1

The dryad assault died down at long last, but it brought no repose for the survivors of the bout. Yes, it was unfitting to speak of winners. The living had to be counted, the injured treated, and the dead gathered. The devastated encampment had to be rebuilt. The dryads' remains littered everywhere around the outpost also needed to be cleaned up and dismembered to prevent further casualties. They were piled up and burned in large pyres downhill, outside the wall. The night was full of smoke and ash, stinging the eyes, parching the throat, and making everyone cough. At least no one could complain about it being cold, if such a macabre search for pros in the situation could be forgiven.

Wherever one looked, only dirty, exhausted, blackened faces stared back. No light of hope burned in the knights’ dark eyes. The men moved like sleepwalkers, barely aware of what their hands and feet were doing. But move they had to. To survive.

In the main building, a number of slightly cleaner but no less glum faces had gathered in the communal hall in a late night—or more like, early morning—debriefing.

“What now?” Colonel Miragrave confessed her lack of answers, seated deep in her chair at the end of the table. “We've not even thirty men left that can still fight. Eight Varnamians. Twenty-odd are wounded, to the point of being unable to walk or ride. Some of them never will, for the rest of their lives. Who isn't counted is either dead or dying. The living are at their limit. We don't know the dryads' numbers or how many survived the Firestorm, but I wouldn’t count on Felorn running out of spirits or wood any day soon. Should they come again tomorrow in equivalent numbers or greater, we are doomed.”

“We have to go back,” Yuliana said.

“Can we even go back?” Vizier Attiker retorted. “If we face such a horde on the road, clearly we're done for. Not to mention how the bridge remains unmended. However you look at it, we are trapped in here, with no way out.”

A dejected silence filled the room.

Yuliana was too tired to think. She sat hunched on the side bench and stared at the table, finding herself nodding off. Brian sat on her left, without a word, his expression equally glum. Riswezle leaned on the wall by the door, yawning wide. The knight officers stared off into space, none the wiser.

“The shrine of Lord Matheus,” Yornwhal finally spoke, standing up from his seat near the window. “Up the hill. I shall go there, alone. I will call the Divine and pray for succor. I will ask if there is a way he might still let us leave here in peace. Whatever he demands in recompense, we must pay it. I see nothing else we can do.”

“Think he will listen?” Miragrave asked.

“For one day and one night, I will negotiate with him,” the wizard asked, walking to the door. “Do not look for me. By first light tomorrow, I will return with favorable news—or else never will. You shall have the answer then.”

“Are you going there to die?” the Colonel stopped him again. “I will not permit it.”

“Forgive me,” the old man said with a faint smile. “I may be a Court Wizard, but my allegiance lies with my conscience first and his majesty a distant second. Always will. When you see your father again, tell him I took the bottle that night. He will know what I mean. Fare well.”

Whether they believed in his chances or not, no one tried to stop the old man again. Not like anyone could offer better solutions. Yornwhal left without another word, and soon they heard the front door creak.

“Well then,” the Colonel got up from her chair as well. “Yuliana. You and your friends fought bravely tonight. We owe our survival to your plan. Try and get some rest now.”

Unable to muster any words to respond with, Yuliana simply nodded and followed the suggestion. She was terribly tired. Even if the world should end meanwhile, she had to rest for a bit. Only for a bit, she thought. However, pushing the front door open, a bout of dizziness made her miss a step and she nearly fell down the stairs. But Izumi, who had been waiting outside for news, was there to catch her.

“Thanks for your hard work,” the woman said, holding the girl up.

There came no answer. Yuliana had already fallen deep asleep in her arms.

“I worked hard too, didn’t I?” Izumi muttered as she lifted the girl up as gently as she could and carried her off to bed.

2

The ascent to the top of the hill wasn't long, but Yornwhal took his time. As he climbed the narrow, beaten path, he spent the time coming to terms with his life up to this point.

As a young man born in a small coastal village on the shores of the northern sea, he never would’ve imagined becoming a Court Wizard one day. He was fifty-two when the rank had been bestowed upon him, a man who had seen the world. It was probably appropriate to call him an adventurer.

Not many shared his appetite for knowledge and foreign vistas. Though his days at the Imperial Palace were full of comforts and luxury, he never forgot his roots as an earnest man of the land—nor ceased to miss the thrill of traveling. Even as his old bones grew frail, his limbs reluctant to carry him, he enjoyed any available opportunity to work them.

The pain of effort reminded Yornwhal of his past resolution, which had so nearly slipped off his mind over the peaceful years. He had never intended to die in his bed of old age; even if his end was to be a violent one, he preferred to meet it standing on his own feet, serving a purpose above himself.

There was the reason why the wizard had agreed to join the Emperor's quest for the mythical spring, regardless of how high he evaluated the odds of finding success. Not for the opportunity to fame and recognition, or earthly rewards, not even to fulfill his sworn duty, but simply to go out and explore the unknown for one last time. The expedition had given him what he had missed the most, which the Imperial capital couldn't provide. He'd been happy to go.

And he also knew he wouldn't return home.

Because of this, the wizard felt no fear as he left the outpost behind his back. It was with a stoic calm that he walked the hillside, higher and higher, his lingering attachments severed by each step. The hill wasn't terribly high, but the buildings still looked tiny and fragile from the bare, rocky summit.

There Yornwhal paused and gazed around. The spreading forest fire and the miles-wide columns of smoke on the horizon marked the extent of the damage he had wrought. A Court Wizard? Wasn't he only a misbehaving boy now, going to apologize to his neighbors for deliberately stoning their windows? Even now, his actions continued to bring collateral damage. Who would forgive such a thing?

But he had done it only to save the lives.

It had to count for something.

Was the Divine not a son of the same father as mankind? Could he really detest his brethren with such unrelenting animosity? No, whatever had incurred the Divine's wrath, he had to still have a modicum of pity left in his heart, and the will to forgive.

Yornwhal put his hopes on that fragile sentiment.

At the highest point of the hilltop, near the northeastern edge, stood a stone-made altar, a rectangular, crudely shaped monolith between two taller rocks. There were old jars, plates, and withered flowers left there, remains of past offerings.

Setting down his staff, Yornwhal knelt before the altar and stabilized his pulse and breathing, which had become agitated by the climb. He sat in silence for a long while, eyes closed, emptying his mind of all unnecessary thoughts.

It was still too soon for words.

A new day slowly came about, gray and clouded. Down below, graves were dug for the fallen knights. Occasionally, heart-wrenching cries reached the wizard's ears, made either by the wounded in their torment, or those grieving for their lost brothers-in-arms. He shut them away and emptied his mind once more.

Strong winds came to blow away most of the smoke. Sometime in the afternoon, it started to rain, putting out most of the remaining fires in the camp’s immediate vicinity. There was no scouting done today. The company rested in the cabins and reassembled tents, sleeping away the fatigue, anticipating in fear what would happen next.

The forest appeared to be doing the same.

Nothing moved in the ashen land. No presences of anything living could be sensed. Everything was calm, quiet, and still. Though the rain was unpleasant and Yornwhal's cloak had a hood, he wouldn't cover his head before the sacred altar but sat and endured the discomfort, eyes closed in meditation.

Cold, hunger, thirst, all that he endured without a word. He had to prove his resolve to the Divine, or else no one would listen to his plea.

Eventually, the gloomy skies began to darken again.

The whole day had passed and it was then, at dusk, that the wizard opened his eyes and spoke,

“My Lord, Matheus, Master of Streams, Ruler of Felorn. Wilt thou hear me? In the name of Hamaran, our maker, wilt thou hear me? Wilt thou grant me communion with thee, holy and wise? Wilt thou hear my confession and repentance? I know words alone art not enough to apologize for the injury we have wrought upon thy kingdom. Yet, words art all we humans have. Please. I knoweth not what hath aroused thy ire and turneth us foes, where we ought to be friends, but it doth not have to be so. We mean no harm to thee or thy own. We fight to protect ourselves, but this we do with a heavy heart. Please, spare the men and women sleeping below. Pray let them go from here in peace. Such is my sole request to thee. Thou alone hast the power to end this needless shedding of blood and tears. We art in thy hands, body and soul. Wilt thou not pity us? By my own hands, I committed the greatest crime against thee; it was my word that scorched thy lands. Take my life. I give it willingly, without resistance. I knoweth that all my blood wouldst scarce suffice to pay back for what we took, yet tis all I have to give. Strike me down where I sit, and I shalt not speak a word of accusation against thee, in this life or the next. Only, spare my comrades. Spare my fellow warriors. Spare our companions from another land. Do so, and they shalt depart from here, never to come back. Let the suffering and destruction end with me.”

The magician continued to pray like this.

For hours he spoke, until the last light had disappeared.

At times, Yornwhal fell silent, waiting quietly for a response, only to then resume his pleading. If sincerity wasn't enough, he would convert the Divine to his side with persistence. No matter how time passed without results, he wouldn't give up. He couldn't afford to, with everyone's lives resting on his success. Again and again, he spoke to the wind, even when his throat burned, his tongue became dry, and voice coarse. He had waited for a day, now he would fight for the whole night, if need be.

Then, in the darkest hours, a miracle happened.

As he again waited quietly, Yornwhal thought he heard a voice speak in the distance. At first, he assumed it to be someone crying out in the camp below, but listening on, he realized it was not.

A faint but valiant voice carried into his ears along the wind, from somewhere far away in the north.

—Yornwhal...Yornwhal…

The voice undeniably called his name.

The wizard leaned forward, strained his ears to hear it just a little better.

“My lord, I hear thee! Tell me, what is thy will? It will be done!”

—Beware...Beware...son of man…!

Hearing the response, the wizard shook his head with a grimace.

“Still thou hate us, my Lord? Still thou wilt not forgive us…? How...”

However, the words that came next astonished him.

—Behind...Behind…! Turn...Turn...!

The wizard looked over his shoulder in confusion.

In the corner of his vision, he saw that someone stood behind him on the path, only a step or two away. How? How had they made it this close without him realizing a thing? He hadn't sensed anyone. He'd heard no footsteps either. Startled, the old man took his staff and struggled up to his feet with great effort, his muscles numbed and knees stiffened by the long hours of keeping seated. Who had come at this crucial moment? Hadn't he told them not to disturb him! Why didn’t they listen!?

However, as the wizard turned around and faced his unexpected visitor, all his anger and accusations became dispersed, like a flock of pigeons before a speeding cart.

“You...W-what are you doing?” Yornwhal gasped and frowned, staring at the face of that person, the one he had last expected to see.

There were probably better, more appropriate things he could've said in such a situation. Smarter words, better suited for being preserved for posterity. But those were the words that spontaneously came to him in his bewildered state and they escaped his lips without further consideration or self-censorship.

Regrettably, the Court Wizard of Tratovia never had the chance to speak again.

3

It was hard to tell when night turned to day. The skies remained clouded by the lingering smoke and vapor, sunlight effectively obfuscated. Where flora had once flourished dense and verdant was now barren desert. The land all around the encampment was dyed gray by ash, as if winter had come to Felorn. The overbearing treeline was removed, drawn far back, only the blackened remains of a few large pines and some random bushes sticking up from the leveled field. Every now and then, a charred tree fell somewhere with a loud crack and a bang, making the earth shudder. When the sun finally did rise, it remained like an angry red eye, glaring through the melancholic curtain veiling all land.

Yesterday, a few more survivors had been found trampled in the mud, but the fact failed to lift the mood. To compensate for these miraculous coincidences, a number of injured had succumbed to their wounds overnight and more graves had to be dug.

Nevertheless, nothing sinister had happened during the day or the following night and the soldiers had been able to get some rest, slightly improving the devastated mood. Had the wizard succeeded in quelling the forest’s fury? Had the Divine Lord shown mercy? Would they be spared from further tragedies?

These speculations proved somewhat premature.

Things soon took a turn for the worse.

“Commander, you had better see this.” Her adjutant came to wake up Colonel Miragrave shortly after sunrise. She never slept much, always lightly, but just this once, being stirred mid-rest was particularly vexing. She sat for a lengthy while on the edge of the bed, holding her aching head.

If it's the dryads again, I will kill them myself.

“I'll be there,” Miragrave contained her immature thoughts and forced a response.

She stood, put on the coat she had used for a blanket and followed the officer out. The Captain strode hurriedly across the yard, past the well, and down the slope. Miragrave had to exert some effort to keep up, with no chance to ask what it was about. She didn't feel like raising her voice either. All the smoke had left her throat parched, and she was thirsty. Still, without detours, she followed the knight through the settlement, all the way to the front gate.

The knight continued still through the crumbled coals of what was left of the palisade gate, outside to the field. Miragrave thought their heading was strange, but followed him anyhow.

There were more knights standing outside the palisade, gathered around something. Seeing the Colonel, the men quickly made way, revealing the cause of the commotion.

“...”

Some fifty yards from the gate, a tall stick had been stuck into the ground, right in the middle of the road. Having seen it so many times before, Miragrave easily identified that straight oaken pole as the Court Wizard's staff.

Instead of the characteristic twist at the top, the head of the staff had been broken off, replaced with a new one.

A literal head.

A bloodied, decapitated human head, impaled at the end of the staff, which stood like a hasty replacement for his missing natural body.

The Colonel had seen numerous similar road decorations over the course of her career, so the prop itself wasn't especially shocking to her. Nevertheless, not even someone as hardened as Miragrave Marafel could hide her reaction as she quickly identified the deceased.

There was poor Yornwhal, their savior, a perpetual expression of agony and terror frozen over his now gray, lifeless face, drained of blood. Butchered and impaled by the remains of his own staff, as if in mockery of his paltry power. Gritting her teeth, the Colonel forced her eyes away from the head and looked around.

The damage was already done.

Though it was early, the news had spread fast and most of the remaining company had already seen the casualty. Their most powerful asset was slain and disgraced. No matter how they were trained elite, the knights were still humans. Obviously, having a famous wizard in their company had given the men a massive boost of confidence—now removed with surgical effectiveness. What remained of their fighting spirit after the struggle with the dryads received yet another hideous blow.

Who could endure it?

“I suppose the spirits weren't favorable.”

Vizier Attiker had woken up as well and now arrived at the scene.

“Take it down,” Miragrave quickly ordered the knights. “Search the hill, look for the rest.”

The hill with the altar and it surroundings were investigated, but no sign of the wizard's remains or his murderer were discovered. No tracks could be picked up on the rocky path either, and the ash and dust blown around by the wind veiled the rest. They had no choice but to begrudgingly give up on extracting revenge and bury only the head.

4

The rain that had started yesterday continued. Thanks to all the smoke, ash, and miscellaneous particles carried up in the atmosphere, the unscheduled rainy season was likely to linger for a while longer. The line of grave markers on the little glade west of the outpost had become depressingly long to look at. All the grass, flowers, shrubs, and small trees had burned away, spoiling the earlier, untouched idyll of the place. On that sad, barren site, the thirty remaining knights and their leaders had now gathered for the second day of funerals.

“I still can't believe it,” Yuliana said, watching the wizard's covered remains be lowered into the grave. “Was it really him? Did you see?”

“Yeah, what was left of him,” Izumi replied, standing next to the princess.

“We knew it could happen, but...not like this. Is there no mercy in the world? Who could’ve done such a thing? Surely only the Divine himself.”

“I wonder about that,” Izumi replied. “Are there any giants or big monkeys living in these woods? Or other monsters with large hands?”

“What...?” the princess frowned at her words. “Large hands? Monkeys? What are you talking about?”

“—There's no such thing!” A knight in the line behind the women snapped at them. “Show some respect and be quiet!”

“Hmm...” Izumi looked like she had more to say, but chose to remain silent.

As his majesty's representative, the Vizier promised all the fallen a posthumous promotion, a medal of honor, the contractual payment for their families, and offered a few other lukewarm words of gratitude.

“The Empire will not forget her patriots.”

And after that, it was the time to return to routine.

Following the melancholic ceremonies, the knights continued the work to tidy up the outpost and repair the palisade, while the leaders once again gathered in the main building to decide how they should proceed. Their situation had gone from one with little hope to one where no good options whatsoever were left.

Or so it seemed.

“Clearly enough, the spirits are not with us,” Miragrave started, not showing a trace of her personal feelings on her steely countenance. “Our fighting strength stands dramatically reduced. We've nearly as many wounded as we have standing combatants. There is no other choice but to attempt an evacuation. We will deploy the remaining woodcutters and a small advance guard to repair the bridge at the crossing, while the rest of us pack up the camp. Once ready, we will retreat to Varnam posthaste and from there back to Tratovia.”

The Colonel glanced at the audience. No one opposed the plan.

None of the knights, that is.

“I disagree,” Vizier Attiker surprisingly announced and stood up. “It appears to me you have started to forget about our original purpose. This was never to be a fighting mission, we came here to look for something! We’ve incurred casualties, yes. We’ve suffered losses—but isn’t that all the more reason, why we can't run now with the tail between our legs? Make those losses count for something! We were hit, but we hit the enemy back harder! They don't know our situation, only that we're a force to be reckoned. We taught them a lesson and they're going to think twice before challenging us again. We should make use of that! A day and two nights have passed since the dryads' attack and we haven’t seen so much as a weasel, in spite of the Divine’s alleged wrath. The enemy is ashes. We still have men and supplies. We've rested, we’re ready. What is the problem? Continue the search! Until we can say with certainty that we've done absolutely everything possible, we cannot give up. His majesty will not forgive us if we return to him defeated like this! You think the forest is bad—think again!”

“Are you out of your mind?” Riswelze asked him with a snort. “The magic spring was a fable! Is saving face more important to you than your own life?”

“Your highness,” Attiker answered to the princess instead, “if you cannot contain your escorts, then they need to leave.”

“I apologize for my friend,” Yuliana said. “But I have neither the will nor the authority to silence her. No, in this situation, I must share her opinion. Continuing to search for this well of wonders in our current condition can only be called madness.”

“The spring of eternal youth exists,” the Vizier looked at them and stressed. “This is a fact. We know this, by Divine proclamation. Eternal youth—do you understand? Does any of you understand this? One barrel of this water will more than make up for any losses that may occur along the way. And so long as a single man and a horse remain to haul that barrel out of the woods, to the Emperor, then it will have been worth it. It is invaluable. We need it. Mankind needs it. Look at the big picture! Why are you so scared? Because you're going to die? Surprise, everyone dies! One day, sooner or later. Me, you, all of you, your parents, your children, their children, his majesty, and so forth. Death is our fate, because we are humans. But get this—it doesn't have to be that way! Without the spring, no matter how we progress, we will forever remain that pesky, unwanted step-son in the shadow of the other species. To Hel with that. We deserve better. Would I die for this? So that no one else will ever have to? YES!”

The Vizier slammed his palm on the table and sat back down.

His words left the audience without response. It would've taken quite an enlightened mind to not be tempted by the promise of everlasting life. It was easy to say no to such a grandiose prize when it was only a distant dream, improbable, and unattainable. But what about now, when it dangled supposedly within arm's reach? No one present was stranger to that greed.

Everyone had suffered and lost so much, was the reward not hard-earned?

Not even Yuliana could fully refute Rubeus Attiker's argument.

How many times in her life had she felt bitter and helpless due to the fragility of her feminine form? Her quest to conquer the Trophaeum would also become a great deal easier if she were freed from the ailments of mortality. Even if she felt that she didn't deserve it as a person, didn’t the greater goal justify it? So many times she had swallowed her own pride and dignity for the good of the many, why not now as well?

Everyone on the Imperial side knew how desperate their situation was.

The work to unite all the races and defeat the daemons was bound to be long and full of setbacks. How to sustain the effort, when those who began the journey grew demented and died long before ever seeing it come to fruition? Humans could try to pass on their purpose to their children, but those children were not simply an extension of their parents. They could choose to refuse their legacy or outright act against it. One foolish generation could take apart all that their forefathers had sacrificed everything for.

Not if they had immortality.

The wisdom of the past would not only be preserved in full—it would ever keep on increasing. The might of men would grow without limit until nothing could stop it. It had to have been the underlying fear that humans would one day surpass the Gods themselves, which had left them cursed with predestined Death at creation. Here, in Felorn, was a way to overturn this unfair limit, and all of nature worked to keep them from it.

And yet, in this match, where the human side should have had no chance, hadn't they chased away the enemy? Their arrows had taught death to the immortals. The wizard had burned down the Divine’s kingdom in a bold testament of human potential. So frightened was the great spirit by petty little humans, that he had to take down an old man in the dark of the night with a cheap shot. Looking at the road they had traveled, it started to seem like nothing but a crime and cowardice to abandon the cause.

Well, for a brief instance anyway.

Besides the Vizier, most people in the room had too much common sense—and above all, they treasured the well-being of themselves and the others too much—to bet their everything on such a miracle. A mutiny or not, it was better to give up and head back...But before anyone could voice these plans, there suddenly came a timid knock from the door.

“What?” Miragrave raised her voice, annoyed.

Briefings were not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency, this was a basic code of the army. And judging by the feeble manner of the interruption, the matter was not too pressing. Discipline had grown too lax in the past few days, it was becoming unsightly.

Aware of his poor conduct, a knight hesitantly peeked in.

“Ma'am, Holms of the Varnamians wants to have a word,” he reported.

“This doesn’t concern him. It can't wait?”

“He insists it's important.”

Sighing, the Colonel waved her hand.

“Show the man in.”

Shortly, the headman of the woodcutters stood in the room, before many questioning eyes. Before a princess, a Colonel, an Imperial advisor, and a number of knight officers, the humble man of the country was nervous, pale, and failed to hide the trembling of his hands. Although he had escaped the dryad onslaught physically unscathed, his nerves were a wreck. Yet, as frightened as he was, his business was apparently important enough to overcome emotion.

Giving a glance to everyone around him, unsure of who to address his words to, Holms finally spoke.

“I...I heard parts of the conversation from outside...Am I to understand that you intend to continue the search? For the spring?”

“And what of it?” Attiker barked.

“There is...no way I could change your minds, is there?” the man asked after a pause. “Perhaps we could...come to an agreement of sorts?”

“What exactly are you trying to say?” the Vizier urged him. “Speak your mind, man! Do not waste our time!”

The man called Holms swallowed.

“If I…!” he started. “If I were to tell you where to find the spring, would you let us go?”

“What?”

Everyone in the room traded confused looks over his unexpected words. Slightly encouraged by their scattered attention, Holms continued,

“If I show you where it is, will you free us from our contract? Me and the townsfolk. Right now? You wouldn’t sue us, accuse us of breaching the contract? Just let us leave, with our pay?”

“You know where this spring is?” the Colonel asked him. “Have you known all along?”

“I-it was a secret,” Holms stammered. “Not to be shared, even in death.”

“And how come you came to possess such a secret?”

“Ma'am...” Holms turned to the Colonel and explained. “The name 'varnam', do you know what it means? Have you heard?” As the commander shook her head, he continued, “It comes from the words 'varea anaam', in the old tongue. So the elder told me.”

“'The gate of truth'?” Miragrave interpreted, familiar with the language.

“Yes. Yes, you know it. But, Varnam was not always Varnam—I mean, not where it stands. The town was once here, I'm told, deep in the woods. We didn't build the altar on that hill, it's always been there, already well before the camp site was built, before the town was founded. Because us being here was the will of our Lord.”

“What are you talking about?” the Vizier impatiently asked. “Make sense!”

“Since the ancient times, our people have had a pact with Lord Matheus. We keep the gate to Felorn, his kingdom, and in exchange, he would grant us his blessing and protect us from the beasts. But after meeting Agelaos all those centuries ago, our people didn’t want to live in the forest anymore. They missed the company of other humans. So with our Lord’s permission, the Varnam in the woods was abandoned, and a new one built closer to civilization, where it is now. Not many know this. Only a select few initiates from each generation are told the legend. So that we would uphold the tradition and pass it on. But I...I didn’t think the Divine was real. Not until...all of this...”

“The spring, man, the spring!” Attiker hurried him. “What does your little cult have to do with it?”

“I—I'm getting to it,” Holms stammered. “Please listen. The spring is close to where the old Varnam was. It was our test of loyalty, to see whether we were worthy of serving our Lord and receiving his blessing or not. The initiates are shown where it is, but we are prohibited to drink of it. This way, knowing but not giving in to temptation, we prove that we are faithful and worthy. But I...I thought it was only a ceremony! I don't want to die! I can feel it coming. Our death is close by. So many have died already, if we stay here but one more day, we will all perish, I’m sure of it. We have already lost our Lord's favor, what more harm can it do? Please...just end the contract. Let us return back to our homes with our pay, and I will tell you where to find the spring. I have a wife, I have a son, they...they wouldn’t make it without me, I know this. The thought of never seeing them again—I can't bear it any longer...Please...”

The man fell silent, wringing his hands in apparent anguish. It was hard for anyone looking at his face to think he was lying. Yuliana thought it was low of Holms to betray the Divine and tradition, but she had no heart to judge him. Not after her own betrayal, for strikingly similar reasons.

After a moment of thought, Attiker leaned forward and pointed at the table.

“Here is how we shall do. The Varnamians shall be freed from their obligation. The Empire will demand no compensation from them, you will receive half of the agreed salary, and I will shred the contract. But you, Holms, will stay. You are going to take us to the spring in person. After that, if it indeed exists, you may go.”

“Please, have mercy, sir!” Holms cried. “It's not far from here, it is real! You don’t need me!”

“Not far? What do you mean by that?”

“I-I saw your maps. They’re all wrong! Lord Matheus's power has led your seers astray. You've been looking in the wrong place this whole time. The spring is barely eight miles from here! There is a path in the woods, behind the hill, up north. A horse will run it in half an hour. I will mark the place on your maps, just please, let me go with my people. I swear on my life, I have told you the truth! If I’ve lied, you will catch me long before I’m at my house! My family needs me! I just want to go home! Please...!”

“...Mark the location and go,” the Vizier said, throwing one of the maps closer to Holms. “Fix the bridge at Alams on your way home, and I’ll call us even.”

“Thank you!” Holms kept bowing. “Thank you so much...!”

“Enough. Get on with it.”

As soon as Holms had marked the maps and left, Vizier Attiker stood and smacked the table with a look of triumph.

“Haha! Call your men together, Marafel! We have it!”

5

The eight empty oak barrels, which had so far gone without use, were now dragged out of the shed and loaded on a four-wheel cart, with two horses harnessed before it. Climbing up to the perch next to the driver, Vizier Attiker gave his orders.

“Twenty riders with me, Captain Leterrié takes command. Colonel, you will stay here with the rest. Clean up the camp, I want us ready for the return march by the time we come back. Our departure will be a speedy one, and anything and anyone not in travel mode will be left behind.”

“As you wish,” Miragrave replied.

—“Wait! Take me with you!”

The soldiers were interrupted by a light voice calling out. Everyone turned their attention to the woman approaching them across the yard.

Most knew her only as that odd civilian they'd picked up at Varnam, who had been helping the cooks, and apparently had some kind of a connection to the Langorian princess. A few had witnessed her sword skill during the dryad assault, and a rarer few knew she had slain the unicorn, but who exactly was she—no one could give the question a sound answer.

Izumi had remained on the sidelines for the most part of the journey, patiently waiting for this very moment. Now, she forced her way through the crowd and approached the Imperial Vizier.

“Izumi...” Yuliana looked at her companion with unease. She'd never seen such an anxious look on the summoned woman’s face before.

“What?” Attiker was thrown for a loop.

“You've found the spring, right?” Izumi, who had been absent from the meeting, said. “You're going there now? Then take me with you!”

“Why ever would I do that?” the Vizier asked her with a frown.

“Of course, because I want my share,” Izumi answered.

“Bah!” Attiker broke into laughter over her request. “I can't tell whether to call you courageous or plain mad. The answer is no! Every last drop of that spring belongs to his Imperial majesty now. Not one soul will sample the water of it without his explicit permission.” Dismissing Izumi, the man turned back to Miragrave. “Colonel, should anyone attempt to follow us, friend or foe, man or beast, even if it be the princess herself, your orders are to kill. Do you understand? Now, if ever, is the time to prove you are worthy of your rank. To be honest with you, I am not impressed by what I have seen so far. Are we ready? Good! Go!”

The driver whipped the horses who darted out through the narrow back gate, the cart and the twenty riders with them.

The earthling was left in the dust to see them off.

Not that Izumi was going to give up that easily.

Making up her mind, she stepped forward to follow after them. She couldn't make it far, however. A group of knights quickly moved to block the exit, clutching their swords, spears, and bows.

“You cannot go,” Miragrave told Izumi.

“Just try me!” Izumi replied, reaching for the handle of the sword on her back.

“Stop!” the commander's sharp voice interrupted her. “I know you are no ordinary mercenary. I've had my eye on you since Varnam. But do you presume to be swifter than an arrow? Six dimeritium heads missed their mark and were salvaged from the battlefield. I had them divided among the archers. You cannot tell who has one. Each is deadly, as you should well know. Whether you are a daemon or a plain lunatic, there is no saving you if you are so much as scraped by one. Stand down and surrender your weapon.”

“Mira-rin...” Izumi's expression darkened. “And here I was starting to think I might get along with you.”

“You fight for yourself,” Miragrave shook her head. “For your selfish ego, for your greed. There is no way we could ever see eye to eye.”

“I'm such a devil...?” the woman looked down. “No, you're probably right. It's true I have no noble goal to die for. I have no country, no family, no people, no past, nothing at all. I only just came to this world and don't understand half of it. I can only fight for my own reasons. Yes, and fight I will, if I must. Because I’m scared. I’m scared to death—scared of the day when Yule will leave me behind!”

“What…?”

“—Now, flashbang!”

No one else present could understand what that odd word meant, save for Yuliana.

“Ah, eh...Yes!” Quickly recovering from her confusion, the princess held out her palm and chanted, “Iota.”

A faint little spark of light appeared hovering above Yuliana's hand, gently floating upward like an ember. Then, as everyone's unguarded gazes were drawn to that little light, it brightened up without a warning, easily surpassing daylight in intensity. Whether it was Aiwesh adding her own touches to the spell or the result of the girl's internal turmoil, that flash by far exceeded the earlier version in effect.

On top of the light, there was a deafening, low WHOOMP, which plugged everyone's ears. Blinded, their ears ringing, the knights recoiled and shook their heads.

But Izumi and Yuliana, who had already anticipated the effects, were the first to recover and dashed past the stunned guard formation. Brian was left behind, as Yuliana had no opportunity to warn him, or the heart to drag him into their dangerous gamble.

It paid off, nevertheless. By the time the knights regained their senses, the two women had already disappeared outside the palisade and were running into the scorched jungle.

“Shall we give pursuit?” a sergeant asked the commander.

Staring at the empty gap in the palisade for a moment, Miragrave answered,

“You have your orders. If we did, we'd have to fall on our own swords. Start packing the tents.”

6

Izumi followed the wide trail of tracks in the ash towards north, Yuliana running shortly behind her. They hadn’t made it very far when they suddenly heard the heavy footsteps of a horse coming from behind. Thinking they were pursued, they turned around, but soon saw that there was only one horse, with a more familiar rider. Predicting the earthling's train of thought, Riswelze had taken her mount out from the stables and left the camp while the others were occupied.

Quickly reaching the pair, Riswelze now extended her hand to Izumi.

Izumi gave a glance to the princess, who nodded. “Go, I'll catch up.”

Nodding also, Izumi hopped onto horseback behind the assassin and the two rode on ahead.

The hill had sheltered this part of the forest from the fire, but all the trees and bushes had gained a grayish coating from the ashen rain. The grass grew tall and dense, but the troops had trampled a clear path along the remains of an ancient road, which Holms had described. The pursuers were able to follow the wide tracks with ease. As the cart with the barrels advanced at a much more relaxed pace, they overcame the Imperials’ lead soon enough.

“Sir, we're being followed!”

The Vizier looked over his shoulder and saw the brown gelding gallop towards them with his less knightly riders.

“How did someone so incompetent become a Colonel?” Attiker grunted. “His majesty will hear of this.”

“What shall we do?” the Captain riding beside the cart asked.

“What are you asking me for?” the Vizier retorted. “I’ve given you your orders. Death to the enemies of the Empire and so forth.”

“Very well, sir.” The knight didn't sound particularly enthusiastic about the task, but orders were orders.

Turning back to the cart driver, the Vizier commanded, “Put some speed into those animals!”

Sergeant whipped the reins and the cart dived through the woods with somewhat boosted velocity. Meanwhile, a pair of riders from the rear guard slowed down, detached themselves from the rest of the squad, and turned to receive the pursuers. They drew their swords.

“Halt!”

“In the name of his majesty, halt or die!”

But Riswelze made no effort to follow the demands. Urging her horse on, she slipped past the pair before they could fully block the way. Swearing, the knights could only turn around again and give chase. The men’s expertise on horseback was nothing to laugh at, though. The Imperial stallions were quickly catching up with the women.

“What shall we do?” Riswelze asked. “They'll flank us at this rate.”

“Don't stop,” Izumi told her. “Keep 'er steady, like that.”

Taking support of the girl's shoulder, Izumi carefully stood up on the back of the horse, turned and drew the Amygla. The knights neared. Counting the steps in her mind, estimating the right timing, Izumi waited for them to get closer and held her breath.

And then——jumped.

In a display of downright suicidal recklessness, she leaped at the horse of the foremost rider to her left. In flight, she lifted her blade high up and stabbed down, aiming near the helmet. With the added weight from the fall, the sword sank half a foot into the knight, eliciting a terrible shriek. Then using the embedded weapon to restore her balance on the wavering horse, Izumi turned around. Facing forward, she drew off the blade and jumped again. Using the rear of Riswelze's mount for a stepping stone, she repeated the feat on the right with the second rider, knocking him off the saddle with a wild uppercut, before pivoting around to return to her original position, behind the assassin.

The black horses continued to ride on, deprived of their masters.

One more knight coming to meet them, unable to believe what he had just seen, failed to act and was decapitated as they passed him by.

“I saw nothing,” Riswelze remarked, shaking her head.

“What?” Izumi chirped. “Horses are so slow, it's easy enough for anyone to do. Haven’t you seen Cirque de Solais? But try the same with trucks and motorbikes, like in Unchar***! That’s a lot harder.”

“Nowhere near as hard as trying to understand the words that come out of your mouth!”

The Vizier didn't have much praise for Izumi's acrobatics either, as he saw the pursuers near the cart again.

“I'll be damned before I give that madwoman life eternal,” he said, then turning back to the nearby Captain. “Take her down. You have my permission to use the arrow.”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” the officer answered.

The knight leader gestured to his squad with quick hand movements. At once, ten riders abandoned the cart and dispersed, half of them left of the path, half right. Instead of meeting the followers directly, they rode off into the surrounding woods, vanishing quietly amid the trees and bushes.

“Hey, hey,” Riswelze muttered. “This is bad!”

“We have to go faster,” Izumi said. “Try to reach the old guy. If I can get on that cart—”

They couldn’t get any further than that.

An arrow came whistling from somewhere in the thicket and pierced the neck of their horse with astounding accuracy. The projectile was ordinary wood and steel, but the fatally wounded animal tripped and fell anyhow, casting off its riders. The two women jumped off and broke their fall by rolling, but remained crouched in the cover of the undergrowth.

“What now?” Izumi asked. “They'll snipe us if we move from here.”

“And surround us if we keep still,” Riswelze replied. “I know.”

“Will you take the five on the right and I'll take the five on the left?”

“I have a better idea,” the girl told her. “Lay low and be a bait for me. Cloata Telema!”

As she cast her spell, Riswelze's form turned oddly semi-transparent and she slipped away into the grass by the path. Izumi found herself left alone, death lurking everywhere around.

“Um, have a safe trip?”