard, you say?" that immediately piqued Sir Derren's interest. "Very well. Send him in on your way out."

Sir Horatio saluted the Auspex once more before turning on his heel and ducking back outside. Sir Derren studied the map for another few seconds until a short man with a thick, reddish-brown beard and a ruddy face swept aside the flap and entered the command tent. He was clad in armor that was tinted a reddish hue—not unlike the Warmaster's armor—with a cloak of scarlet and gold.

"Your name and purpose?" Sir Derren asked the mage after exchanging a brief salute with the man.

"Dio is what I'm called, sir," the mage replied. "I need an audience with the Warmaster, right away. There is a message of import I must give him."

Sir Derren's eyes narrowed slightly—he could have sworn he'd smelled alcohol on the other man's breath. "Have you been drinking, soldier?"

"That I have been, sir," Dio nodded. "I was off-duty, I was, enjoying a lager in one of the taverns when my commander sought me out. Drinking, sir, but not drunk. Not even bloody buzzed… Sir," the mage muttered a curse under his breath as he let the profanity slip.

"The Warmaster is not here, at the moment, but you may give me the message."

"No disrespect intended, sir, but I don't actually know what the message is," Dio explained. "And I have very specific orders to give the message to the Warmaster, and no one else. These orders came directly from King Osman, sir."

Luckily, before Sir Derren could even open his mouth to argue, the tent flap was swept aside once more.

The Auspex looked up as the Warmaster strode inside, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. But, as fast as his expression of surprise appeared, it resolved into one of irritation. "You went up to the front lines, again," the knight said. It was more of an accusation than a question.

The Warmaster's armor had been dealt a new round of dents and abrasions. The older man even had several lacerations visible on his legs and abdomen, but he seemed to be ignoring them. Athellenas removed his helmet, relishing the feeling of fresh air against his scalp.

"Not since our breakthrough at Shantay Pass, last summer, have I entreated my blade to a taste of the enemies' blood," Athellenas replied, joining his Auspex at the table. "Until I am claimed by senility, I will not allow myself to grow fat in this tent."

"Very noble of you," Paladin Anesti chuckled.

Athellenas turned to face the man who'd just spoken. Paladin Anesti was clad in grimy, battered armor that bore the four-pointed star of the Church on the chestplate. His dark beard was normally trimmed very short, but it was beginning to grow a little scraggly. "Can I help you, Anesti?" the Warmaster asked, not expecting to find the senior Paladin in the command tent.

"Well, you can refrain from charging headfirst into Zamorak's hordes like raging bull; that will do wonders for my life expectancy," the Paladin remarked.

"Since when is your fate tied to mine?"

"Since I asked him to remain at your side," Sir Derren answered for Anesti.

Athellenas frowned at that. "I appreciate your concern, Derren, but it is unnecessary. I do not go to the front lines for myself—I join the fight wherever the lines are wavering. High-ranking individuals fighting alongside the soldiers does wonders for morale, I find."

"Fighting where the lines are wavering only puts you in even more danger," Sir Derren argued, not willing to budge. "I do not presume to stop you from going up to the front lines, but I must insist you allow Anesti to accompany you."

"Not a chance in hell," the Warmaster replied.

Before anyone could reply to that, someone cleared his throat rather loudly, bringing the argument to a grinding halt. Everyone turned to face Dio, who had been standing next to the entrance flap, twiddling his thumbs. With the Warmaster's sudden arrival, Sir Derren had nearly forgotten about the Old Guardsman.

"This man's name is Dio," Sir Derren said to Athellenas. "He is a member of the Old Guard, and he tells me that he was sent from Tethys to deliver a message. He'll only give it to you."

"Warmaster, sir!" the tent flap was pushed aside yet again, allowing Meridius—the chief medicus—into the command tent. Meridius stepped forward to the table, speaking directly to the Warmaster. "Pardon the interruption, sir, but-"

"Saradomin's beard, man, one at a time!" Athellenas thundered, holding up his hands and calling for silence. As the inside of the tent fell quiet, the Warmaster took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he turned to Dio. "My Auspex said you have a message for me?"

"That I do, sir," Dio reached under his armor and produced a sealed envelope, presenting it to the Warmaster.

Athellenas accepted the envelope, noting the royal seal that held it closed. "This is a message from the King?" he asked.

Dio gave a nod. "King Osman was the one who gave it to me, sir, sure as Entrana's full of Saradominists."

"Very well," Athellenas set the envelope down onto the table. "Remain here for a moment. If I need to send a message back to the King, I would like you to deliver it. Now, medicus, you had something you needed to speak to me about?"

"Yes, Imperator. It is Jerrod the Lightbringer, sir," Meridius reported. "Your friend, the one with the poisoned arrow wound…" Athellenas braced himself, waiting for the news that he had been both expecting and dreading, "…he has… Well, sir, it's the damnedest thing I've ever seen. Just last night, he was on the verge of death, but then this morning one of my subordinates summons me, and I find the man not only alive, but in perfect health. It's as if Saradomin himself came down to heal him overnight…"

Athellenas was shocked into silence, his heartbeat fluttering, his mouth hanging slightly open. After a few moments, he regained his wits, saying, "He's…he's alive and well, you said?"

"Please do not press me for an explanation, Imperator," the chief medicus requested, "for I have none to give."

"Yes, of course…" the Warmaster picked up his helmet and made for the tent flap. "I would much like to see this miracle with my own eyes."

"Athellenas?" Paladin Anesti cleared his throat, pointing at the envelope in the Warmaster's grasp. "The message?"

Athellenas gave a quiet grunt. He'd forgotten about the message in his joy at hearing of Jerrod's supposed recovery. And while he wanted to visit his old friend straightaway…duty had to come first. The Warmaster returned to the table and broke the royal seal, pulling out two folded pieces of parchment from within. One of them was a neat, pristine sheet, but the other was crinkled, weathered, and looked like it had been dragged through the ocean.

The Warmaster decided to read the weathered note first.

My King

I pray that this message reaches you with all possible speed. The very fate of our country rests upon its swift delivery into your hands, and subsequently the hands of the Warmaster.

I have very little time to explain what has transpired here, so I will be brief. We arrived in the Ainu Empire in the middle of a civil war. The Sun Emperor had fallen under Zamorak's spell, and the Shogun went into exile with the goal of eventually liberating him. I was contacted by and brought to the Shogun after my arrival in the Empire, whereupon I was given the full explanation of what was happening. It gives me great joy to be able to report to you that the Ainu conflict is now over, and we were able to restore the Sun Emperor's mind. The Ainu have agreed to join us in our fight.

But I fear I must soil these good tidings with news of an attack on Centralia. While under Zamorak's taint, the Sun Emperor was actually able to catch glimpses into the Dark One's thoughts, and he has started to remember those glimpses. He shared these glimpses with the Shogun and myself, and we learned two things.

First, we learned of a prophecy that exists in some form on the Stone of Jas. This prophecy speaks of the end of these wars. It makes particular references towards a certain individual—a Mahjarrat youngling, to be precise—who, according to this prophecy, will be the one who brings the war to an end. The prophecy does not state how he will end this war, nor does it state which God he will end it in favor of. The Sun Emperor told us that Zamorak knew the boy was traveling through Centralia, in the company of none other than Jerrod the Lightbringer. Zamorak badly wants this boy to be under his control. All I can really say is that it would behoove us to ensure that the boy is not captured—anything that Zamorak wants that badly, we would do well to keep away from him. And if that prophecy is indeed true, then that boy is an individual we would want on our side, not Zamorak's.

And second, the Emperor recalled some of Zamorak's plans for the invasion of Centralia. The Dark One intends to invade across the River Salve from the east, at first. He knows the Warmaster will already be in that region, so it would be convenient for King Osman to send the rest of the army eastward to join Athellenas. But this is just a diversion—another force of unknown size is marching south across the Wilderness border, through the Scutum Arborium, at this very moment. By the time word of this reaches you from the north, it will be too late—this invasion force will reach Tethys and raze it to the ground.

I beg you, my King, to send this message to Athellenas with all possible speed. Have him send reinforcements west to the capital. He is the only one who can save you now, but you must act very swiftly.

Saradomin protect us all.

Iulus Fernandos, Praetor

Athellenas Imperator

If you have not already read the other note, please do so now. If you have, then you know what is at stake. I am not asking you to abandon the eastern defenses, but I must request that you send a portion of your army back here to the capital. That is the only way we will be able to hold against the Dark One's hordes.

I am aware that it is forbidden to bring a Legion into Tethys, but do not trouble yourself over this. The Consuls will make a fuss, but even they will still their tongues when they see Zamorak's forces arrive at our walls. All I ask is that you send these reinforcements immediately. I will not order you to do so, but I do not believe I need to. You know what is at stake just as well as I.

Fortune favor you, Imperator.

We will all need it.

The second note had no signature, but Athellenas knew that it had come from the King. The Warmaster recognized Osman's handwriting anywhere. He was silent as he finished the notes, pushing them across the table for Anesti and Derren to read. When they finished, a hushed silence had fallen over the tent's interior once more.

Finally, Athellenas crossed to his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment of his own, dipping his quill into the inkwell. He took the next half-minute and drew up a new set of orders. He intended to pull the IV, V, VII, and XII Legions from the lines and send them to Tethys. He would also promote Lucius Incendis Sinclair to the rank of Dux, which was a temporary General rank created for instances like now, when the Warmaster had to place another man in charge of multiple legions.

Once he was done, he handed them over to Sir Derren. "Get these to the clerks and have them sent out to Generals Sinclair, Aemon, Theodoros, and Cassius. And while you are there, draft an order for the XI Legion to move to Mattinse Ridge—they will take the IV Legion's place."

"Imperator," Sir Derren saluted before leaving.

Athellenas then dismissed Meridius. He took out another piece of parchment and scrawled a quick note, briefly detailing his orders to King Osman. He sealed those orders in an envelope of his own and handed them to Dio. "Give this response to the King."

"Your will, Imperator," Dio clasped his fist to his heart and left.

Athellenas was now left alone with Paladin Anesti. The Warmaster, still at his desk, took out one last piece of parchment, and drafted his final order. This last paper was the official documentation for General Sinclair's promotion to Dux. He would have the clerks duplicate it, sending one copy to the Forum for their approval—which was little more than a formality—and another to Sinclair himself.

When he was finished, he put the quill back into the inkwell, and allowed himself a few moments of sweet, blissful silence. "How are we going to survive this winter, Anesti?" the Warmaster finally spoke. "Enemies to the east, enemies to the north… Lord Fernando has secured the aid of the Ainu, but they will not be here until spring. It would be suicide to cross the Mare Orientale during the winter storms… When Zamorak's forces surround Tethys, we will lose communication with the capital…"

"The Legions will do their part," the Paladin heard himself saying. "Stellantae will not fall."

"Perhaps…" the Warmaster rubbed his temples and allowed himself a quick yawn. "What we need is a preemptive strike. We need to deal with the threat from the east, and we must do so quickly. General Sinclair is an excellent leader, but even he cannot hope to hold Tethys forever. He will need our help…"

"One thing at a time, Athellenas," Anesti suggested. "You have taken measures to hold Tethys. Allow yourself a moment's rest before worrying about what is to come."

Athellenas rose to his feet, picking up his helmet. "I shall call a council of war later tonight, and we will decide how to proceed then. In the meantime… I would have words with Jerrod. There are questions I have for him... Some of what the Praetor has said in his message coincides with certain things that the Lightbringer told me before we embarked on the Desert Campaign."

"Concerning that prophecy?" Anesti arched an eyebrow.

"Aye, concerning that prophecy," the Warmaster nodded, pulling aside the entrance flap. "Will you be joining us at the council tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," the Paladin replied.

Athellenas gave the Paladin a quick nod before taking his leave. It was sleeting outside, and the wind had picked up. The Warmaster drew his cloak about himself and made his way across the compound, exchanging the occasional salute with passersby. He passed by the stables and the living spaces, entering the medical compound. Even now, he could hear the groans of wounded legionaries, and the sounds of surgeons and healers hard at work.

Athellenas headed to the smallest of the recovery tents, where Meridius waited for him. He exchanged salutes with the chief medicus. "Has he been moved?" the Warmaster asked.

"He has been removed to one of the corners, to afford him some measure of privacy," Meridius replied. "I believe you are the only reason he has not stormed out of here—he would have words with you."

"I would have them with him, as well," Athellenas brushed past the chief medicus, moving along the rows of wounded soldiers. Many of them were unconscious, and some of the awake ones simply stared blankly into the ceiling. There were a few men who were lucid enough to attempt a salute, and Athellenas made sure he personally returned each one of those salutes.

Though Athellenas knew that a commander had to accept the fact that men under his command would die…the Warmaster had always had a very soft spot for his wounded. Perhaps this was why he disliked visiting the hospitals so much.

Jerrod's cot had been moved to a corner of the tent and placed behind a curtain. Athellenas could see a figure moving about on the other side of the curtain, and his breath caught in his throat as he drew it aside.

Jerrod was already standing up, shrugging into his black cloak. He turned around, hearing the curtain being drawn aside, and met the Warmaster's gaze. For once in his life, the Cleric was silent as he met his oldest friend's gaze. No joking conversation, no witty retort…just silence. Athellenas could tell that something had changed in his friend just by looking into his eyes—the Cleric's old spark was still there…but it seemed so much more diminished.

Ultimately, neither friend broke the silence. Instead, they both stepped forward at the same time, each man pulling the other into a firm embrace. They remained thus for at least half a minute before finally pulling away. "You're supposed to be dead," was the only thing Athellenas found himself able to say.

"Sorry to disappoint," the Cleric grunted, pulling his staff out from under his cot, laying it flat on top of the bed.

"No apologies necessary," Athellenas chuckled.

Jerrod paused at that for a moment, but quickly returned to packing his personal effects. "No, I fear apologies are necessary…" he murmured. "Not to you, however."

"Do you intend to leave here?"

Jerrod nodded in reply. "Saradomin has healed my body completely—I do not require any more medical attention."

"I do not expect you to remain here and fight with me," Athellenas said to his friend as the Cleric shouldered his satchel and stepped out of his makeshift room, making his way towards the entrance flap of the giant recovery tent. "However, I would have words with you before your departure. There is something we must speak about."

"Throw in some mead, and you'll have yourself a deal."

"It is funny you should mention that, actually, because I have a cask right under my cot," Athellenas mused, leading his friend out of the medical compound and into the living sector. His tent was located in the center of the residential portion of the command camp. The Warmaster brushed through the entrance flap, the Cleric hot on his heels.

The two older men took a moment to remove their outer layers and shake off the cold. Athellenas pulled the promised cask of mead out from under his cot, producing two wooden cups and filling them up with the frothing brew.

"Ah… That is some liquid heaven you have there," Jerrod sighed as he took his first drink, sinking down into one of the Warmaster's chairs.

Athellenas sat down on the foot of his bed, taking a sip from his own cup. He dribbled a little onto his beard, which had gotten rather bushy as of late due to the lack of free time for him to trim it. He wiped the mead off his bear with his arm, smacking his belly appreciatively. "That it is, old friend… I save it for special occasions. Last time I drank from this was when the elder-demon Thammaron met his end. Now I drink to my oldest friend returning from the dead. Truly, it is a great relief to me that you are well."

"And what of you, old friend?" Jerrod asked. "I hear the men call you Imperator, now. You must have been busy."

"I do wish they would not call me that," the Warmaster sighed. "I have won no great victories for them. Victory in the desert was achieved only with the intervention and assistance of the Mahjarrat Azzanadra, and even then…the Menaphites were nearly destroyed. That campaign was a failure in that regard. Then the campaign in the east...Hallowvale had already fallen by the time we arrived. The vampyres, they were everywhere. That entire campaign was nothing more than a long, slow retreat through the swamps. I should not be labeled Imperator for this, for victories that either were not my own, or never even happened."

"Well, it does not sound like the soldiers will stop calling you that anytime soon, so it seems that you will simply have to suck it up," Jerrod remarked, taking another draught of mead. "Do you believe a man unworthy of the title Imperator could have led over ten-thousand men through the desert and the east, and then manage to bring the majority of them back home alive?"

"I… Well, I suppose not…"

"There it is!" Jerrod's mouth split open into a wide grin. "A nice helping of self-confidence. Now we'll just sprinkle a little arrogance on top of that, and you'll be the best general Gielinor's ever seen."

The two old friends continued to converse for the next few minutes, making small talk with one another. Jerrod asked a lot about what Athellenas had been through—after all, the last time the Cleric had seen his old friend had been in the north of the Kharidian Desert…well over six months ago. And in times like these, a lot could happen in six months.

It was only after talking with his old friend for a while that Athellenas turned the conversation to more serious matters. "Remember that one night on the Resolute, Admiral Straume's ship? Not long after we left Port Sarim for the desert?"

Jerrod snorted with laughter. "It would take a lot more mead to make me forget the night I managed to get you drunk enough to play Noble Green Rabbit on your fiddle, in front of the entire crew."

A faint twinkle came to Athellenas's eyes as he took a moment to relive that memory. "Yes, it was an enjoyable night…something we all needed before plunging into battle. But it was after the festivities, when I joined you on the deck, before the sunrise… I asked you why you were going into the desert, and you told me. You spoke of a boy and a prophecy…" the Warmaster noted the tightening of the Cleric's jaw as he brought up this particular topic. "Just earlier today, I received a message from the King, who in turn received word from the Praetor, who is still in the Ainu Empire. The Sun Emperor was under the possession of Zamorak for a time, but he was able to see into the Dark One's thoughts and glean bits and pieces of Zamorak's plans. And do you know what the Sun Emperor spoke of? He spoke of a second invasion entering Centralia from the north…and then he spoke of a prophecy, and of a boy. A boy who was travelling with Jerrod the Lightbringer. You."

Jerrod said nothing in reply.

Athellenas waited for his friend to speak. When Jerrod remained silent, the Warmaster went on. "I know that boy was a Mahjarrat, old friend. We both know what the Prophecy says about him—he must be kept safe. Taken to Karamja, perhaps, to continue his training until he is ready to join our fight."

"His name is Avis…" Jerrod murmured. "And I did not discover he was a Mahjarrat until long after I parted ways with you. Avis himself did not know what he really was until I told him. He was raised in Ullek, you see. Raised as a Human, by Humans…he was no different from any other boy, apart from his ability to use and cast magic without the use of runestones. He had skin as pale as a vampyre, crimson eyes like the rest of his race, and a wonderful smile…it always used to make my day, seeing him smile when I stopped our training for dinner. He loved to talk, and his curiosity was borderline problematic…it would drive me crazy, listening to his chatter day after day after day, but now…now, there's only silence. It is curious, how easy it is to take something for granted until it is taken away from you."

"Where is he, Jerrod?"

The Cleric could only shrug. "Gone," he replied, finishing off his mead. "Taken. It was Enakhra, Avis's mother, who shot me with that arrow. It was Zemouregal, Zamorak's dog, who took him. I watched them subdue him as I bled out. He lost consciousness before I did, and I saw them take him away."

Athellenas gave a confirming nod. "I'd feared as much… A patrol from the IV Legion spotted the signs of your fight with these two Mahjarrat. They arrived just in time to keep the Mahjarrat from finishing you off, but the sergeant leading the patrol reported that the two Mahjarrat had captured a child and made off with him. So that was how a patrol of legionaries drove off two Mahjarrat…the Mahjarrat already had what they came for..."

"Indeed they did," Jerrod's voice took a darker tone.

"Now you know I am not one to place all my stock in prophecies," Athellenas reminded his old friend, "but if this child is supposed to end this war, then it would behoove us to…extricate him from Zamorak's clutches. We cannot afford to leave such a potentially valuable asset in the hands of the enemy."

Jerrod turned his gaze back to the Warmaster, but this time it was a look of anger. "Yes, we would not want Zamorak to have such a valuable asset, would we," he muttered.

"Find you fault with my reasoning?" Athellenas asked, somewhat surprised at his old friend's sudden hostility.

"Is that all the boy is to you? An asset? A pawn to be moved about your chessboard?"

"That is unfair," the Warmaster shot back. "You know the depth of my love for my men. But when battle rears its head at us, I must not think of them as men—I must think of them as Legions, as machines of war. Every leader of warriors must do this…and those who do not will quickly find themselves divorced from sanity. And so, from my point of view, this boy is not a child—he is a vessel of a power too great to be left in enemy hands."

Jerrod's gaze softened a little, but not by much. Still…Athellenas knew his old friend well enough to know how far that slight change of expression went. "Perhaps I spoke hastily," Jerrod said in apology.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Athellenas sighed. "You are partially right; the boy is a potential asset to our war effort…but that is not the root of the issue. He is in Zamorak's clutches, now. What if the Dark One corrupts him, breaks his mind? What if this boy is driven insane and unleashed against us? If this happens, hundreds, thousands of my men will die. And if this prophecy is true, then we will lose the war. Jerrod, my friend…that is unacceptable. This is something we cannot allow to happen."

Jerrod's gaze and expression did not waver. "Agreed," he said. "We must rescue him before he breaks. I know not where the Dark One holds him, but there is someone who dwells in the shadows, who I know could easily find Avis's prison. It is this individual who I must seek out."

"I pray this course of action proves fruitful," Athellenas gave a nod, but he was not finished. "Notify me when you have discerned the boy's location. And keep in mind…when you find the boy, he may be beyond our help. If this is the case…then you must do what is necessary."

Jerrod's eyes narrowed for a moment. "What is necessary?" the Cleric echoed. "And just what mean you by this?"

"You know my intent."

"I would hear you say it."

Athellenas stifled a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. "If the boy's mind is broken, if he is irrevocably set against our purpose, then you must kill him, Jerrod," the Warmaster declared. "You must kill him before he brings death raining down upon us all."

"I believe we are done here," Jerrod rose to his feet, slipping back into his cloak and taking up his staff.

Athellenas rose to his feet as well, moving toward his old friend. "I would not part company on a sour note, Jerrod; we have been through too much for that."

Jerrod hesitated by the tent flap, his thoughts plainly wirling through his mind in a chaotic maelstrom. Finally, he calmed himself down and turned back to face the Warmaster. "We both have always known what a poor mage you would be, Athellenas…but perhaps now we can see what a poor general I would make." And with that, the Cleric extended a hand.

Athellenas recognized the olive branch for what it was, and he clasped forearms with his oldest friend. "Fortune favor you, Lightbringer."

"And you as well," Jerrod replied. Without another word, the Cleric turned on his heel and ducked out of the tent, leaving Athellenas by himself for a few moments.

The Warmaster gathered his dark red cloak about himself as he stepped out into the sleet, watching the Cleric make his way across the compound.

"Bit of a loose cannon, now, is he not?"

Athellenas nearly jumped in surprise as he heard Anesti's voice from behind. The Warmaster turned around, seeing Anesti standing right next to the entrance flap. Athellenas had walked right past him without noticing. "Eavesdropping, were you?" the Warmaster asked accusingly.

"I was, but that is irrelevant," the Paladin replied, stepping forward so that he was shoulder-to-shoulder with the Warmaster. Together, the two men started heading after Jerrod. "We are two very different men, Imperator, but we share thoughts and opinions concerning the good Lightbringer."

"Speak plainly, Paladin, or keep silent."

Anesti arched an eyebrow at Athellenas's forthrightness, but had no other outward reaction. "Let us be honest with each other. It is very likely the child of the prophecy will be…damaged, before the Lightbringer can find him. And I do not believe Jerrod will be able to kill him when the time comes."

Loath as he was to admit it, Athellenas had to agree with the Paladin. From what he had just seen of his old friend, the Warmaster had his own doubts about the Cleric's resolve. Jerrod had obviously spent a lot of time with this boy, this Avis…and Athellenas knew Jerrod well enough to know that the Cleric would most definitely have formed a strong emotional attachment in that time. Jerrod's recollection of the boy's smile, for one, was evidence of this.

"Ah, yes…I can see the agreement in your face," Anesti observed. "That settles that, then. With your permission, I would accompany the Lightbringer on his quest. If he wavers in his resolve…rest assured that I shall not."

"You have my permission," Athellenas sighed. As the Paladin nodded and turned to move away, the Warmaster grasped him by the arm. "And if I were you, I would refrain from mentioning what we have just spoken of. Jerrod most likely would not react amicably to such conversation."

Anesti actually exchanged a salute with the Warmaster—something the Paladin rarely ever did—and stalked off into the sleet and rain, drawing his hood over his head and face as he set off in pursuit of the Cleric.

Athellenas watched him go until he lost sight of the Paladin. The Warmaster allowed himself a quick yawn and stretch before heading off in the direction of the command tent. General Sinclair Dux would no doubt be waiting to see him, wishing to discuss his promotion with the Warmaster personally. It was a very radical and unusual order—the Warmaster would not blame Sinclair for seeking confirmation.

"Could use another belt of mead…" the Warmaster grumbled, tightening the top of the cloak around his neck.

Author's Note

(A response to cba2login's question)

Yes, when I say I am working on two stories in concert, I mean I am working on them at the same time. Unfortunately, it is not so simple a method as completing a chapter for one story, then writing one for the other. I write for one story until I get tired of it, at which point I start writing for the other story. Sometimes, with this system of writing, I end up switching to another story before even finishing a chapter. I write a portion of a chapter for story 2, then I switch back to story 1. I do this until a chapter is completed, at which point I start a new one. This means that updates can be a bit slow, but both stories are being worked on relatively equally. What usually happens is that updates are slower, but story 1 and story 2 (in this case, they would be Growing Darkness and Ashes to Ashes, Grist to Grist) end up having new chapters completed at pretty much the same time.

But yeah, writer's block is no longer a real problem for this story. I already know how it will end, as well as how I will arrive at said ending. It is just a matter of finding the free time hidden in my schedule.

-TheAmateur