The Lands of Men Middanhal

With scarcely any soldiers left in the city, the southern walls were garrisoned as much by members of the clergy as any Order soldiers. A rider, entering Middanhal to bring news of the battle, found two Templars guarding the gate. Beyond, a devastating sight with hundreds upon hundreds of corpses met his eyes; most of them wore robes of various colours. As he rode up the Arnsweg to pass the bridge, the scenery repeated itself.

Yet he did not forget his task. "Victory!" he shouted, riding slowly that the sound of hooves against the paved streets would not drown out his voice. "The king is victorious!" Windows flew open. Heads appeared in doorways. To the citizens of Middanhal, who had feared the end of times had begun with holy men and women being slaughtered in the streets, the news seemed unfathomable. Yet still, the rider continued to spread the word. "The enemy is in flight! We won!"

~~~~

Most of the army remained outside the wall; some chased the fleeing outlanders to inflict further casualties, while others began the monumental task of dealing with the dead. Those that returned to the city were primarily the wounded, though the king and his thanes rode at the head of the procession. His wound had been bandaged and his sword recovered from the field, hanging by his waist; Geberic rode next to him, holding the banner of the golden dragon high.

Seeing his return, the people flocked to the streets in exuberant spirits. Cries resounded to proclaim his splendour and his subjects' gratitude. Mothers wept holding their children, and strangers embraced each other.

The king's expression stood in stark contrast. The knights at the gate had given a hurried explanation of the missing garrison and their own presence. Riding through the streets, pools of blood could be seen, and some bodies had yet to be removed. Paying little heed to the adoring crowds, Brand continued straight to the Citadel.

~~~~

A similar sight awaited the returning king and his men, once the gate was opened for them. Blood and bodies lay scattered around the courtyard, and only a handful of men held watch. With a grim demeanour, Brand looked around as he dismounted. No stable hand came to take the reins of his horse; most of the castle's inhabitants remained in hiding.

He glanced over his thanes. "You four," he spoke, pointing to those who looked least injured, "find my family. Make sure they are safe," the king commanded, and the warriors hurried inside.

A crate stood against the wall, and Brand used it as a seat. While surveying the courtyard, he pressed one hand against his stomach where the Godking's mace had torn into his flesh.

"Find the physician," Alaric told another thane.

"No," Brand said swiftly. "He must have many other patients in worse condition. Do not tear him from his work."

"But my king, your wound?"

"Has been seen to. It is not my body but my mind that is uneasy," Brand replied.

"How so? Any way I might serve?"

"I did not expect to return from battle on the field and find my home in the same state. If you wish to serve, get me news of those in the royal wing."

"Of course, my king." Alaric left swiftly, following the same path as the others sent on the same errand.

"You," Brand called out and pointed at an Order soldier hauling a body. "Come here."

Dropping the arms of the corpse, he did so and approached Brand with a bowed head. "Yes, my king."

"Who died here? My sister? The lady of Alcázar?"

"I cannot say," the soldier admitted with a stammer. "I have not heard so."

"What of Ingmond? Has he been taken prisoner?"

"He's dead, my king. He fell by the gate, I was told. By his own hand, even."

"The only thing he did right," Brand mumbled. "Any patrols in the city?"

"I don't think so, my king. Any soldiers that could be spared from the Citadel went to Saltgate," came the reply. "So unless they're patrolling, there's no soldiers from here doing it."

"Where is the captain? Find me Sir Theobald."

"Forgive me, but he is dead."

Brand exhaled. "Any other knights in the castle?"

"Not that I know. The Templars were here, of course, but they all left again."

"Fine. Resume your duties."

"Yes, my king."

Time passed. The thanes took care of the horses and helped the soldiers deal with the fallen. A strange sense of normality settled onto the courtyard as the men busied themselves with tasks, even as the signs of death lay all around.

Alaric returned as the first. "None have been harmed, my king. Your thanes barricaded the royal quarters and kept them out. Your sister and attendants are on their way."

"Good," Brand mumbled, extending one hand. "Help me to stand." On his feet again, he looked around. "Find someone to bear message," he continued. "One to Woolgate. Tell them to keep the gate shut until I say otherwise and scrape enough men together for a patrol. They are to arrest everyone at Jarl Ingmond's home and bring them to the dungeons."

"Yes, my king."

"Send another to the army dealing with the dead. Tell them it has to wait until tomorrow. Instead, they must garrison the southern walls and send patrols through Lowtown." As he spoke, Brand walked a few paces to drink from a barrel of rainwater.

"At once."

"Brand!" The outburst came from Arndis as she and other nobles entered the courtyard. She approached her brother, giving him a tight embrace, which he returned. "You are victorious! Of course, none doubted you would be."

Releasing her from his grasp, Brand glanced at the bloody courtyard. "Yet I was blind in other matters. I am relieved you did not pay the price." His eyes continued, reaching the courtiers crowding the entrance to the inner castle. Jana was among them, and she took a step forward until arresting herself, placing one hand inside the other.

As the court watched, Brand approached to show her the same affection as his sister. Hesitantly, Jana returned the embrace briefly before pulling back. "We are all relieved to see Your Majesty returned to us."

"You should rest," Arndis added, walking over to stand by him. "Your face is pale."

"I will soon enough. I have somewhere to be first."

"Brand," Jana protested, "I can see you have been wounded. You must rest."

"In due time." He turned to Alaric. "Find me a horse with the remaining strength to carry me."

"Yes, my king."

"Where are you going?" asked Arndis.

"To the Temple."

~~~~

While the city slowly turned to celebration, the Temple knew only grief. Hundreds and hundreds of priests and priestesses lay dead. In all the years since its foundation, the holy site had never known such disaster. On the Temple square itself, the robed corpses had been gathered for now, all of their colours stained red. Their presence subdued the mood at that location in an otherwise jubilant city.

Even the still living servants of the Temple had left the place. The norns had not participated in the fight, as their oaths forbade them from causing harm, but their skills in healing were greatly needed in many places. As for the Templars, they remained scattered in the city, aiding the weakened garrison.

As a result, the great complex seemed almost deserted. Only the very young and very old had stayed behind, most of them in their cells praying feverishly. As the king entered the Hall of Holies with his guards, he found it empty.

"Tell the highfather I request his presence," Brand commanded a thane. Continuing through the great chamber, he looked at the statues of the gods and goddesses to his left and right. Hewn from marble, they looked as they always did, untouched by the chaos and destruction that had unfolded both within and outside the city. "Imagine if we had lost," he muttered to himself. "The outlanders would have destroyed everything in here."

The king crossed the entirety of the hall until he stood before the altar at the far end opposite the entrance. A pair of hands rose from the hewn stone and stretched out towards the sky. Behind, the wall showed Rihimil's victory against the Black Serpent. Brand stared at the imagery before he finally knelt before the altar. "Thank you," he whispered with closed eyes and his brow touching the edge of the stone, "that I live. That my city lives. I shall never doubt your goodness towards me."

He got back on his feet, taking a few deep breaths. A kingthane offered him a waterskin, and he slaked his thirst. Time passed in silence; the guards kept their eyes on the great doors, beyond which rising noise could be heard from the crowds outside. "We best leave through a smaller passage, my king," one of them remarked to Brand. "And soon."

"I'll bring our horses to the side door," another thane suggested and left, once his master had indicated agreement.

On silent steps, the highfather appeared along with the high priest of the blackrobes and a Templar. "You sent for me, my king."

Brand bowed his head in respect. "I did, Holy One." He removed the scabbard from his belt and presented the sword with both hands to the old priest. "I have no further claim upon this sword."

Septimus gave him a scrutinising look. "If you are certain your need is done."

Brand extended his hands. "It was made for a war that has ended."

The highfather accepted the sheath and nodded. "A wise choice, my king."

"I shall be glad if I never have cause to wield a sword again."

"I will pray to that end."

"Thank you, Holy One. I take my leave."

"May next we meet be on the steps of the Temple," Septimus said.

Brand inclined his head once more. "Once the realms know peace, we shall."

~~~~

Two travellers moved north. How they had left the city when the gate was closed, few could know. They wore bandages around their arms and legs, coloured brown by blood. Each hauled a sack and walked at a slow pace, often resting. It was barely dark before they went to sleep, and the sun had been up for hours before either woke. With the same weary steps as the day before, the two Elves continued until they reached the Alfskog and their kin, leaving the lands of Men behind.