Walking alone, beneath the stars, Cadryn had time to think, and to settle back into reality. The conversation with Korbinian did little to aid that process, and even now, as he walked, he was sure the thing covering his leg was moving of its own accord, creeping ever upward. Jamming a hand in his pocket as he walked, he felt down that leg and found only firm muscle and sweet-slick skin. The walk from the Neeft to Kellen’s Veld, where Amber was to honor them that evening, was merely a league and a half. Normally such a distance was little more than a warm up, but Cadryn had a fine sheen on his face despite the dry northern winds by the time he entered town.

Lights, everywhere there were lights.

Torches, lamps, both oil and arcane, braziers, it seemed every possible ward against the night was blazing. He couldn’t blame them, at the toll house a similar profusion of lighting cropped up after the festival turned otherworldly attack. Even Sefton, one never to go beyond regulation when it came to consumables, did not countermand the precautions of the Keepers. Above all these tiny flames, blazed the radiance of the Beacon, its light a pale yellow aura over the buildings. As he walked, boots sticking slightly with every step in the half-dried mud of the road, Cadryn saw other signs of the Starless Night.

The remnants of mourning pyres dotted the park space near the center of town, the crumpled logs and ash glowing white even in the limited light of the new moon. He stopped, offering a prayer to the lost, and found himself counting . . . stopped at ten, there were too many. Any, was too many. The wind picked up, carrying the ash into the sky like the first fog between his lips in winter. Shuddering, Cadryn pulled up the collar of his cloak and turned for Amber’s Toast.

He could hear the laughter, singing, and shouts of brawling men well before the curve of the main street brought the Toast into sight. All three levels of the building were bedecked in lanterns, the effect of these spread the cozy glow of the tavern out into the street. Tables had been set there, allowing for almost double the capacity of patrons to flood the space with humanity. Cadryn felt himself smiling at the sight of the townsfolk reveling, even if in his heart he knew the source was sad.

“You’re late, Golden Eyes!” a voice called out from the third floor.

“Three nights late,” added a deep rumbling throat from the crowd outside. The owner emerged from a ring of onlookers, dragging a wailing man in a headlock. Captain Vaast, even outside his Imperial Knight’s armor, was a sight to behold. A full head taller than Cadryn, the man was broad shouldered, tapering down to narrow hips above thickly muscled legs. Naked to the waist, ignorant of the cold, his upper body bore the tan of soldier’s life. Scars, of every possible source to be had on the battlefield marred oiled skin. Releasing the youth held in a headlock, Vaast scratched at a salt and pepper beard while examining Cadryn. “You look revitalized lad, enjoyed that beauty sleep, aye?”

“If you say, Captain,” Cadryn replied, unsure of how formal to be with the night shift commander.

“It’s Vaast Von Rompa!” the older man bellowed, “We’re off tonight Cad, If I may call you that?”

“You may,” Cadryn replied, relaxing a bit.

A hand emerged from a growing throng of people holding a tankard, the smiling face above it unknown, “For the hero!” yelled the drunk man.

“Thank you,” Cadryn replied, taking it, “but we were just doing our duty.”

A round of laughter answered.

“Nonsense, we’d all have died if not for you two,” came a familiar voice, like sun warmed honey. From the propped open entrance of the Toast emerged the lady herself. Amber was dressed in the traditional grey of mourning, but the dress was anything but: a stunningly well cut hoop skirt below a snug sleeveless top. The waves of her hair copper in the abundant illumination. She smiled, Cad felt himself flush, and took a deep swig of ale to hide it.

“I’m sure you’d have made it through,” Cadryn replied, still attempting to play down their part. The people of the town had suffered, he didn’t feel like hero. Then, with a sinking, he remembered the start of the attack, Amber’s uncle running, and being overtaken. Looking up from his ale, he saw Amber in front of him, waving the other townsfolk back to their tables. “I’m sorry Amber,” he said softly, “I wish we could have done more.”

She shook her head, hair bouncing lightly, “You did enough, when it mattered.” She put a hand on his arm, squeezed, and pulled him into hug. She smelled of hops and smoke. “Now stop moping and enjoy yourself. This is a celebration of life.”

“Yes Amber,” he said, hugging her back, “Who else is here?”

“Only Mareth, you, and I,” Vaast answered, “Bahsa, Encara, and Felina came by earlier to pay their respects, but someone needed to be on watch.”

“Give them my thanks,” Amber said before drifting off into the crowd.

Cadryn gave her a small bow as she went, and excused himself from Vaast to go look for Mareth. The Captain, for his part, smiled and called out for a new wrestling challenger. None came forward by the time Cad entered the Toast’s ground level. Noise, the kind only an establishment truly packed with people can make, assaulted his senses. Everywhere the heavy oak tables and benches were overcrowded with laughing, drinking, and cavorting people. The floor bounces with the synchronized stomping of dancers in a space pushed clear of tables. Dancers and onlookers alike were singing:

“Up, up into the Sky! Soul and ash alike will fly!”

“Down, down, into the Earth. Bones and gifts given with mirth!”

The refrain repeated thrice, Cadryn knew it well, as a favorite Provalian dirge. He found himself humming along with it while making his way to the grand staircase up to the second level. Here, the revelers were more subdued, most indulging in the stories of the dead, eyes red from tears, faces from drink. The air was thick with pipe smoke and the smell of spilled beer. Cad nodded at them, and they saluted with drinks.

It got quieter still as his feet landed on the third floor, some eyes turned, and seeing him, they darkened: here were those who mourned still, not yet ready for the celebration below. Funeral incense burned in the corners beside linen covered bodies, already prepared for burning by Takis the Grim. The wards against evil spirits and decay shone on the white fabric in shades of green and gold.

“Savior,” a haggard woman whispered from a stool by a smaller body, “Why could you not do more? My poor Jacob.”

“That’s enough, mother,” a young girl replied, patting her hand but her gaze held the same question. Walking among them, most avoided his eye, and Cadryn was grateful for it. Looking past them, to the usual spot the Keepers occupied in the Toast, he saw a long figure on the balcony. She turned her head at his footsteps but remained facing the street.

“Hey, Golden Eyes,” Mareth said, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“So that was you yelling at me earlier,” Cadryn said, moving quickly to join her outside, free of the aggrieved and the dead. The air up here was clearer than down on the street, were the humidity of the crowd seemed to trap it.

“It was,” she said, “Thought I’d try my hand at giving out names.”

“Well, after ‘Mareth of the Fiery Dawn’ how could you not,” he chided.

“Ohh no, you remembered,” she said, slumping down to rest her forehead on the railing. “It was the magic talking, I swear I’m not pretentious.”

“Nah, just a Mage, after all.”

She raised her head again at that, and nodded before leaning against him. Looking at her, Cadryn noticed her bare arms, and the thick pink burn scars that covered her forearms and wound their way up to the shoulder.

“They don’t hurt,” she said, as if following his thoughts, “they don’t feel much of anything unless I draw on the flame.”

“You’re not hiding them anymore,” Cadryn said, pointing to her white timed in gold probes, newly re-stitched, sleeveless.

“Should I be?” Mareth asked, with more anger than she had planned.

“No,” Cadryn said, “they’re part of you. I’m glad.”

Mareth tugged down her hood, grateful for the long hair concealing her cheeks, she wanted to ask what else he remembered about that night, but this wasn’t the time. Instead, she just nestled against him, safe from the wind and the death at their backs and waited.

“Drink?” Cadryn asked, offering his tankard.

Mareth took it, and downed the remaining half, the ale burning softly in her belly. It felt good, she nearly dropped the container when Cadryn slipped an arm around her waist. His scent, earthy and clean, filled the air as he leaned over her and kissed the top of her robed head.

“Thanks, by the way,” he whispered.

“For what?” she replied, her voice almost cracking.

“Saving my life, naturally.”

Mareth let out the breath she had been holding. “Just doing my job,” she said, loudly given their proximity. A throaty laugh from behind surprised her, and they both turned. The Captain, pulling on a loose grey tunic, sauntered out to join them, the floor creaking under his wide feet.

“You did more than that and you know it, aye? We’re all proud of you two.” He slapped them both on the shoulder, eliciting a pair of winces.

“Is it time?” Mareth said.

“Aye, lass, Ol’ Amber is about to give the speech.”

“Understood,” Mareth replied, and walking over to the small table on the balcony, retrieved her staff from its surface. Below them, Amber’s voice called out for silence, then, when the request went unfulfilled.

“Shut your holes you drunken louts! It’s time!”

People fell silent, and the only sound was the shifting of feet as patrons worked their way to the doors and windows or came outside to stand before Amber in the road. Behind them, some of the mourners on the third floor shuffled outside to listen. She waited until everyone was in place and silent before speaking again, her eyes drifting from face to face among the assembled townsfolk.

“I am not Provalian, but my uncle was, and my father.” Mutters of protest rippled through the crowd, but Amber held up a hand. “But I am an Imperial, even here, on the Frontier of the Empire, we honor the ways of the land. My uncle, rest him, led this town in peace, and died trying to do what he could to save it. So he will be laid to rest in the Provalian way. In flame!”

The crowd roared with approval that faded to the sobbing of the few who were already crying. Amber gestured, and four men emerged from the side door of the Toast, carrying a shroud covered body on a stretcher. Two more, moving ahead of them, set out a pair of stands behind Amber, and the body was quickly placed atop them, they fell back into a semi-circle behind the body. Looking at them more closely, Cadryn recognized that they were all elder patriarchs in the town. The heads of other leading families, in the pale light of the moon, he could see their eyes glistening.

“Would you send my Uncle’s soul onward to the sky,” Amber said, her voice breaking at last.

“I will,” Mareth intoned, and her staff birthed a tiny sun. Raising it, the orb expanded hungrily, and the heat forced the mourners to shrink back inside the building. The Captain, unfazed, remained, and offered a salute. Cadryn did the same, and tried to suppress the shaking in his bad leg. Over the low shrieking of the flames, Mareth spoke.

“Up, up, into the Sky . . . Soul and ash alike will fly.”

Arms flexing against the staff, she brought the orb into motion, sending down onto the body. Reacting with the preservation wards, the sphere flashed from gold to green, then burning white as the shroud, flesh, and wood dissolved to glowing ash. Thrusting skyward with her staff, Mareth let out a howl of her own as the inferno shot into the night, briefly outshining the Beacon itself.

Cadryn caught Mareth as she sank back, and flinched as his thumb sizzled against a scar on her wrist. Staring at it he could see waves of heat fading with the inner glow of her receding magic.

Taking a deep breath, Mareth righted herself, and nodded down to Amber.

“In Flame!” Amber yelled out, and the crowd echoed it back. She then turned around to the remains of her Uncle, and circling the bones, selected a place for her gift: a page from her recipe book. Placing it, she went back inside to get a drink. After, came the Patriarchs, followed by the rest of the town. By the end of the evening a great pile of gifts would obscure the bones, and Takis the Grim would collect them for internment in the town’s barrow.

“Does it hurt to do that,” Cadryn said, loud enough for only Mareth to hear.

Mareth flexed her forearm, the scars now returning to their normal hue, “Every time.”

Less than bell later both Mareth and Cadryn were feeling exhausted, granted for very different reasons, and excused themselves to return to the Neeft. They walked the gentle uphill road back to their home in companionable silence. Passing through the toll house, they offered weak greetings to Felina and Encara, neither of whom bothered to answer. The stairs from the citadel to the Lower Gardens, where the Sleeping Chambers awaited them, were grueling. Cadryn was too tired to feel afraid of the lightless place as he had in the past, and merely shuffled after Mareth across the plinth.

Inside, he found an alien sky full of unknown stars, their light casting the chamber in a drowsy blue-green shimmer. Around the perimeter of the room alcoves lined the space in two levels. He counted several score in all, but only a handful seemed to be made up with bedding. Mareth pointed at the one on the end.

“All yours,” she yawned, and began pulling off her boots while seated at an alcove lined with stacks of books.

Cadryn walked down to the indicated alcove, it seemed decent enough, but it was surprisingly bright in the chamber. He started pulling off clothes, caught Mareth glancing his way out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s brighter in here than I thought it would be,” he said.

“Just get in your hole, it’ll get a lot darker. Sleep tight.”

“Easier said than done,” Cadryn replied, pulling himself in the ossuary like shelf. But, true to Mareth’s words, the light of the main chamber faded immediately, the stars going dark, he began to panic at the similarity to the attack, but new lights, much fainter emerged. A constellation of eleven stars, they shifted, and slid from the chamber’s high roof into his own alcove, finally settling into an array of small gemstones.

Now alone, in the still, cool, dark of the alcove, Cadryn pulled his blanket close and quickly slipped away into the dreamlands.