The Pale Priestess
by RavenoftheBlack
Status: Public
Word Count: 10000

The moment the tent’s flap moved, Kinechu looked up expectantly, but was immediately disappointed. It was only the wind. It wasn’t Him. Kinechu sighed. It was nearly midnight, and they hadn’t seen Him in hours. Kinechu looked around at the others seated around the small map table, the other officers of the Freedom’s Corps, and they all wore the same expression of disappointment. Time was running out.

Finally, Kinechu settled his eyes on one of the officers, a very capable woman named Mogush. When she met his gaze, Kinechu nodded once. “Do we know where He is?”

Mogush shook her head. “He said that He would scout to the east, and then try to speak with some of the troops.”

Kinechu and a few of the other officers gave a pleasant laugh. “That sounds like the Hero, alright,” Kinechu said. “He cares more about the safety and morale of his soldiers than of himself.”

“How long has it been since He has slept?” Another officer, a satyr named Kozarod, asked with a mixture of amazement and concern.

“Two days, at least,” Kinechu said. “And that’s only what he’s admitted to me. I would guess three or four, frankly.”

Kozarod shook his head, as did several of the others. Mogush leaned forward and tapped three times on the map. “Do you think He will be ready?”

The satyr shrugged. “Are we certain they will attack tomorrow?”

Kinechu nodded. “There’s no doubt. The forces of the Pale Priestess have been pushing southward for weeks, swallowing up or converting everything in their path. They have the numbers, and the momentum. I can’t imagine them holding back.” He paused, purposefully moving his gaze over to Mogush. “And yes, He will be ready.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then smiled. “I think you’re right, Kinechu.”

“He usually is,” a deep, new voice sounded from the tent’s flap. The officers looked over as one to see the strong, muscular form of the Hero enter, a confident half-smile plastered on his handsome face. “That is why he is my most trusted officer. But what is he right about this time?”

Kinechu and Mogush shared a quick glance before the woman answered. “Kinechu was merely saying that we are ready for battle tomorrow.”

The Hero’s face darkened slightly, and Kinechu’s eyes dropped. The Hero was still something of an enigma to the Freedom’s Corps. They had never seen a man like him before, with such a profound gift for battle, both physically and mentally. He was a warrior without equal, and a mind for strategy the likes of which Kinechu had never seen. And yet, the man seemed to dislike battle, wishing for some better method to stop the spread of the Pale Priestess’s cult and influence. No one commanded more love, respect, and devotion from the troops than the Hero did, and perhaps because of that, He hated the thought of sending the soldiers out to die.

The Hero was also an enigma to the Freedom’s Corps because nobody knew who He was or where He had come from. No one even knew His name. He had appeared one day in the midst of a massacre. Cultists of the Pale Priestess had attacked the town of Prevgorod, a large but poorly defended city full of people who resisted the heresy of the Pale Priestess. Her soldiers were decimating the town until the Hero arrived. He rallied the townsfolk and repelled the enemy. When asked His name, He merely said that until this evil is destroyed, He did not deserve one. He said that He fought for the people, not for personal glory. It had been Kinechu and the other officers of the gathering resistance who had named him the Hero, a name they felt He had deservingly forged in the heat of battle.

And even now, as He stood at the flap of the command tent, He looked every bit the hero that the others had named him. If He were truly as exhausted as He should have been, He gave no outward sign of it. Kinechu offered him a small goblet of wine, but the Hero refused with a small shake of His head. Kinechu set the goblet back down and cleared His throat.

“Did you discover anything while scouting, sir?”

The Hero nodded. “The enemy attempted to flank us to the east, but a rock slide in the canyon prevented them. They may have lost a few soldiers to the folly, but it will not hurt their numbers much. Nonetheless, the east is clear.”

“Where does that leave us for tomorrow, then, sir?” Kozarod asked.

The Hero seemed to hesitate, but then smiled. “Our troops are warriors. They are strong, they are proud, and they are prepared. With the eastward path closed off, the forces of the Pale Priestess will have to come straight south, which is precisely where we want them to come. Our troops can hold, and we always have the Bridge to fall back to, should we need it.”

“Is it true we are greatly outnumbered, sir?” Mogush asked.

The Hero glanced at her, his smile fading for a moment before reemerging even larger than before. “One soldier can defeat one hundred, if on the side of righteousness. Do you disbelieve that?”

She grinned back at him. “No, sir!”

He grinned. “Good,” He said, turning to face the rest of the officers. “They do have more troops than we do, there is no denying that. But they fight for the lies of the Pale Priestess. We fight for the truths she wishes to destroy. We are strong. We are brave. And we are prepared.”

“Are you, sir?” The room fell silent as Kinechu’s voice rang out in his question.

The Hero looked over to His most trusted officer with a slightly confused look. “Of course, I am prepared. There is still much to do before dawn, but…”

“Forgive me, sir,” Kinechu interrupted, hating himself for doing so. “But that is what I mean. How long has it been since you last slept? Two days? Three? Four? You need rest, sir.”

“I can rest after the battle, Kinechu,” the Hero said. “Be it in my bedroll or in the ground. We must be sure everything is set before the heretics attack.”

“We can see to the preparations, sir” Kinechu pressed, indicating the officers around the table. “You should sleep before dawn.”

The Hero was about to argue, but He glanced around the table to see the assenting nods of the others. Finally, the Hero sighed and laid one hand on Kinechu’s armored shoulder. “I knew I chose wisely when I selected you, my friend. Very well. I will sleep. The rest of you, please be sure your troops are ready. I spoke with as many of them as I could when I returned, and morale seems high. See to it that morale is higher by dawn. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” The officers answered nearly in unison before standing and filing out of the command tent and out into the darkness of the night. The Hero moved off toward his bedroll, which was rolled up on the floor in the corner of the tent, but Kinechu stood where he was. Once everyone else had left, the man bowed his head and spoke softly.

“Sir, I hope you don’t feel that I overstepped my bounds.”

The Hero looked up at him, surprised. “Of course not, Kinechu. Your duty is to see to the safety of the army, and that of course included me. Thank you. You are a good officer, and a good friend.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, but did not move. After a few moments, the Hero spoke again, concerned.

“Is there something else, Kinechu? What is bothering you?”

“Sir, just how outnumbered are we?”

“Does it matter?” The Hero asked him. “You know that we cannot run from this fight, or the Pale Priestess will sweep south like an unstoppable deluge.”

“I know, sir,” Kinechu said hesitantly. “But…I would just like to know.”

The Hero sighed. “Four to one,” He said matter-of-factly. “Or somewhere near there. And that is assuming that she does not receive reinforcements before morning. Her larger force still waits in the Lakelands, if our intelligence can be trusted.”

“But sir, we have reserves, as well,” Kinechu reminded him. “Shouldn’t we send for our own reinforcements?”

“If we had the time, there is nothing I would like better than more soldiers, Kinechu,” the Hero said with a shake of his head. “But the troops of the Pale Priestess will not stop coming until they have won or been routed. You know that. We saw it at Votroy, we saw it at Goraput, and we saw it at the Gulch. They are relentless. By this time tomorrow night, the battle will be over, and our closest reinforcements are three or four days away. And we cannot withdraw, because if we lose the river, nothing will stop them. It has to be us, Kinechu, and it has to be tomorrow.”

Kinechu nodded. He knew the truth of what the other man was saying, even if he wanted to believe that there was a better way. “Where will you be tomorrow, sir?”

The Hero laughed, just once. “At the front lines, naturally. The troops need something to believe in.”

“Yes, sir,” Kinechu agreed. “They do indeed.”

Without another word, Kinechu left the tent, hoping the Hero would actually get some sleep as they had asked him to. For a few moments, the officer tried to think about what he could do. The odds were not hopeless, but they were certainly daunting. They were going to need every advantage they could muster if they were going to repel the forces of the Pale Priestess. Kinechu bit his lip at the thought of that vile witch. She had seemed to come from nowhere, and almost instantly established her cult. And her soldiers followed her like a goddess, their belief in her teachings an infinite fuel.

A sudden thought occurred to Kinechu, and he was moving almost before he realized it. If belief made the soldiers of the Pale Priestess stronger, it could do the same for the troops of the Freedom’s Corps. Kinechu went first to the men under his direct command, who were positioned near the front of the camp. When he found them, most were talking about the Hero, who had apparently come to visit them earlier in the evening. Kinechu smiled. That would make things easier. He approached his men casually and told them to relax, that discipline would be needed tomorrow, not tonight. And then he set to work.

Kinechu spoke to his men about the Hero. He told them about who the Hero was and what He stood for, told them of the sacrifices He had made for them already and the sacrifices He was prepared to make tomorrow. He spoke in glowing terms, embellishing wherever he needed to in order to make the Hero sound all the more grand, spectacular, and superhuman. At times, he even made up stories completely, telling them how the Hero had slain dragons and killed demons before being sent to help stop the forces of the Pale Priestess. Some of his men seemed doubtful of some of the Hero’s supposed accolades. Most, though, were completely taken in. By the time Kinechu was finished, most believed the Hero was their savior.

Kinechu did not stop with his own troops, though. For the rest of that night, he went from unit to unit, to anyone who was still awake and willing to listen to him. Every time, Kinechu told the same stories in the same way, careful not to mix up the fabricated details. In the morning, soldiers would talk to one another, and they would hear familiar stories. They would hear of some extraordinary feat the Hero had apparently accomplished, and say, “I heard that, too!” And both the teller and the listener would believe the story even more. Belief was a powerful weapon, and now the Freedom’s Corps had something of their own to believe in.

The next morning, just before dawn, the soldiers of the Freedom’s Corps army were lined up and ready to fight. Their blood was boiling, their eyes were focused, and they were already working themselves into a battle frenzy. The army had taken up position on the north side of the river, across a massive field from the forces of the Pale Priestess. The field was littered with small patches of trees and rocks, but much of the view was open. Once the sun rose, Kinechu knew his soldiers would see how thoroughly they were outmatched. Although his body and his face was exhausted from the efforts of the night before, he smiled. He knew his soldiers would be strong and brave, and would fight with one word on their lips: Hero.

As if in answer to Kinechu’s thought, the Hero emerged. He moved with his head high and his broad shoulders back. He was tall and dark-haired, clean-shaven and confident. He wore no armor, instead opting for tough leather trousers and a thick, simple shirt open halfway down his muscular chest. He wore only a broadsword in a plain leather scabbard hooked to his belt. Despite his relatively simple garb, the Hero carried himself with the confidence and charisma of the kings and princes of old. His very appearance seemed to charge the soldiers, and they were screaming in anticipation and excitement even before the Hero took his place at the head of the army.

As the sun began to climb over the horizon, the Hero attempted to deliver a speech to his soldiers. Kinechu was only a short distance away, at the front of his own men at the eastern end of the army, but even from his distance, he could not hear a word the Hero was saying. The roar of the soldiers drowned him out completely. But still, He held his head up as He spoke, his movements and actions animated. And despite the fact that only a handful could have possibly heard him, the soldiers reacted to his every move. He was likely talking about freedom and the enemy, but it didn’t matter. He may as well have been talking about how He had slept the night before. The soldiers were his, completely.

Then, suddenly, the Hero spun on his heels, drew his sword, and held it toward the forces of the Pale Priestess. With a tremendous bellow that carried even above the cacophony of the frenzied soldiers, the Hero yelled “Charge!”

Together, the soldiers of the Freedom’s Corps screamed out their battle cry and surged forward, none with more vigor and ferocity than Kinechu. And although his men followed him, it was the name of “Hero” that they yelled, and it was towards the Hero that their eyes were turned. The enemy army was charging, as well, but they seemed to move much slower, as if intimidated by the sight. Kinechu grinned like a madman. The enemy’s hesitation was an advantage for the Freedom’s Corps, and it was likely the only one they would have. Hopefully, it would be the only one they would need.

Kinechu was as close to a seasoned battle veteran as the Freedom’s Corps got. He had fought in nearly all of the major conflicts with the Cult of the Pale Priestess, and had served in a city garrison before that, which was more combat experience than most. Still, the moment the two front lines crashed into one another, Kinechu lost sight of the greater battle and concentrated on keeping himself and his men alive. The force of the impact was incredible as the dust from both armies mingled together to obscure the view. The first several enemies Kinechu saw rushed past him, one or two throwing sloppy strikes his way before their momentum carried them past him and into his soldiers. Kinechu, also, struck where he could, undoubtedly as sloppily as his enemies had.

The battle was chaos, but in that first clash at least, Kinechu and his unit were the victors. Kinechu tried to scream out orders and organize his men, but the enemy was coming in too quickly. He had to duck and twist away from dozens of strikes as swords and axes seemed to fly in his direction, but he always found a way to strike back, dropping any heretic he could see while doing whatever he could to support his troops. Kinechu was choking on the dust even as it was burning in his eyes, but he merely kept his mind on the Hero, letting his commander’s strength feed his own as he fought on.

The fighting was fierce for long moments where Kinechu and his men were battling, and the officer had to watch as one of his soldiers took a sword through the neck, and another one an axe to the gut, and a third a spear through the heart. Kinechu rallied his men, and drove the enemy back, his own blade slick with the blood of those who had murdered his men. But there were always more heretics to take their places. Kinechu was already drenched in blood and sweat, and the ground was becoming slick with the gore of the fallen. Even if he could see past the enemies directly in his way, he was never given more than a few moments to risk trying. And the heretics never stopped coming.

Then, suddenly, Kinechu felt as though he were getting stronger. The fatigue in his muscles seemed to melt away, and he felt larger than he had been before. Two of the heretics came at him then, and Kinechu swatted them away almost effortlessly compared to the battle thus far. Another of the enemy flew into view from Kinechu’s left, and the officer’s strike knocked the man’s sword right out of his hands. Kinechu finished him off, and then began to rally his troops once again, only to realize there was no further point. The chaotic dust of battle seemed to split open to reveal the Hero himself. Kinechu’s heart pounded, and his men cheered.

The tide of battle turned then as Kinechu’s troops, along with the newly arrived leader of their army, pushed back against the confused and frightened heretics of the Pale Priestess. After only a few brief moments of this surge, many of the enemy turned and ran, clearly overmatched by the Hero. As they did, the Hero turned to Kinechu. He gave his officer a brief, half-smile and clapped him hard on the arm, and then nodded before taking off again back westward, where the fighting was still intense. Kinechu took just a moment to marvel at the Hero. Even in the chaos of battle, He must have recognized the danger, fought over to him, and saved them, only to immediately turn to do the same for others.

The foul scent of blood was everywhere, and Kinechu coughed as the odor filled his nostrils. He forced himself to regain his composure and take stock of the situation. They must have been fighting for longer than he had realized, because the sun was already climbing high. Kinechu ordered his men, many of whom were struggling for breath, to collect themselves and prepare for another assault. The enemy had almost entirely vacated the area he and his troops were in, and Kinechu was able to jog away several paces to a small hillock, where he had a better view of the battle.

Against the officer’s hopes, the enemy was far from defeated. While they had mostly withdrawn from the eastern side of the battlefield, the fighting was still heavy in the middle and in the west. From his vantage point, Kinechu could see the path the Hero was taking along the front lines. Wherever He went, the battle seemed to turn in the favor of the Freedom’s Corps. It was an incredible, surreal sight. But beyond the front lines, behind the rocks and the trees, Kinechu could see the forces of the Pale Priestess. The officer frowned, and tried to remember the words the Hero had spoken the night before, and the things He had already done in this battle. But there were just so many of the enemy left to fight.

Then, suddenly, Kinechu caught sight of something else. At first, he had no idea what they were, but as he squinted into the sky above the enemy army, recognition began to cross his face. “Aven,” he whispered to himself. They were still small shapes in the distance, but they were flying toward the Freedom’s Corps army. Quickly, Kinechu whistled and waved over one of his captains. “Glaza,” he said as she drew near. “You have better eyes than I do.” He pointed to the Aven. “Are they ours?”

The captain put one hand above her eyes to shield them from the light and stared, then shook her head. “Blue banners, sir. They’re not ours.”

Kinechu exhaled slowly, then nodded. “We need to get to the bows. Glaza, I’m leaving you in command of most of the unit. Hold the line, and only move toward the center if the Hero orders you to.”

She nodded. “What about you, sir?”

“I’m taking everyone who knows how to shoot and heading back to camp to get the bows,” he glanced back at the sky. The Aven were moving slowly, but they were heading toward the Corps. “And we’d better hurry.”

Kinechu’s troops were tired and worn out from the heated battle, but they were also organized and disciplined when it mattered. It took only a few moments for the officer to choose the ten best bowmen from his company and set off with them at a run for the camp. They ran as fast as they could back to the Bridge, where the few reserves waited in case the enemy broke through the front line. With just a few words to Kozarod, who was commanding the reserves, they were allowed to pass and were back at camp.

They barely had time to string the bows before they heard the flapping of wings. Kinechu looked up and saw them immediately. There were at least two dozen Aven closing in on the camp, their hawk-like heads scanning the ground below for any possible targets. The first several of them dove for the covered wagons near the center of the mostly abandoned camp. Kinechu pointed and called to his men.

“They’re going after the food stores!”

Even before he had finished speaking, six of his men released their arrows, four finding their mark on the diving Aven. The rest of the birdfolk screeched and swooped toward the soldiers, their talons glinting in the sunlight. Kinechu and the four remaining archers shot their arrows, and all but Kinechu’s found their marks. The Aven closed fast, and the soldiers of the Freedom’s Corps hit the ground, ducking just out of range of the Aven’s deadly grasp. Most of the birds arched back up into the sky for another pass, but half a dozen of them landed just a short distance away from the soldiers, evidently intent on engaging the soldiers hand to wing.

Kinechu, knowing he was not the best archer, dropped his bow and drew his sword, asking for three others to join him. The birds on the ground were already nearing them, and Kinechu rushed to confront them even before he had his volunteers. Unlike the loyal Aven of Twenty Peaks that Kinechu knew well, these had no arms, but were no less deadly in combat. They were quick and agile, and much lighter than their size suggested. Their talons and their beaks were every bit as sharp as Kinechu’s sword was. And the murder in their eyes told the officer that they were at least as deadly as any of the Pale Priestess’s soldiers.

With reckless abandon, Kinechu charged straight into the group of six, lowering his head for impact. Just before he reached them, though, he wheeled away to his right. The Aven converged on the spot he should have been, and Kinechu hacked the nearest one across the back before the bird could recover. Knowing he had only a few short seconds to take advantage, Kinechu launched himself at a second Aven, burying his sword down to the hilt in its stomach. The bird shrieked an inhuman screech as it died, pulling Kinechu to the ground as he fell. The officer tried to pull his sword free, but as he did, one of the Aven’s wings caught him hard across the face, sending him flying to the ground.

Kinechu was dazed, but he could focus enough to see his men arrive and engage the remaining birds. The first one slashed at the nearest Aven and missed, and the bird dug one giant claw into his thigh, bringing him to his knees. The soldier retained enough sense through the pain to slash again, cutting deep into the bird’s wing. The Aven withdrew its talons and turned away, but Kinechu had regained his air, and he forced himself back to his feet. The Aven tried to run and take off again, but Kinechu caught it hard on his good wing, then hooked his sword around the bird’s neck. It struggled to shake him, but Kinechu proved stronger, and slit his enemy’s throat.

Just as he did, however, Kinechu felt a tremendous impact strike him in the back. He tried to roll with the blow, but only succeeded in landing hard on his right arm, almost dropping his sword in the process. He turned around just in time to feel razor sharp talons bore into his side, right through his leather armor. He made a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a scream as the pain ripped through him. He looked up to see the burning eyes of the Aven as it stared down at him. Kinechu saw movement behind the Aven as one of his soldiers charged at the bird, but the Aven merely batted him away with a single, powerful swat of his wings. Kinechu, however, did not waste the distraction, and drove his sword into the Aven’s leg, then twisted. The Aven screeched in pain and fell over, and Kinechu pulled out his sword, and then, using all of his weight, thrust it into the bird’s heart.

Kinechu was breathing heavily and losing blood from his wounds, but he managed to climb to his feet and survey the situation. All six of the Aven who had landed were dead, but so were two of the three soldiers who had dropped their bows to fight them. The third one, who had saved Kinechu, was unconscious on the ground from the bird’s strike. Three of the other soldiers he had brought with him had also fallen, and the other four had scattered, taking cover and firing at the airborne menace when they could. Above, several birds were still flying around, but it was difficult for Kinechu to get an accurate count of them. There were at least five, but his head was swimming, and he knew there may have been more.

Before Kinechu could truly collect himself, one of the remaining Aven dove at him. The officer ducked out of the way, which shot pain from his wound all the way through his body. Kinechu managed to get up again, watching the Aven as it banked in air and turned around for another pass. Before it could get to him, though, Kinechu sensed motion behind him. Trusting his instincts, he jumped to the side and spun around. Blood sprayed from his wound at the exertion, but he surprised the Aven swooping at him from behind, his sword three quarters of the way into the bird’s chest.

Kinechu tried to pull his sword out of the fallen foe, but his strength was failing him. Before he could manage to extricate the blade, another Aven was there, and Kinechu forced himself to duck despite the pain. This time, however, the bird anticipated the maneuver and dove lower, raking its talons across Kinechu’s back and left shoulder. Kinechu leaned against his sword to brace against the pain, and watched the Aven out of the corner of his eye as he gathered what little strength he had left. But he knew he only had one more chance. As the Aven neared again, Kinechu leapt into action. The bird expected the attack, but the wounded officer jumped higher than the bird had expected, and slashed it across the chest, killing it. Kinechu had only a moment to enjoy his victory, however, as a second Aven crashed into him, launching him backwards. He landed hard on his back and wounded shoulder as the pain erupted through him. His sword fell from his hands, his vision blurred and then, finally, faded completely as Kinechu sank into darkness.

With a painful grunt, Kinechu found his eyes opening. His wounds felt warm, but surprisingly, not painful. He struggled to move, but found that he couldn’t. He groaned in protest, but his body simply refused to respond. He couldn’t even manage to turn his head. He was lying on the ground, presumably in the same spot he had fallen, and was staring up at the clear sky above. The sun was just out of his eyes, which meant it was either approaching noon, or a short time after it. Kinechu had no idea which. All he knew was that he was struggling to breathe.

Suddenly, the warmth in his wounds disappeared, but the pain, mercifully, did not return. After a few seconds, a shape filled the officer’s vision. It was a head. A human head. Kinechu’s eyes widened as his vision cleared enough to recognize the Hero, who was smiling down at him with his familiar half-smile.

“Try to relax, Kinechu,” the other man said. “You are going to survive.”

“But, my wounds,” Kinechu managed, his throat impossibly dry. “I should have bled out. I should be dead.”

The Hero shook his head. “Your wounds were not as bad as they appeared. You will be back on your feet and fighting again in no time.”

“I’ve been a fighting man all my life, sir,” Kinechu said, managing to turn his head slightly. There was no one else around but he and the Hero. “I’ve seen wounds like this before. Men don’t recover from them.”

“You will,” the Hero said, laying a hand on the officer’s shoulder. Kinechu could feel warmth pouring into his body. “That is an order, do you understand?”

Kinechu nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said with a smile. Then, suddenly, his eyes shot open. “You! You’re healing me, aren’t you? This…this is magic! You…you’re a god!”

The Hero’s smile widened, but He shook his head. “You are simply delirious from your wounds, Kinechu.”

“No, it’s true! You…”

The Hero shook his head more forcefully this time. “Rest now, Kinechu. We will need you again, soon enough. That, too, is an order.”

“I…” Kinechu began, but then stopped. Reluctantly, he nodded again. “Yes, sir. But whatever you are and whatever you’re doing, thank you.”

Then Kinechu’s eyes closed again, and he fell off into sleep.

That night, in the Hero’s command tent, the officers of the Freedom’s Corps held a meeting, once again gathered around the small map table at the tent’s center. Kinechu looked around at nearly the same faces he had the night before. Only the Hero and the satyr Kozarod looked to be in perfect health. The others all carried cuts and bruises from the day’s battle. Mogush’s right arm was heavily bandaged, but she still had enough strength to lift her sword, and so the medics had allowed her to attend. Two other officers had not been so fortunate. One was fading in and out of consciousness in the medical tent. The other was lying beneath the ground in the grave the Freedom’s Corps had dug for him.

Despite the injuries suffered by many of the officers, and many more of the soldiers, the battle had gone remarkably well for the Corps. They had repelled the much larger forces of the Pale Priestess, and had suffered comparatively few casualties in the process. Many strong and brave soldiers gave their lives for their victory, but it was indeed victory that they had earned. But now the time had come to look to the future. The enemy army was routed, and they had fled to the northwest. But the Pale Priestess herself was far from beaten, and everybody in that tent knew it well.

Finally, after a long silence, the Hero stood up, his handsome features shadowed in the imperfect lamplight in the tent. He laid one hand on the map, then spoke, looking each officer in the eyes one by one as He did. “I said this earlier today, but I will repeat myself. Excellent work, all of you. This was the most difficult battle we have fought against the Pale Priestess yet, and we have come out victorious. This victory is yours, my friends, and your soldiers’ victory, as well.” The officers nodded their agreement, although nearly all of them wanted to credit the Hero himself. They knew that He would deny it, however, and so no one interrupted him. “But now, we must think on the morning.”

The officers of the Freedom’s Corps nodded their silent agreement, and the Hero continued, drawing a line on the map with his finger. “Our victory today ensures that the Pale Priestess and her vile troops cannot continue south at this point. The Tawmalt Mountains directly west of us will prevent her army from passing there, and west of that, the city of Teverty is loyal to the cause of freedom, and she will not try to pass there.” He moved his finger westward, slowly and carefully. “That leaves us with one conclusion, one which I have been dreading.”

“Briarthorn,” Kinechu said simply.

The others turned their heads to look at the officer, but the Hero simply nodded. “Briarthorn,” He agreed. “The Forest Bastion, the Last Woods. We have been sending messages to the Woodsfolk for months, warning them of the danger the Pale Priestess poses and asking for alliance. Each time, we receive the same response. Briarthorn tells us that they are neutral, and wish to remain so. But with our victory here today, the Pale Priestess has no other alternative. The Forest Bastion is centrally located, and extends deep into the territory we control. If the Pale Priestess takes that forest, she gains at least half a dozen points of entrance into allied lands.”

“Are the Woodsfolk the only undeclared lands now?” Kozarod asked.

Mogush nodded her head. “The Lakelands, the Mire Crawls, the Steppes and Flatt’s Landing, even the Painted Wells, all of them belong to the Pale Priestess.”

Kinechu nodded his agreement. “Meanwhile, the Dales, Twenty Peaks, Crimson Cliffs, and the Creeping Tundra have all joined our alliance.”

“What about Ancestor’s Hold?” The Satyr pressed.

“Destroyed,” the Hero said with a sad tone. “It was a fortnight ago, perhaps two. We have no official word on who destroyed it, but…”

“We know who destroyed it!” Kinechu spouted, before stopping himself. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to…”

The Hero smiled his usual half-smile at Kinechu. “Do not apologize, my friend. You are right to be angry. The Pale Priestess’s heresy is boundless. We must stop her. I do not pretend to know what sort of control she has over those cultists who follow her, but we have never broken one of it. Never. They must be stopped. But…”

This time, the Hero merely stopped. The other officers stared at him for a long time before Mogush prompted him. “Sir?”

The Hero exhaled. “I know that we need to stop the Pale Priestess’s advance. But, I wish we could do so and still respect the neutrality of Briarthorn. They did nothing to deserve this, and now war is coming to their doorstep.”

“We did nothing to deserve this either,” Kozarod said. “And yet, sir, we must fight.”

The Hero nodded, but did not look convinced.

“We cannot overlook the possibility,” Mogush began cautiously, “that Briarthorn may already be under Her control. There is nothing more insidious than the influence of the Pale Priestess. The lands of the alliance, we know are loyal, because we have heard from them. We have access to their lands. We each come from one of them! But we know nothing of Briarthorn. No one knows what happens within those woods.”

“And the Pale Priestess will think nothing of marching her armies through there,” Kinechu added. “If we do not march to intercept her, she will take the forest, sir.”

The Hero nodded. “I know. But does that truly give us the right, the justification, to commit the very crime that She would commit?”

The satyr shrugged. “In war, there are always casualties, sir. You know that. Sometimes, those casualties will be innocents. It is regretful, but unpreventable.”

“Sir,” Mogush added. “Would you rather the Woodsfolk suffer war, but perhaps survive and rebuild, or be eternally enslaved to that witch?”

The Hero ran one large hand through his black hair as He thought. Suddenly, He seemed to decide something. “We shall vote.”

“Sir?” Mogush asked. “You are in command of this army. We will go where you command us to go. But if you wish the opinion of the officers gathered here, I think we are of one mind.”

The other officers nodded, and after a moment, so did the Hero. “I know that. But those gathered here in this tent will not be the only ones fighting, and dying, and killing. We will not be the only ones to commit this crime against the Last Woods. You say I am in command of this army? Very well. Then I wish to conduct a vote of the troops.”

The other officers exchanged glances, but the Hero was adamant. “We shall each go out to the soldiers and ask each and every one. Tally the votes, and give them to me. I will respect the wishes of the majority.” When the others did not move, the Hero straightened. “That is an order, officers.”

They glanced at each other again, but eventually nodded. “Yes, sir,” they murmured.

As the officers filed out of the command tent, Kinechu’s mind was on earlier that day. The Hero may have denied it, but Kinechu knew the truth. The Hero had healed him. There was no other explanation. The wounds from the Aven talons were too deep to have healed on their own, let alone in the span of a few short hours. Even now, Kinechu felt no pain, and his scars were minimal. Such a thing was beyond the realm of human capabilities. Kinechu was certain now. The Hero was a god.

There was no other explanation. It made perfect sense. Nobody knew who the Hero was or where He had come from, and yet He fought for them as any native child would. The officers and soldiers had come from every region of the allied lands, and yet despite the Hero’s obvious knowledge and experience in combat, no one had served with him before. The Hero had refused to give his name on the grounds that He was fighting for the people, but perhaps there was a different reason. Perhaps, like all the nameless gods, He had never been given a name. The more Kinechu thought about it, the more he became convinced that it was the only explanation to the Hero enigma. He was a god, descending from the Heavens to help the people in the time of their most dire need.

Kinechu’s mind was made up by the time he reached his men. As he had been commanded to, he explained the situation, telling them everything the Hero had said and asking for a vote on the army’s course of action. However, he did not stop there. Kinechu also explained his theory to his men. He showed his men his wounds and told them how he had received them. He described how his blood had flown from those wounds like steam from a mountain geyser, and how the Hero had healed him. At first, the men were doubtful, but Kinechu was quick to point out how the Aven had killed ten of their comrades, as well, and only Kinechu himself had lived. He pointed out how quickly and how completely the tide of battle had turned the moment the Hero had arrived. His troops could not deny this, and one by one, they seemed to accept it.

Kinechu gathered the votes of his soldiers by a secret ballot. Each one took a tiny piece of parchment and wrote either “yea” or “nay,” without signing their name or leaving their mark. He was disappointed in the outcome. Despite their reverence of the Hero and their increasing belief in his divinity, the vote was split down the middle. Kinechu could understand the feelings of soldiers wanting to return to their families, but they still had a duty to do. Tallying up the votes, he was momentarily heartbroken to find that the nays surpassed the yeas, although by only three votes. He briefly considered lying about the result, but dismissed the idea quickly. He could never lie to the Hero. He could never lie to a god.

A few short hours later, and the officers were once again gathered in the Hero’s tent, refusing to look at one another or even at the Hero himself as He made the final count of the votes. The silence in that tent was stifling. Kinechu found it hard to breathe, and he gulped for air. Mogush fidgeted in her chair, and Kozarod nervously tapped one cloven hoof on the ground as they awaited news of their fate. Each one of them wanted to march, but that decision was no longer in their hands. The officers had not discussed with each other the results of the vote. It hadn’t seemed right. The individual decision of each company didn’t matter, only the decision of the whole.

Finally, after a long pause, the Hero rejoined the others. His face looked sorrowful, but it was often difficult to read his expression with any degree of certainty. The Hero sighed deeply, looked at each of his officers in the eyes one after another, and then spoke.

“We march to Briarthorn.”

The officers, almost as one, gave a sigh of relief. The Hero nodded.

“The vote was a close one. Many of our soldiers wish to go home, and I cannot blame them. Nor should any of you. Be sure your troops know that this was their decision, and the majority voted to march.” He stopped, pointing at the map. “We can be to the edge of Briarthorn in three days. It should take the Pale Priestess’s troops at least four. Still, we cannot delay. I want the troops ready to march by morning.”

And they were. By the time the sun rose the next day, the army had struck camp and was ready to move westward toward Briarthorn. Messenger falcons were sent to the city of Teverty to prepare whatever soldiers they could spare to bolster the Freedom’s Corps depleted troops, as well as to the Crimson Cliffs beyond and the Dales further south, in the hopes that their full force could converge on Briarthorn. The army of the Freedom’s Corps moved quickly and with few rests, intent on arriving well before the forces of the Pale Priestess.

While they marched, Kinechu broke with military tradition, and encouraged his men to mingle with those of other companies. As subtly as he could, he also encouraged them to speak with the other men about the Hero, to extol every virtue and every miracle He had performed during the previous day. His hope was that by the time they reached Briarthorn, the entire army would believe as he did that the Hero was a god sent to lead them to victory. Kinechu himself spent his time trying to convince the other officers of the same. Mogush and several others who had fought alongside him were convinced relatively easily, but he had to spend all of the second day and most of the third working on Kozarod. Eventually, though, if any of them didn’t believe it, all at least accepted the possibility.

The Freedom’s Corps army arrived at the southern end of the Briarthorn forest in the late afternoon, just a few hours before sunset. As they were setting up camp, a heavy fog began to billow up from the forest floor, obscuring the massive trunks of the trees, but not extending beyond the edge of the forest to where the army was making camp. The Hero sent out another messenger falcon, and when it returned, He called another meeting with his officers. Because his command tent had yet to be set up, they met a short distance away from the rest of the army, and well in view of the shrouded forest.

“This is no natural fog,” Kozarod said, casting occasional glances at the forest.

“Unless this clears, there is no way we could fight in that, sir,” Mogush added.

“No,” the Hero agreed. “It would seem apparent that the Woodsfolk do not wish us to fight. Perhaps they take their neutrality seriously.”

There was a strong note of uncertainty in his voice, something that the other officers had never heard there before. “Is there something wrong, sir?” Kinechu asked.

The Hero hesitated, but finally nodded. “I have dispatched spies north of the forest. The forces of the Pale Priestess have moved faster than we anticipated, and they arrived at nearly the same moment that we did.”

“They reported to you by Falcon, sir?” Mogush asked.

“Yes,” again, He hesitated. Finally, shaking his head, He spoke. “I sent my falcon asking them about the forest fog. They reported…that there is no fog on the north side of Briarthorn.”

The officers looked at one another with concern. Finally, it was Kozarod who broke the silence. “So they would welcome the Pale Priestess.”

“We do not know that,” the Hero stated, then sighed. “But it would appear so, yes.”

“What should we do, sir?” Kinechu asked.

“We can do nothing until the fog clears,” the Hero stated, strength and conviction returning to his voice, “which will likely not be until morning. In the meantime, prepare the troops. Though it pains me to say it, we must look to the Woodsfolk as enemies, until they prove themselves otherwise. Post sentries and fortify the camp as best we can. I want each soldier prepared to battle at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, sir!” the officers answered him before dispersing to give their orders. Before Kinechu could leave, however, the Hero caught him gently by the arm and asked him to stay. Once the other officers were out of earshot, the Hero spoke.

“Kinechu, may I confide something in you?”

“Of course, sir.”

The Hero paused, and then turned to look at the forest. “Kinechu, do you believe that Briarthorn is in league with the Pale Priestess?”

Kinechu turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with his commander, his hero, his god. “Frankly, sir, yes, I do. The Pale Priestess has had plenty of time to subvert and convert the Woodsfolk, and the fact that they bar our path but not hers suggests they have accepted her.”

The Hero closed his eyes for a long moment. “I am finding it difficult to reach any other conclusion myself,” He admitted, shaking his head. “But what if they are innocent, Kinechu? What if they are truly neutral?”

Kinechu nodded. “That is possible, sir. But you know better than anyone what doubt and hesitation can bring in battle.”

“I know,” He answered. “And if the battle comes, I will not hesitate. Nor will any soldier of the Freedom’s Corps.”

“I believe you, sir.” Kinechu turned and started walking away, until the Hero’s voice sounded one last time.

“Still, these are the sort of people I had hoped to save, to protect. If there were a way to avoid this battle,” He paused, then quickly added, “without risk to the army, I would do it.”

Kinechu looked back at the Hero, who was still gazing into the forest. In his entire life, he had never met a man who so wanted to do what was right, who so fervently wished to protect the innocent. He couldn’t help but admire him. “Yes, sir,” was all he managed to say.

Darkness descended quickly on the camp, and still the forest fog hung thick. It seemed almost to glow an eerie white in the light of the pale moon. Kinechu was just about to lie down for the night when one of the runners came into his tent, explaining that the Hero was asking for him. Without hesitation, Kinechu dressed and made his way to the command tent at the rear of the camp. As he entered the tent, he saw the Hero sitting at the map table, a troubled look on his handsome face.

“What is it, sir?”

The Hero looked up at Kinechu as if seeing him for the first time. Then He reached toward the table and picked up a rolled parchment. “A messenger has visited our camp, Kinechu. He delivered this.”

Kinechu looked down at the parchment, but before he could even ask, the Hero answered his question. “It is a message. From the Pale Priestess herself. She sent the messenger personally from her army’s camp, north of Briarthorn.”

“How did the messenger get here so fast?”

“He came through the forest, Kinechu.”

“What? Through the fog? How?”

The Hero shook his head. “I do not know. In all likelihood, he was led by one of the Woodsfolk.”

“Well, that proves it, sir!” Kinechu said. “The Woodsfolk of Briarthorn must belong to the Pale Priestess.”

“It proves nothing,” the Hero cautioned him. “If Briarthorn is truly neutral, both the fog and the message would suit their goals.”

“How do you mean, sir?”

“This message is a request from the Pale Priestess. She wishes to meet with me to discuss the possibility of peace. To discuss a solution to this war before either of our forces enter Briarthorn. She wishes to meet with me tonight, on the hilltop overlooking the forest to the east. Alone.”

Kinechu laughed. “She must think we are truly fools, sir! The thought that you would fall into such an obvious trap!”

The Hero did not laugh. He did not even break a smile. “I am going.”

Kinechu’s laughter died abruptly. “Sir? Sir, you can’t mean that. We have been at war with this witch for months! She…she’s killed how many? And who knows what she’s done to those who follow her! Sir! You can’t…”

“I know, Kinechu,” the Hero said, interrupting his officer. “I know the danger. If it is a trap, I will fight through it. But if it is not, Kinechu, then I would be doing our cause a disservice if I did not at least attempt peace.”

“But sir! You said…”

Again, the Hero interrupted him. “I said that if I could find a way to avoid this battle, I would.”

“Without risking the army, sir,” Kinechu added. “You said that, too. And losing you puts this army at tremendous risk!”

The Hero stood up and moved over to face the officer. “I disagree. This army is filled with strong and brave warriors who are fighting for something they believe in.”

“They believe in you, sir!” Kinechu said, fighting back tears. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing. “I believe in you.”

The Hero nodded. “Then believe in me now, Kinechu. Trust in me. I have ways of evading danger. I do not fear the Pale Priestess.”

“Let me go with you, at least,” Kinechu offered. “I can stay hidden; she’ll never know I was there. And if it is a trap, I can perhaps buy you the time to escape.”

The Hero laid his hands on the other man’s shoulders. “I am leaving you in command of the army, Kinechu. If this is, indeed, a trap, you have the knowledge and experience to lead the Freedom’s Corps to victory. We cannot both risk our lives.”

Kinechu hung his head. He knew that there was no way to convince the Hero not to go. The hesitation in the Hero’s voice from the moment He knew they had to march to Briarthorn had been too apparent to ignore, and now that a chance had appeared, Kinechu knew the other man had to take it. To his way of thinking, accepting the Pale Priestess’s invitation was nothing short of suicide, but it was not his decision. Finally, Kinechu forced himself to nod.

“Yes, sir.”

The Hero nodded. “One last thing, Kinechu. I believe the forest fog will lift with the dawn. If I am not back by then, what you do at that moment is your decision. But whatever happens, I leave you with this order. Do not tell the other officers where I have gone. They will not understand.”

Kinechu looked up at the Hero, his mouth hanging open a bit. Finally, though, he nodded one last time. “Yes, sir.”

The Hero gave his trusted officer one last half-smile, and then moved past him and out of the tent toward his destiny. Kinechu stood there for a long moment, pondering his course of action. Then, suddenly, he was moving, too. He was a good soldier, and he would follow orders. But the Hero had ordered him not to tell the other officers where He had gone. He had not ordered him not to tell them that He had gone. As quickly as he could, he woke Mogush and Kozarod and explained the situation, only refusing to tell them where the Hero had gone. After a few frantic moments of panic in the other two, Kinechu held up his hands.

“I’m going after him. He put me in command of the army, but He did not order me to stay behind. So if I’m in command, I have the authority to pass that command along. Mogush, you will command the attack, Kozarod, you are in command of the defense. Get the soldiers ready for combat. The Woodsfolk are clearly in league with the Pale Priestess. When the morning comes, if neither the Hero nor I have returned, I want you to attack. Burn those woods to the ground if you have to, but put them to the sword, and then do the same to the army of the Pale Priestess. And I want you to do it with the Hero’s name on your lips. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” both of them said. After a moment, Mogush added, “Bring him back safe, Kinechu.”

“I’ll try,” Kinechu said before turning around and heading off into the thin moonlight. At first, he tried to track the Hero, but the light was too dim, and Kinechu had never been much of a tracker anyway. Eventually, he gave up, and simply made his way up to the hilltop overlook. He was not a frequent visitor to this region, but the area was not unknown to him, and he had had the opportunity to study maps at night during the army’s march. Kinechu’s biggest concern was avoiding any possible detection, be it from heretics lying in wait or by the Hero himself. One simple misstep might cost him everything.

It took nearly two hours of picking his way cautiously through the darkness before Kinechu found himself approaching the overlook. It was a wide patch of grass that dropped off sharply into a sheer cliff, providing a bird’s eye view of the Briarthorn Forest below. The overlook itself was dominated by a massive oak tree growing at the very edge of the cliff, its ancient roots breaking through the rock beneath it. The tree’s branches bore no leaves, and it was likely that the inhospitable rock had already killed the massive thing. There were countless bushes and shrubs littering the approach to the tree on either side of the overlook, offering countless places for someone to lie in ambush. Certain that his enemies were doing just that, Kinechu took the opportunity to do the same.

As he crept up as silently as possible on the overlook, Kinechu began to hear voices in the night, although he could not yet make out the words they were speaking. With each step he took, the voices grew just slightly louder, but still, he could not seem to understand their meaning. It was as if they were conversing in another language. Still, he knew he needed to concentrate on his movements, because he could not afford to give himself away. He just kept moving, allowing the words to go past him without even trying to decipher them. Finally, after what seemed like far too much time, he came into sight of the speakers themselves.

Standing just a short distance from the great oak tree, Kinechu saw a woman who could only have been the Pale Priestess. Although her shimmering black gown bore little resemblance to a priestess’s garb, she could have been no one else. And despite himself, Kinechu could see in an instant why so many were willing to follow her. She was beyond beautiful, with flowing black hair, a smooth and perfect face, and a shapely body. She carried herself with an air of regality that spoke to the profound confidence she had in her own ability. The moonlight was low and imperfect, but on her pale skin, it almost seemed to glow.

Suddenly, Kinechu realized she was speaking to a figure in the shadow of the tree, and he could finally make out the words.

“…is nearly complete.”

Then the shadowed figure spoke, his voice quiet, but immediately recognizable to Kinechu as the Hero’s. “I must admit, it took much less time than I feared, and much less effort.”

“These people are simple,” she responded. “When their old ways died out, they were left with nothing to believe in. It was a void they yearned to fill, whether they knew it or not.”

“Yes,” the Hero said as He stepped out of the shadows, a smirk plastered on his handsome face. “It took us three generations to accomplish this on the Wheel.”

The woman laughed demurely. “I told you Navoya was perfect. And this one, we shall not lose.”

“Nearly perfect,” the Hero reminded her bitterly. “Pity about the forest, though. You do know how I hate those blasted trees.”

“I do,” she purred. “But we will soon take care of that.”

“Soon indeed,” he confirmed. “Tomorrow night at this time, the Last Woods will go the way of Anissem, and the mana of this plane will be purified.”

“I am less interested in the mana than I am the people. Devotion and belief are powerful magics. My devotees worship me as a goddess, and soon yours will venerate you as a god. And once the Woodsfolk burn, none on Navoya will even consider that there is a third option. All devotion will belong to the Pale Priestess…”

“…or the Hero,” he finished for her as she smiled, as well. “Yes, dear sister, no matter who lives or dies tomorrow, it will be a victory for us.” He turned, slowly, to face the spot where Kinechu was hiding. “And I owe it all to you, Kinechu.”

The officer stood and tried to run, but a lightning bolt stopped him. Dead.

“The Rulus are come to Navoya.”

In the pale moonlight, overlooking the last forest on the plane, Syl and Chardis shared a confident, powerful, godly smirk.