A Fallen Soul

Healing was a strange thing to see happening in front of him.

Velandus and Alleria told him they'd called a healer to stop him from bleeding out when they first met. Naturally, he'd slept through the entire debacle, so this was technically the first time he ever got to witness it whilst conscious.

The healer bent over him, hovering his hands just above his wounds. The bandages had been removed, so he got to see just how bad they were several days later.

Could've been worse; at least they don't look infected.

Alleria had tried her best, and her best paired with his had kept him alive, but the frustrated look on the healer's face told him that they had much to learn if this was to become a regular occurrence. Which he hoped it wouldn't.

"This shouldn't take too long." The man muttered, brushing aside a strand of his hair that had fallen out of its knot, "This may feel a bit strange."

He closed his eyes and released mana from his hands and arms. It slowly flowed across the gap between them, tinting green as it did. He thought it resembled the colour of the leaves outside, or how he imagined them to be. When it settled onto his wounds, he restrained his own mana from pushing against it.

There were two ways healers sealed wounds, and the most common was this. Nature Magic. His flesh slowly knitted itself back together, bit by bit, until they sealed and left only a scar as evidence it had been there in the first place. He wasn't sure how it would feel, perhaps painful or unpleasant, but ticklish was certainly not on that list. Having to restrain himself from giggling like a child was so mortifying that his face turned red.

When he'd been ensured that the process was finished, he put his shirt back on and faced the healer, the young Carathiliarian man with flowing emerald tattoos, who nodded his head, "It's done then, your wounds shouldn't be an issue anymore, and I would expect only lingering aches for the next couple days."

He nodded back, "Thank you."

"You're lucky they weren't infected before you could have them seen to."

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"Trouble on the road? Was it bandits or wild animals?"

"The former. They threw themselves at us and tried to take me for everything I had."

He still felt his lies were transparent, but the man just sighed, "As is so often the case in these parts. I hope it hasn't entirely detracted from your experience here."

He tried not to stare. Carathiliar being nice was a pleasant rarity that he was learning never to take for granted. Maybe healers were more magnanimous by default.

"Not entirely, no, although if I'm honest, my complexion leaves much to be desired. At least from your people."

The healer laughed, "An unfortunate byproduct of our culture, I'm afraid. Where do you hail from?"

"Moren."

"Ahh." He tapped his chin, "Our neighbours from across the mountains. Yes, I see why your reception in Carathiliar would leave much to be desired. It is rare that we, as a collective, open our hearts to outsiders. The Talradians, and Kurathil in the south, are by and large exceptions, not the norm."

"I learnt that quickly. I believe I have been scorned as a hithnadrr more times than I can count."

He winced, "I fear I cannot apologise for my entire race's choices of words, but I could try."

Danadrian laughed and waved a hand, "Please don't trouble yourself with it. It's simply a byproduct of your culture."

"Words said by a wise man." The healer laughed and then extended his hand, "Flugh."

"Danadrian." He shook his hand. "Are you a local?"

"By choice only. I came here to serve as a healer a year ago."

"They had none before?"

Flugh grimaced, "Oh, they had one. There's an old hag who hangs around the square at noon, trying to sell her services for the low cost of an eye and your first newborn son. Before I arrived, most would rather let the wound fester."

"So you came here for that reason alone?"

He nodded, "I trained in the capital's university for a few years before taking my services to the road. When I friend of mine brought up Tathlani in conversation, I felt compelled to help them."

"Quite the philanthropic decision."

"I would hardly call it that. I simply felt it was my calling. I know quite a few who would do the same if given the chance. Although there are unfortunately just as many who would scoff at the idea. I envy the Florainians."

"How come?"

"Well, with a people so naturally gifted with mana and magic, there are proportionally more healers to go around. I've heard that to be a doctor there has become something of a byword for a healer."

"Right, of course."

Alleria's right, I need to do some more reading.

"I wanted to study there, you know." Flugh said as they walked towards the door, "With the utmost respect for Carathiliar, our academies cannot compete with Floraine's. At least not when it comes to their studies of healing."

"Is there that much of a disparity?"

"In some spheres it's more obvious than others. Chaos Magic is perhaps a good example of our own schools outpacing Floraine, but then there is always the Wizard Realm of Talfandil. The courses I studied were largely concerned with Nature Magic in general, and as healing constitutes only a small part of that, I found the whole thing to be quite a chore."

"Oh, I get it. So their focus wasn't something you were all that interested in."

He nodded, "Oh, it was interesting, but not what I was there for. But I got by."

"Why didn't you study in Floraine then? Was gold the issue?" Danadrian asked.

Flugh shook his head, "Far simpler than that. I'm Carathiliarian. Of course, they'd be hesitant to accept me. When you're entire race, by and large, scorns and distrusts outsiders, we can expect similar feelings to brew on the other side."

His smile slipped, and for a second, he looked strained, but he perked up again quickly.

Their conversation continued down into the Company Hall, exchanging anecdotes about the Carathiliar and titbits about travelling in the Crynmon Forest. Flugh shared descriptions of the lands beyond the forest, of the rolling hills and vast grasslands that made up much of the Kingdom. To Danadrian, who had only ever seen the backwater, forested lands, it sounded almost like fiction. And mountains. He had only ever seen mountains as specs in the far-off distance.

He shared his religion, which the Carathiliar was surprisingly open to listening to, nodding along as he tried to explain some of the nuances of the Church of the Light. Nuances that he hoped he was actually getting right. Some of the details were a bit foggy.

"I heard about missionaries and followers travelling along the main road not too long ago, but stories and news can be vague around here. Are you by any chance…?"

Danadrian shook his head, "I've never met them, but I wish I could have. It would be… nice to meet with one of my faith again."

"I understand. The Karatinian UnOrder is dominant here, so the chance of finding others such as yourself is like taking a shot in the dark. Why come here in the first place?"

He put on a rueful smile, "Consider it my calling. And I am well aware of the Karatinian UnOrder and their… beliefs."

"Had a run in with their Deru Monks?"

"Let us just say I was a little disorientated when I first arrived. They did not take kindly to it."

He laughed, "I don't doubt it. What with your insignia openly on your chest, it's no wonder people wouldn't care for you. The UnOrder especially."

"Are you an active practitioner?"

Flugh nodded, "We have a local Palace you can worship in, though it's nothing like one in a larger town or city. Just a small building, really. I try and visit once a week if I get the time, but we're not strict on that sort of thing."

His body clenched up, this time involuntarily, and when he spoke, he could hear the tone in his voice had shifted. "I see."

Flugh seemed to notice this because he straightened his own back a little. He peered at him. "The Church of the Light is a Clathitarie religion, of course."

"That is correct."

"And the Karatinian UnOrder is Derumani."

"Naturally."

He stared at Danadrian silently for a second before rising from his seat. He patted him on the back, "I'd like to show you something."

He led him out of the hall, which was quite a lot smaller than the one in Fordain and not nearly as full, and down one of the small roads running through town. There weren't that many people about; they were probably at work, but when Danadrian caught himself staring at the huge skeleton hovering above them, he frowned. Then squinted.

"Are those people up there?"

Flugh followed his gaze and laughed.

"You've never been to a Dragonslayer Baile, I take it?"

"You call it that? And to answer your question, no, I've never had the pleasure."

Above them, he could see the small figures of people leaping between the flattest areas of the ribcage. He only assumed there were some running along the spine as well.

"Is it safe?"

"For us? Mostly. The chances of breaking a bone or something else aren't too high, and that's what I'm here for. To deal with the idiots who fail to land on their feet."

He was honestly glad the streets were mostly empty because it meant that he avoided the glares of hostility he so often drew.

Flugh led him around another building, and then up a well-trodden trail that sloped up a hill and into the forest. For the briefest moment, Danadrian was worried and could almost hear Alleria admonishing him for following a stranger out of town, but as they reached the summit, he saw a manmade clearing with only one notable feature to it.

It was a large pile of stones, rather haphazardly thrown on top of one another. Many were grey, but some stood out as the red stones used in buildings, and one was even green like the slab he'd found days ago.

He was about to open his mouth to ask what this was when something about the rocks caught his eye. He hesitated before leaning forward to get a better look. There weren't just different stones stacked there. Each of the stones had a carving.

There were carvings of deer and tusks and bats and frogs, but he also saw a hammer, a sword, a boat, a tree, and dozens of others. Sometimes they repeated, but most of the time it was the opposite. Each one was unique in its own way.

"What is this place?"

Flugh smiled, "A Karatinian shrine to Creation."

He leaned back quickly, and looked at him, "A Karatinian shrine? To Creation?"

"The local monks maintain it, and most citizens come to visit if they have some time off. I myself come here once a day at least, no matter the time or circumstances, so that I may honour him." He raised an eyebrow, "Does it surprise you that much?"

He remembered Velandus mentioning a certain reverence the UnOrder had for Creation, but he hadn't really thought about it that much. If he was being frank, he assumed it was simply an awful joke. The Chaos-worshippers bowing before the orderly concept of Creation?

"Maybe a little." He admitted.

"Most are, it's not a logical conclusion to come to, but I think you'll find that it is rooted in logic, ironically."

"Logic, how?"

He nodded, "It's simple. Creation is the root cause of everything, and when you put everything together, what do you find?" He extended a hand to the pile of stones, "Chaos. There is Chaos in the way all things are, and as all things are made in the eye of Creation, so too is Chaos."

Danadrian's head spun a little. "Sorry, but Creation is order. It's the meticulous attention to detail and planning that led to everything that now is. How could that then be Chaos?"

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"Creation made everything. So Chaos, as either a physical or metaphorical concept, is theirs as well. And for that, the Karatinians pay her only the deepest respect."

"One would imagine logic being somewhat contrary to your beliefs."

Flugh laughed, "Hardly so. What's logic and reason if not the individual parts of the chaotic whole? It's a unique interpretation even amongst the UnOrder, but not unheard of. True Chaos willing, we're as loud as the town criers sometimes."

Danadrian rubbed his chin and wished that some of what he was saying didn't make sense, in its own way. "Out of curiosity, what is True Chaos, or the True Chaos. I've heard it said often amongst your people, but… I never thought to ask what exactly they were talking about."

"It's a bit complicated. You sure?" He looked around, "Now that I think about it, none of this is heretical for you, is it?"

"At this point, why hold anything back?"

That was how, several minutes later, he found himself at a bar sipping at a glass of water whilst Flug delicately sipped a local fruit concoction. "-You think what will happen?"

"See, I know it sounds strange, but trust me, we've got plenty of reasons to believe it." He sipped his drink, "Every day, somewhere on Andwelm, something is being invented. Be it by man, by nature, by Gods, or even by animals, ours is a plane of reality that is constantly filled with creations."

"Right, that much I get."

"So, eventually it's all going to fill up. Reality has a finite amount of space. And how do you expect any order to exist in a world brimming with both related and unrelated forces? We will one day have to fight for space with our own creations."

He frowned, "So True Chaos is the state of existence you believe reality will enter? In the distant future?"

"It's a bit more complicated and technical than that, but yes, that is the gist of it. I wouldn't be able to give you a more detailed approach, I'm not that pious."

"But that's… don't you think that is a bad thing? Why praise it?"

Flugh smiled, "Because all things must end eventually. Why not celebrate it, rather than fear it?"

That only made his frown deepen. It wasn't just that the logic made no sense, he could find several holes in it easily, but rather that he understood what he was getting at. It made sense, and that made him uneasy, more than anything else.

"We can simply call it a difference of beliefs," Flugh said, no doubt noticing the look on his face. "Who really knows how it'll all end up anyway?"

He took a long sip from his glass of water. "The Gods? Kel Rahtart and Fate only know."

"Ah, the Harbinger of the End. Did you know, there's actually a cult of her followers around these parts?"

"Really?"

"Oh yes, the UnOrder is not… openly accepting of other sects of religion, especially Steminarie or Clathitarie, but they tolerate them. They let the Cult of Elberation exist on the rim and outskirts of society as long as they keep to themselves. Last I heard, they were around the Western of Northern borders."

"They tolerate them, but my faith is where they draw the line?"

He meant it as a joke, so he was surprised when Flugh's smile waned, and he shook his head. "They tolerate them, but unfortunately for you, your Goddess is different. You hold a special amount of contempt for. Both you and Mayare."

"The Carathiliar know her differently?"

The bartender, a grim-faced man with red tattoos that could have been mistaken for scars, refilled Flugh's drink without so much as a word. He glanced at Danadrian and gave him a stare that spoke volumes. When he nodded his head in as polite a response as he could manage, he got only a scowl in return.

"They- we often call her the Blinded One. A few years ago, you'd have to search extensively through every town and city in the realm before you found a Carathiliar who worshipped her. And even then, they'd probably act otherwise for their own safety. Being a Light-follower in Carathiliar is dangerous business."

"You don't need to tell me that. But you said that was a few years ago. Something changed recently."

He nodded, "Think about it."

Considering he knew little to nothing about the country's recent history, he got through a list of possibilities pretty quickly. He snapped his fingers, "The missionaries."

"Exactly." He raised his hand to the bartender, "Aled, some more water, please? Nobody really expected much, but I've been told at least a dozen people per town or village got wrapped up in their teachings. They either stuck around to continue to spread the faith or joined up with their congregation."

He nodded, accepting the second cup of water Aled, the bartender, smashed onto the counter beside him, spilling a quarter of it in the process. "Thank you. So, the response to the missionaries was more positive than most assumed it would be? At least on a micro scale, person to person."

"Although my own expectations were set pretty low, yes, I would say there was quite a bit of surprise. And it took them a while to figure it out too, only the UnOrder's extensive resources and a personal interest from the crown allowed it to become common knowledge."

"I was going to ask, this all seems rather well-known."

He scrunched his face up, "They spread the word, though not nearly as pleasantly as I'm retelling it. Some of the more zealous amongst them encouraged citizens to out anyone suspected of being a follower."

What else did he expect?

"And it got violent sometimes." He winced, "I heard a rumour, so take this as such, that a Paladin Order clashed with local authorities in Paloesca. That's the sort of interactions you can expect."

"So, me sauntering around with a symbol of Mayare, it could go one of two ways now?"

Flugh inclined his head, "Before, you would've got foul looks. Now, you might get praised to the stars, or, more likely, have a rotten fruit thrown at your head and get harassed out of town."

That might prove… detrimental.

"I'll keep that in mind. So if you were to put outsiders on a ranking list, there would be Talradians and Kurathil at the top, general travellers, and foreigners near the middle-"

"-and followers of the Light right at the bottom." He finished with a laugh, "Yes, you've certainly chosen a place to be. Not too late to make a break for it."

Danadrian chuckled, "I believe I am committed here, whether I like it or not. Though I wouldn't say no to anything else, you know about the missionaries. If their congregation was as big as you describe, they're unlikely to hide easily. Where were they last seen?"

Flugh frowned and tapped his head a few times, "I… don't know. I could probably find out for you, but it would take a day or two. Are you staying in town for a while?"

"I'm camping in the forest with some acquaintances of mine. One of them is looking to charter a boat. I believe she had the pleasure of inspecting your harbour."

He responded with a snort, "Hardly a pleasure, I assure you. It's more a mismatched amalgamation of wood and stone than a harbour. But if she's looking for one, I doubt she'll have trouble, there are always boats with captains looking to get out of here as fast as possible."

That was no surprise to him. Besides hearing about it from everyone except those too young to understand, he'd seen the state what few parts of the Domain he'd seen were in. In Fordain, he'd encountered an old man who would speak with starting detail about the economic downturn and how much better it used to be for those willing to listen. Which was to say, he and nobody else.

"The Great Southern Road being cut off, trade to the North shifting away from Tandrias, yes, I've heard. What does that mean for Tathlani?"

Flugh sighed, "It means that it'll stay the same as it has been for decades now, or so I've heard. Less coin going around, fewer travellers and traders, harder Winter Years. The only people sailing upstream are the fishermen who can afford to."

"And if there was a solution to the problem…"

"…Someone would've figured it out by now. It started before I was born, and yet it keeps getting worse and worse. If you ever get the chance, visit the rest of the kingdom, see what Carathiliar at its best is. This?" He waved his hand to the window, "This is it at its worst."

Danadrian watched as he mourned a past he'd never seen. Mortal lives, they were like a flash of fire and flames, bright as the Sun, that cooled into cinders in seconds. What was forty years to an Angelica? That entire man's lifespan could have gone by, and he'd never understand what he pined for.

That's what I wish I could say, what I wish I was feeling right now.

Instead, he simply watched and listened, and if there was a Derumani worshipper, a darkened and chaotic spreader of evil?

"I don't see it." He muttered.

And he wished he did.

. . .

Flugh kept him company for quite a while longer after that, after assuring him that there weren't any problems that needed his attention, and if they did, he would need to run as fast as possible.

"I only get maybe one or two a day, and even then, most aren't life-threatening."

He only excused himself when the Sun was edging closer to the horizon and his stomach was beginning to fight against him. He bid the polite Carathiliar farewell, after promising to meet with him the next time either was free and to continue their conversation. His mind was of two sides then, one content with a day spent with enjoyable company, the other a whirling mass of questions, contradictions, and loathing.

He tried to focus on the former.

When he got back to their camp, Velandus was once again at the fireside, stirring a pot that was emitting an aroma that pulled him towards it as if in a trance. The old man laughed, waving him away with a ladle.

"Back, marauder, give it a few more minutes. Maybe ten to be certain."

"That might as well be torture."

"Then be tortured someplace else. I sent Alleria over to the treeline after she protested in much the same way. Keep yourselves entertained."

Somewhat taken aback by his firmness, he followed where his finger was pointing to find Alleria, who was sitting with her back against a fallen log. She faced the forest, so he assumed she was keeping a watch now that it was getting late.

When he approached, she didn't even bother to shift her position to look at him. "Welcome back."

"Sorry I took so long, the conversation I found myself in was… quite engaging. I lost track of time."

"With a Carathiliar? Oh, it was the healer, wasn't it?"

"Lucky guess."

"Hardly so, hardly so, 'tis a tale as old as time." She cleared her throat, "A healer with a kind heart, amongst a race of the hateful and contemptuous, meets a mysterious foreigner in need of aid, aid that only she can give him. And despite what it means for the opinions those around her will have, she lets her heart guide her forward."

He stared at her, feeling his cheeks warming up. "What are you- it was a man."

"I mean, there's nothing wrong with that."

"What are you even…?" He strode forward and saw, in her lap, a small, dirty book. He couldn't read the title on the front, but taking in what she'd been saying, he could at least guess. "Where'd you even find that? And aren't you supposed to be on watch duty?"

"One, I picked it up from an adventurer in Fordain for a couple copper. It's pretty bad and wasn't worth the money, but it's at least entertainment during my downtime. And two, what do you take me for? I wasn't reading it now."

"Why would you pay money for that sort of thing?" He asked incredulously.

"Entertainment. Contrary to what you may think, even I need a few moments to myself here and there."

"But why spend it like that? Why not train, or meditate, or even pray?"

There was something off with her. Not that he had suddenly become an expert on reading the Demon, but he was starting to grow accustomed to her moods. Moods dictated actions, and most of the time her playful banter would only have annoyed him a little, if at all. But right now, what he heard was an edge in her voice, in the way she sat and the way she responded, completely contrary to her seemingly lackadaisical attitude.

"Spoken like someone who definitely hasn't experienced a mortal life before. Let me give it to you straight, Danadrian. No matter what you think, if you lived like that, every day, you would go insane within a few months."

"I-"

"Don't tell me you disagree, and believe you know more than the present mortal does, right?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, but eventually just sighed, "No, I won't. Though I would appreciate a little less of your mockery."

"You'll get used to it eventually. What were you talking about?"

"Various things. Differences in faith, culture, economic conditions, that sort of thing."

She scrunched her face up. "How riveting. And he knew you were a Lightbringer the moment he saw you. You should really consider hiding that thing, it makes you stand out."

Her finger pointed at the broach pinned to his cloak.

"I will not. There are some things we cannot compromise, Alleria."

"Hmph, I'll bet." She stood up. "It makes you a target and fixes you in their memories. Do you really think this healer is trustworthy?"

"He was perhaps one of the most eloquent and polite Carathiliar I've met."

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, because you've had soooo many conversations with them. And come on, saying he's politer than the others is like saying a beetle is a giant because the ant is smaller."

He felt a damn burst. "How would you even know? I was the one speaking to him, not you. What evidence do you have, generalisations and stereotypes? You think, just because you've seen a hundred bad that the chance of there being one good doesn't exist? You would judge a healer, a man who would bring only good into the world, because of a stereotype? If that were the case, it would make you no better than them, no better than those who scorn and demean you for the crime of being yourself. And how would they even know to improve, to be better and fix that tainted image strapped to them? How. Would. They. Know?"

Alleria didn't say anything, and it was only then that he realised she hadn't been saying anything for a while now. She had gone silent while watching his outburst. He could see her eyes flicking across his face, and she bit her lip.

"I-" He croaked out, "I- apologise, I should not have lost my temper. You didn't deserve to have to listen to that."

"Don't." She shook her head, "Don't apologise to me. I take back what I said about the mortality and how you understood it. I think that might have been the most Human thing you've ever done, at least around me."

Maybe her words were meant to comfort him, make him feel better, but she spoke from her own perspective. From her own past, her own experiences, and most importantly, her own beliefs.

And that wasn't what he wanted to hear.

His brain was swirling, throwing itself into an endless and tumultuous fog. He heard her words and his overlapping, his voice screaming at him. Had he been angry at her? The Carathiliar? Himself? It was all becoming one now, and his throat went dry.

Panic. I need to- I need-

He reached for the broach on his chest, praying with the last vestiges of his sanity that it would relieve him. Would focus him back on reality. Would bring him comfort. And instead, he felt the ever-distant Light remain as such.

Ever distant.

"Danadrian? Danadrian!"

Her voice was turned from confusion to concern, but it was fading away, becoming distant and incorporeal. As distant as everything now became. It was only him and the Darkness. It clawed at his throat, spat in his eyes, caressed his heart. The time between each breath was a lifetime. And then he saw it.

A spark.

He shoved Alleria aside. She tumbled into the dirt and looked back up at him.

"Hey, what on Andwelm was that-" Then she cut off.

There was an arrow embedded in the fallen trunk.

They heard shouts from the woods. His sword was already in his hands. When had he drawn it? He wasn't sure anymore. Only that the first figure was upon them, a cloaked and hooded man whirling his blade. Another arrow was loosed, missing him only by centimetres.

He smashed aside the blade and brought his down on their shoulder. He felt something crack, and then part of their arm burst. They toppled to the ground soon after. Another approached, and before he could even catch sight of Alleria, Danadrian was upon him.

Don't think. Don't think, just fight.

Their swords met, and he swiped aside the blade. Emerald eyes glared at him from behind a mask. They widened in surprise a second later when an arrowhead pierced their throat. He pulled away, and the man grunted, choked, and his sword hand faltered. Danadrian struck him in the head with his sword, and he collapsed.

Keep moving.

The third to meet him learned from his predecessors. When he advanced, it was with a shield in one hand, and when they met, there was more defence in his style. More reserve.

He responded with an onslaught. Strike after strike, swing, and bash, using the blunt force of his weapon the way it was supposed to. The assailant, despite having leapt at him in an ambush, was now hesitating and stepping back. No doubt he saw what had become of those before him.

Something lit in Danadrian. He felt warmth tugging at his fingertips, and when he raised them, he could see.

"Light."

A thin line of Light, thinner than even a kitchen knife, formed in his hand. At his command, it pierced through the shield, cloak, and leather. It met flesh and, without resistance, appeared on the other side.

He didn't see so much as a choke or reaction before the warrior fell. Then he turned, looking for the next to try and kill him, and noticed too late that the arrows had stopped falling. It was quiet, and the blood rushing through his head began to cease.

Alleria reappeared from the treeline, sporting only a cut on her arm that was already healing. When she looked at him, she froze. And then, to his surprise, backed away.

Velandus was standing nearby, his face a mask of emotions he couldn't read. They hadn't even got close to him.

"Danadrian?"

His head cleared. The fog lifted. And then he felt the cold air touching his skin, the light of the Sun now disappeared into the night. The smell of blood and death on the air.

He turned and stooped down to the body beside him. His eyes were still staring up in surprise. Ruby eyes. When he pulled back the cloth obscuring his face, the Light left him once more.

Carathiliar.

His face was young, maybe as young as Danadrian thought he looked. The tattoos on his face were small, and now that he could look closer, rough and uneven. On another face, you might have assumed them to be strange scars from an accident or a small creature. He actually did have a scar, a thin one across his forehead. He could almost see the knife that had nicked him.

He moved to the second body and looked at the emerald-eyed corpse of another Carathiliar. His body had convulsed longer than the others, life slowly draining from him. Though his face was cleaner than expected, contrasting the wet blood that covered his neck. It was painted lightly blue, and more intricate in design and detail than the other. A lot more time had been spent on them.

The last one was a woman. Her skin was lighter than the others by a few shades, and it occurred to him that for an entire race of grey-skinned people, they achieved remarkable variance. Her tattoo was a symbol drawn on her forehead and, for the first time, he thought he recognised it. It had been in the Company hall in Fordain, beside one of the higher-ranked jobs. He thought it meant bravery, or tenacity, or something similar. Even in death, the look on her face was one of defiance.

Danadrian stepped back and felt at his cheeks. They were wet.

He spared no glances for the others around him. He spared no time for his thoughts.

The Fallen Angelica of Mayare wept for his enemies.