Stephan stood atop Cliffort’s outer wall, the rising sun behind his back. He hadn’t slept a wink that night; instead, he roamed the city in the dark with an entourage of Knights and soldiers. They visited the temples and small graveyards to ensure nothing untoward happened at other sites.
His chest felt warmer. Slivers of warmth had entered him with every site he checked.
He tried to make sense of it: what he had done, and what had earned the warmth. So far it seemed random.
His gaze rested on the thin ribbons of smoke rising from the enemy cookfires. In the daylight, the dark blotches became more distinct, more human, even if tiny. They moved between wagons and tents and fires. Steel caught the light at odd angles and glimmered every once in a while, looking like a rippling pond in sunlight.
Combined with the sun’s heat baking Stephan’s drowsy shoulders, the scene appeared almost idyllic.
What is the warmth I feel? I got none in the nightmare dungeon; I got plenty whenever I faced immediate threats posed by warlocks, undead, and fae. Healing gives me more than fighting other humans…
Stephan picked at every situation, trying to recall how he felt when Silas joined him on the allure.
“The warlock didn’t dig them up,” he said instead of a greeting.
His voice was lower than usual, a hint of fatigue painting the old Priest’s face. “It appears the undead had burrowed their way out of their graves.”
Stephan didn’t know whether that was good or bad. On one hand, it meant the guards hadn’t let through a suspicious-looking evil spellcaster with a spade into the inner parts of the castle. On the other, it meant the warlock could reanimate the dead at a distance.
“Do you know why Dorian was there?” Stephan asked instead. He couldn’t even imagine the slightly plump butler as the warlock, but the timing was awfully suspicious.
“I had my doubts,” Silas said. “His wife told me he had made it a ritual to polish the gravestones after he was done with work for the day.”
Dorian had a wife? Marriage and Dorian seemed like two disparate words.
“Did he have children?” Stephan asked.
“Three, and seven grandchildren.” Silas answered as if he had asked the same question recently, possibly in the same surprised tone.
Seven? Strange world. Light flared off distant steel, hitting Stephan in the eye. “What about your investigation of the graves?”
“We found signs of necromancy. They were faded but discernible; my guess is the magic was invoked yesterday during the daylight hours. It’s difficult to tell more, but Hardy insists it happened between noon and lunchtime.”
The exact time made no difference to Stephan. What mattered was that the dead rose in broad daylight.
“Did anyone see anything suspicious around that time?” he asked.
“Captain Avery went to make inquiries; he will come to see you once he has a report. I doubt he will find anything. The warlock staged all this right in front of our noses, showing great competence. Such a man shouldn’t make an obvious mistake.”
Stephan turned back to the horizon, thinking.
He watched the enemy column slither out of the forest like a giant serpent. But even from his vantage point, he could hardly see more than two miles of dust rising before the trees swallowed it. And there was a lot of dust, especially at the villages of Willow, Summercreek, and Fairwind, where parts of the enemy army must have made camp last night.
It’s not a bad plan. The forest is cleared around the villages and homesteads, and using those clearing for camps is considerably better than just resting on the road.
Stephan watched and considered the matter for a potential campaign against fiends someday in the future. If it ever came.
Roads simply exposed the army too much—a lot of flanks and little depth in case of a sudden attack. And if there was no favorable terrain, empty settlements could act as great campsites, even if fiends burned their fields and abandoned their houses.
There’s no way to deny Count Highglen such an advantage, and win or lose, poisoning a well would harm more innocents in the long run.
“Sir,” Silas broke the silence, “that warlock might prove more dangerous than the army marching towards us. We will watch the graveyards closely, since raising even a single graveyard’s worth of undead could have a dire impact on our situation, but I fear something else.”
The old Priest stopped talking and waited for Stephan to focus on him before continuing. “Based on what happened yesterday, the warlock might be in cahoots with the enemy, meaning one could help the other or provide a distraction at a critical moment. I doubt a warlock would sacrifice himself for their ally’s sake, but even a testing attack by the enemy might leave behind hundreds of dead.”
Stephan shuddered at the implication. It’s not that he hadn’t considered the scenario when he discussed the potential siege with the late Lord Marshal. But in those scenarios, warlocks could only raise the handful of soldiers who fell off the wall, or they could march a lumbering undead army, which Cliffort would bombard with fist-sized rocks from their trebuchets, greatly reducing their numbers.
“They wouldn’t throw away the lives of their people like that,” Stephan said more with optimism than certainty. “They would face a revolt.”
“Perhaps,” Silas shrugged. “That was Bradley’s idea rather than mine. Much like you, I hope Count Highglen hasn’t stooped so low.”
Stephan abruptly moved, heading towards the castle.
“Where are you going, Sir?”
“I just realized I could stay and watch the enemy soldiers move all day. It would be a great way to waste my time, wouldn’t it?” Stephan smirked. “No, I’ll catch some sleep, then go to the library. My priorities haven’t changed. I need to grow.”
Should I run away with Lacy? He wondered. If cause and effect are going to disappear like Tristan the Thoughtful had said, then I might as well live a good life with Lacy.
While everyone else suffers? While the world burns? The thought intruded his mind so abruptly, he thought it was the gods, but when he focused on it, he realized there was not a hint of divine intervention.
He had questioned his wish all on his own. And the worst part was that even if the time reset back to when he first received his class, he couldn’t abandon an entire city. Not for something as hollow as enjoying himself.
He descended into the streets dressed in plain recruit’s clothes. The morning smelled of baking bread and damp stone. Merchants opened shutters. Soldiers changed shifts. People milled about, hurrying with whatever errands they had. It seemed so normal, and Stephan blended right in.
He wore a regular uniform and walked the street alone but with purpose. The fact that Gawain followed several steps behind him, dressed like a common soldier, didn’t escape him, nor the movement on the rooftop ahead of him to the right, which he guessed was Mark.
Not that I could have left quietly. Wait! Stephan kept walking like nothing had happened. What if they aren’t here for my safety, but to make sure I don’t run away?
It was a ridiculous and amusing thought. Cliffort didn’t need him.
I need to speak with Anita after I get some sleep.
Stephan returned to the keep, and when he turned towards his quarters, he suddenly realized Dorian’s death wasn’t merely a human tragedy.
Who is going to attend to me from now on? How do I pick a new servant? Will the staff just do something on their own? Is there a ceremony involved? With those thoughts, Stephan returned to his room, where Lacy was waiting. Actively. She had her fists on her hips and glared at him.
“Where were you?” she demanded. “I’ve been worried sick about you!”
She ran over to him and squeezed him hard. “What have you been doing all night?”
“Patrolling the graveyards, making sure soldiers and guards are doing their jobs. You?” he smiled, but he had to force it.
“Me?” She stepped away and folded her arms, spearing him with her gaze. “Poor Sir Dorian died last night, but I guess you already know that. What you don’t know is that there was a huge fuss with everyone in the castle wondering who should pick up his work. And to make things easier on everyone, I said I’d take care of you.”
Stephan blinked, staring at Lacy standing proudly, her chin up.
“And then, the first thing you do after everyone agreed you should be in my care, is to skip supper and sleep, and now you’re late for breakfast.”
Stephan fought hard not to lower his gaze and look at the floor.
“Anything you have to say in your defense? Or are we going to have breakfast first?”
“I want to grab a nap—”
“Breakfast it is.” Lacy snatched his hand and dragged him down the corridor to their private dining room. “You can’t skip meals like that. If you go to bed now, you’ll sleep through lunch as well, and then I’ll get an earful from the cook. I heard she once shouted at the previous marshal after he hadn’t eaten for two days…”
Five minutes later, Stephan was at the table, Lacy across from him. Breakfast was a pitcher of milk, cheese, boiled eggs, and cornbread. Ever since the servants discovered his love for it, every meal included some cornbread on the side. Sometimes even with normal wheat bread.
“If you keep running away from meals,” Lacy said, “I’m going to start chasing you around with a basket of food to make sure you eat properly.”
Stephan looked at her, and to his horror, realized she was serious.
“I’ll try not to skip meals.”
“I’ll try not to chase after you with a wicker basket.” Lacy smiled sweetly.
Lacy, we’re at war. This is no time for games. Morale matters more than my breakfast…
Stephan had a dozen things to say. Instead, he wisely bit into the wedge of aged cheese, appreciating how well it went with her cornbread.