“How certain are you?” Michael asked Astair.

The emaciated cleric fixed his gaze on Michael. “The collar of Elmigal is not something one mistakes.”

Michael, Astair, Joran, Pompeia, and Calvisia stood around the planning table. Astair had gone around healing the worst of the injuries until he was exhausted. They’d lost twelve legionnaires in the fight, which the outpost leader considered reasonable and Michael did his best to accept. War had casualties, even when it was on a small scale.

“What is he?” Michael asked, to keep his mind focused on the task, “or she? Or are gods an it?” Michael didn’t bother hiding his ignorance. He’d found the legionnaires’ easy acceptance that he was from a vague elsewhere comforting. Even Calvisia had done nothing more than shrug.

“Elmigal is a she,” Astair answered. “Although gods will be however they wish to be, they tend to be depicted only in one form. She is a beautiful woman, usually in thin robes hinting of more beauty underneath, offering herself to you. Promising pleasure if only you will do as she asks. But if you look closely, you will see places where her disguise slips and reveal something far less pleasant. Spiked skin, black as night, ready to lash you to her, force you to do her bidding. She does not let those under her command disobey her without punishment.”

Michael looked at Joran. “That sounds like she’s one of those dark gods you mentioned.”

“She is,” Astair answered in Joran’s stead. “She is one of the few without redeeming qualities.”

“So that Gnoll was one of her priests, one of her clerics,” Michael corrected himself.

“No,” Joran and Astair said together. The legionnaire nodded to the cleric.

“The collar is something she grants to her clerics to force obedience.” Astair looked grave. “And they only work within a dozen passus or so.” He looked at the others.

A dozen passus made that around a day’s march. “Didn’t you say there were signs a group had to be trailing this one?” Michael asked Calvisia.

“The scouts I sent to examine the route they took to arrive here indicated markers were left; which only matters if others will join you,” she answered.

“And you said the Gnoll told you they’d make you pay before dying,” Joran said.

“More who was controlling it.” Michael looked at the hand-drawn maps. Found one where the markers were indicated. This gave him an indication of where Elmigal’s cleric would come from. “Any idea how large a group will be with the cleric?” he asked Astair.

The man shook his head. “It depends on how many they have to control versus follow them willingly.”

Michael stared at the man. “You’re saying people would willingly submit to that kind of treatment?”

“Some will do anything to achieve power,” the cleric answered. “To gain her gift of the collar, the potential cleric must demonstrate a willingness to commit horrible acts in her name. To show their faith to her. Others will crave that power and flow to the cleric in hopes of gaining it.” Astair sighed. “And some will.”

“I doubt Gnolls follow this cleric willingly,” Lierin said, joining them. “Gnolls are proud and stubborn. They follow their clan leader or their shaman. The one you fought, Michael, was their shaman. It’s possible the clan leader is with the cleric, in which case they could control a large group through that one Gnoll.”

“All that reading is finally paying off,” Pompeia commented.

“It’s part of the world’s history,” Lierin replied with a smile. “The past shapes the future.”

“Those who ignore the past are condemned to repeat it,” Michael mused to himself, looking for a map with better details of the area with the markers. He looked up in the silence. “It’s a saying where I’m from. Usually said by historians pointing out were making the same mistakes our ancestors did in a similar situation, instead of having learned from it.”

The half-elf looked at Pompeia with a victorious grin. “An entire people study their past.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘an entire people’,” Michael chuckled. “And they are paid attention about as much as Pompeia listens to you, Lierin.”

“Anyone who thinks they are right,” the outpost leader said, “will not listen to those showing how they could be wrong.”

“And some,” Astair added, “will go to extremes to ensure their beliefs are the only ones left in the end.”

“Such as working for a dark god,” Michael concluded. “How many people can a cleric control with that collar?”

“As many as they want, if they collar the correct person,” Astair answered.

“Like the clan leader,” Lierin said.

“But how many people can they put that collar on?” Michael asked. “I figure there’s some kind of limit, right?”

Astair nodded. “It will depend on how powerful the cleric is, as well as how willful those they control are.”

“So it’s possible for someone to resist that control.” Michael didn’t recall a willpower stat to tell him just how stubborn he might be.

“Possible, but unlikely,” Astair said. “If this cleric controls this many Gnolls, even through the controlled of their shaman and leader, they are powerful.”

Michael didn’t know how stubborn he was. He liked to think he could be driven, but was that the same? He thought so, but that was back on Earth, here where everything seemed to be driven by stats and numbers he had to consider it might be different. It was too bad he had never looked at those manuals his Dungeon and Dragon playing buddies had. The answer might have been in there, somewhere.

“So, we are looking at a group of unknown size, led by a cleric of unknown power. What else can one of her clerics do? Stories where I’m from show any cleric can at least heal others, but from what I’ve seen here I get the sense that isn’t the case.”

“Any gifts she’ll bestow on her cleric will be toward establishing obedience,” Joran said.

“Enforcing it,” Astair corrected. “Elmigal has no interest in willing obedience to her priests. She’ll allow it, but her gifts are about enforcement. But the gods are stingy with their gifts. One must show more and more devotion to be granted more power.”

Michael studied Astair. “How more do you have to starve yourself to gain something else?”

Astair shrugged. “I’ll know once Dhomis grants it to me.”

That was a level of devotion Michael couldn’t imagine. “So this cleric might have something else, but it’s unlikely?”

“It’s unlikely they’ll have another gift from Elmigal, yes,” Astair said.

“But that doesn’t mean they won’t have learned other things,” Joran said. “They could know some magic, some fighting. Don’t make the mistake of thinking being a cleric is all they are. Not all gods require the kind of devotion Dhomis asks of Astair. And even under the weight of his god, Astair cooks.”

“You cook?” Michael asked, dismayed.

“Sacrifice is meaningless without temptation,” the cleric answered casually.

Michael looked for anything to say to that and decided he wasn’t someone who could comment on Astair’s faith, other than to be impressed by the devotion.

“Okay, so probably no god other given powers, but he might still be a threat.” He looked to the outpost leader. “If we consider he’s heading for us, for me. Do you think there’s a chance we can send scouts to find out how many are in his group?”

“They’ll be on alert for it, so it’ll be risky,” She answered. “It would also depend on how quickly they are moving. Knowing we are aware they are coming, they might push through the night. They won’t make as good speed as in the day, but it will put them here sooner than we expect.”

“But they’ll be exhausted from the travel,” Joran said.

“Would the cleric care?” She asked Astair.

The cleric looked at Michael. “How angry did they sound?”

Michael did his best to recall the words, the intonation. “Very angry.”

“Then I’m not sure they’ll care. Clerics of Elmigal are not known for their patience.”

“Then we need to rest and be ready,” Michael said. “Astair, do you think you can have everyone healed by morning?”

“Yes,” the cleric answered without hesitation, then placed a hand on Michael’s arm. Before he could protest, Michael’s hit point bar refilled completely and Astair looked tired.

“You should have seen to the others first,” Michael chastised him, and the cleric answered with a shrug before walking away. “That goes for you too," he told those around the table. "Go eat and then rest. I get the feeling tomorrow's going to be hard.”

* * * * *

Michael looked up at the Arrow, visible through the light foliage of the tree he was seated against. According to the maps, the cleric’s groups was north by northwest of where the Gnolls had made camp. While he didn’t know what the markers looked like, he had an idea where they were, based on the map. Once he found a few of them, he’d be able to recognize the rest and follow them to—

Joran flopped on the ground next to him. “I will tell you this right now, I’ve instructed the watch not to let you sneak out in the night.”

Michael narrowed his eyes at the man. “I thought mind magic was something Granius didn’t allow someone like you to study.” He didn’t bother denying Joran’s implication. The order had been given and the watch would ignore any words contradicting it.

“Knowing you doesn’t require mind magic, just to have fought at your side. You see your strength as a burden and you feel the only way you can assuage it is by ensuring you keep all of us safe.” The legionnaire didn’t look at Michael while he spoke. “It isn’t your duty to keep us safe, Michael. We are soldiers too.”

“You have a family, Joran, so do they.” Michael motioned to the legionnaires eating and talking. “They have friends, people who’ll miss them. I…”

“You don’t think I’ll miss you? Galio, Octacilia? The others.”

“It’s not the same.” Michael searched for a way to explain that he didn’t deserve any of it. That he needed to make up for how badly he’d screwed up his previous life, and the only way he could think of doing that was to ensure they were all safe. If not all the soldiers at least his friends.

But how insane would any of it sound to Joran?

Joran looked at him. “You don’t need to be punished for what happened to you before you came here.”

“I’m not—” he snapped and stopped. He sighed. “You should be a shrink.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Joran replied with a grin.

“That’s for the best, the only thing I hate more than those are lawyers.”

“Those I do know and I do not care for them myself.” He patted Michael’s leg before standing. “When we attack them tomorrow, do not make it your duty to die saving us. Not all of us will return, but no one should seek to die. It’s not good for morale.”

Michael watched his friend walk away and tried to decide how much he needed to hate him for pointing out the one thing that had Michael rethinking his strategy. He was right. As the man they looked to for leadership, Michael’s behavior affected them. The fact Joran had to set the watch on him already lowered the mood. Would they think he was planning on abandoning them? Or that he lacked confidence in their ability to fight?

Either led to lower morale, so he wouldn’t sneak away. Not that he could, Michael suspected, his sneak skill was abysmal.

Thief Skills

Category level 3

Stealth

13 (base 9, plus bonus)

Perception

6 (base 5, plus bonus)

Intimidation

2 (base 1, plus bonus)

Or maybe not abysmal, but still rather low. People put on watch had to have high perception skills.

Michael brought the skill list back up with a thought and focused on the category

Thief skills are the skills used in the act of committing crimes, or by those seeking to stop those crimes from being committed.

He’d done this before, focus on something that was part of his character sheet, and gained information. Not everything did. A description of what faith meant in this world still escaped him no matter how hard he focused on it.

Could he do it for something that wasn’t marked on his sheet? He focused on willpower.

Willpower is what allows someone to continue despite everything that attempts to stop them. It can be through sheer determination, a use of their intellect to see a path through what stands before them, the wisdom to find a way around it, or in their faith that there is a way to proceed.

Intelligence, Wisdom, Faith.

His two lowest stats and the one that was so low it didn’t even have a number. He couldn’t risk falling victim to that collar, he wouldn’t be able to resist it, and if the cleric turned him against his soldiers Michael would carve a swath through them.

Joran might slow him, Lierin would fill him with arrows before he got close to her. Galio and Caius wouldn’t last long, Michael was sorry to admit. They were decent soldiers but not on his level, not after all the training with Granius. Same with Pompeia and Octacilia.

It was the one reason why he should do this alone if he didn’t want to consider any others. He was a danger to his soldiers, possibly a bigger one than however many Gnolls the cleric had.

He had to believe he could avoid being collared, and that his soldiers would know what to do if he was. He chuckled, right, faith again. That thing he didn’t believe he had.

He rubbed his face and decided he was done thinking about that. He piled branches and leaves before him and focused on them. He slowed his breathing and extended a hand to it, imagining heat coming off them until he felt his hand warm. He snapped his fingers and glared at the flame at the end of his thumb. He extinguished it by shaking his hand and tried again.

After the fourth time, he was mentally exhausted and hadn’t succeeded at causing the flame to appear among the branches. He lied down, looked at the stars in the sky, made out the Archer, behind the arrow. Joran’s son had pointed it out to Michael, that one time he’d accepted to spend an evening with them. Unlike on Earth, it took little imagination to see the figure with the bow. There had to be close to thirty stars that formed him, or her, their bow. The angle was wrong for the Arrow to come from them, but there was no doubting they were an archer.

He saw other clusters of stars forming other shapes, but Micheal’s eyes closed before he could recall or make up names for them, and the dreamless night embraced him.

* * * * *

Michael and Calvisia had decided to let the cleric and their group of Gnolls reach the clearing. They’d need the room to fight, and while the cleric knew Michael and others had won this fight, there was a chance the others would still be shocked.

So they were positioned around the clearing again, much like they had been the previous day, except Michael was only fifty paces from the path the cleric’s group was on. They’d agreed his job was to take out the cleric as quickly as possible while the others engaged the Gnolls.

An hour after they took position, the sounds reached them. People walking, branches slapping against people, annoyed grunts, and words Michael didn’t understand.

Not long after that, the first of the Gnoll reached the clearing and as expected they stopped at the sight of the dead. They grunted, yelped, and made sounds Michael had no descriptions for to the people behind them, and the reply was clear in its tone. Move forward.

They did and sideways to form a rough perimeter to protect whoever else was coming. Michael cursed, he’d hoped for a clear line of attack. This meant he’d have to go through some of the Gnolls to reach the cleric.

The lasts entered the clearing and Micheal had no doubt who his target was. The woman was the only human and wore a white robe, still immaculate despite the traveling she’d done, as was her ebony hair, flowing down to her shoulders. There was contempt in her hazel eyes when she looked over the dead. They’d failed her, and it was the only thing she cared about. Michael had the sense if she’d been able to bring them back to life, she’d do so just to be able to show her displeasure.

Next to her, the Gnoll in leathers and skins and with the collar around his neck looked appalled. He cared about the dead, was devastated, but didn’t show the rage he had to feel. Unable due to the collar? Or did he simply know she’d be unhappy about the display?

“Well, this is a disappointment,” she said, her French accent thick. “You’d told me your dogs were fierce.” She fixed her gaze on the Gnoll leader and he dropped to his knees with a yowl of pain, which intensified as he reached for the collar. “Now, now, what have I told you about trying to get out of your deserved punishment? Are you a dog or a man?”

Michael slip his shield over his arm and took his sword out of its sheath, using the scream to cover any sound the movements might cause. He pushed his anger down as he decided to end this as quickly as possible. He’d considered letting her surrender, when she was some abstract enemy, giving her a chance to face judgment for attacking Cosconius. Michael had passed judgment on her based on the way she treated the Gnoll leader, and now he was going to execute her.

He ran at the Gnolls, distracted watching their leader being tortured. An order came from the trees accompanied by what Michael thought was Joran cursing him. Taking a chance, Michael jumped over the Gnolls and easily cleared them, landing next to the Gnoll leader and slamming his shield on his head.

Michael swung his sword at her, but the worlds spun at a gesture from her hand and he staggered, fighting to keep his breakfast from coming back up. He forced a foot down toward her, except she now stood to his left and was several steps further away. She gestured again and his vision blurred, motion lines as everything spun around him.

He closed his eyes and set another foot down in the direction he thought she was. He dropped to a knee as his sense of up and down flipped. She could affect more than his vision, but he wasn’t letting her get away with this. He forced himself to his feet, even if his body believed it was upside down.

“Let them go,” he ordered through gritted teeth.

“Oh my, you are strong.” She sounded amused, and now to his right.

“Lady, you have no idea.” He almost tripped as he turned toward her voice. “What you’re doing is wrong.”

“No, what I do is right.” Her amusement was gone. “Because I say it is. Because my goddess says it is. And now, because you say it is.”

Pain brought him to his knees as an icon appeared where his debuff showed up. A collar of spikes.

Collar of Elmigal

Debuff

The Collar of Elmigal is given to her cleric for them to enforce obedience. The recipient must obey or suffer the punishment

Michael’s stamina bar dropped as he grabbed the collar and tried to pull it off. How could he have been this stupid, this was exactly what he was supposed to avoid. Now she controlled him. She would turn him against his soldiers.

“Stop that,” she ordered and Michael’s hand dropped to his side as the pain faded. He panted, glaring at her. “See how this works? You do what I tell you, the pain goes away, it is that simple. Now take up your sword.”

Michael fought the compulsion to reach for the sword he’d dropped trying to remove the collar, and ground his teeth together to avoid voicing the pain. His stamina dropped below half.

“No,” he growled out.

“I said, pick up your sword!”

The pain spiked as his stamina kept dropping. He fought the pain as best he could, tried to come up with something he could do, anything, but he couldn’t even move the way he wanted. He definitely couldn’t pick up the sword, as badly as he wanted to ram it into her; because once he had it in hand, once he felt relief from the pain, he wasn’t sure he could get himself to disobey her and feel this again.

His stamina bar hit bottom and his hit point bar appeared, dropping, if not as fast. He was unable to keep from screaming. Through it, he glared at her, hated her. If there had ever been something like a witch back on Earth, she was it. And he wanted her to burn like them.

He wished he’d practiced his fire magic. If he’d been able to, he would throw a giant fireball at her, but all he could do was a small flame, and not even at what he wanted.

He glared at her, looked for anything he thought might burn easily. Poured his anger into it. Her hair, he decided. Poured his hate into one spot over her ear, imagined the glowing red heat coming from it. She smiled as he raised his hand up, an eyebrow going up in haughty amusement.

He brought his thumb and middle finger together and snapped.

She smiled, and Michael almost lost focus as the flame appeared in her hair and faltered.

His hit points had dropped by a quarter, but he didn’t care. He snapped his fingers again and a second flame appeared in her hair as the first one extinguished itself, leaving charred strands. Another snap another flame, again as the one extinguished itself.

“You are wasting your time, my goddess protects—” she sniffed the air as he kept snapping his fingers adding more flames to her hair. He was now able to keep three active.

She looked around as a flame caught in her moving hair and with a shriek she batted at it.

Michael fell forward as the pain vanished. He could barely move, but he closed his hands around the hilt of the sword. He wouldn’t have long. He forced himself to his feet using the sword to carry his weight.

You have learned a skill

Endurance

level 1

He ignored the message and pushed a shaking leg forward. She had the flames out, but didn’t seem to realize it. Another foot forward, and another. She was done batting at her hair. She looked at her damaged hair; dismay giving way to anger.

As she turned to look at Michael, he took the last step, putting his hand on her shoulder for support and planting his sword in her chest as the debuff reappeared and the pain spiked. Then the two vanished and he could breathe. He’d lost a few hit points but still had plenty.

She looked surprised as blood bubbled from her mouth, disbelieving. She mouthed something like ‘not again’ and staggered back from him. Michael twisted his sword as it pulled out to ensure more damage. She put a hand to her chest and blood flowed over it.

“This isn’t over,” she snarled. “I know where this place is, and I'm going to come back and make you pay.” She let out a curse as her eyes went lifeless and she fell sideways. As she fell, she turned into motes of light so that nothing was left by the time she should have hit the ground.

Michael staggered back and fell as knowledge hit him hard.

You have learned a Spell

Dull, Vision

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Dull, Hearing

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Dull, Smell

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Keen, Taste

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Keen, Touch

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Dullness

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Fear

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Forgetfulness

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Disorient

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Daze

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Panic

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Mindlessness

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Command

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Sleep

level 1

You have learned a Spell

Avoid

level 1

You are currently level 1 in the Mind Control spell category

You are now level 37

Michael was on his back, trying to make sense of the information in his head. Mind Control? Mind magic? Where had that come from? He didn’t want to do that. It wasn’t even allowed for someone like him to know it, right? Only the most powerful mages could study mind magic and he’d just managed to get his flame to appear somewhere other than his thumb. There was no way he was going to be allowed to do this.

The panic icon faded into being, but Michael couldn’t do anything about it.

What would Granius do when he found out? He was going to kick him out. Michael was going to be thrown out of the army again. He was going to be alone, his life was going to crumble again. He—

“Michael!” Joran shook him. “Michael, look at me.”

He forced his focus on the words, on Joran’s face.

“Come on, Michael, I know killing an Outlander is unnerving, but this isn’t over yet.”

“That was…” Michael couldn’t form the words. He focused on remaining standing with Joran’s help.

“That was one of the monsters we told you about.”

Michael realized someone was barking, and there was growling in return. “Did we win?”

“That’s still undecided.” Joran turned Michael so he could see the Gnoll leader being held up as he was. “Her death and subsequent dispersement stopped the fighting, but that doesn’t mean it’s over. They didn’t know what she was, I don’t think, but there’s no telling what they’ll do once he gets over the surprise.” He indicated the leader.

Michael tried to take a step in his direction and almost fell out of Joran’s grasp. He needed to catch his breath and led his stamina refill. But he needed to make sure the fighting was over first. He tried again, and this time Joran moved with him.

“What are you doing?” Joran whispered.

“Hopefully, making sure the fighting doesn’t restart.”

“Michael, they are nothing more than beasts, you can’t reason with them.”

Michael hesitated, Joran knew what Gnolls were better than he did, and maybe she’d spoken to the Gnoll just to hear herself talk and not because he understood her. Maybe what he needed to do was rest and prepare himself to fight. Michael looked over his shoulder at the too few numbers standing.

“You kill it.” The voice was deep, growly, halting, but Michael understood the words. By the surprise on Joran’s face, he did too. That was good.

The Gnoll leader shook the one holding him off and walked toward him and Joran. Michael wanted to take a step forward, give a show of strength. But unlike the Gnoll, without Joran, he was falling on his face. The Gnoll rubbed his head.

“Hit me.”

Michael couldn’t make sense of the tone, and even with the gesture, it took him a few seconds to work it out. “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t think I could take you in a fair fight.”

The Gnoll’s face was unreadable. Was he trying to work out what Michael had said? Was he planning the attack? Maybe he was considering if a jig was a proper response to being saved? Michael kept from chuckling through willpower alone.

Maybe he had some of that after all.

“You kill lots,” the Gnoll said, motioning to the dead around them.

Michael looked, giving himself time to figure out what to say. “Do you know the word territory?” he asked.

After a second the Gnoll nodded.

“This is our territory,” Michael said. “You were invading it. Intruding,” he tried at the confusion on the Gnoll’s face. It didn’t go away.

“Taking over,” Joran said, his expression adding he couldn’t believe he was trying to communicate with the being before them.

“Take over.” The Gnoll nodded. “Not want to. Happy.” He indicated where they had come from, then the spot where the cleric’s body should be. “It.” He touched his neck. “Wrapped and tell me to send family here. Pain when I tell no.”

Michael hoped family didn’t mean to the Gnoll what it meant to him. If Micheal had taken part in killing someone’s—

“Micheal, focus.” Joran’s tone was sharp. The Gnoll watched him.

Anytime he’d killed, Michael had killed someone’s family, he reminded himself. This was just the first time one of the relatives told him about it.

Michael swallowed. “We didn’t know. They came. They took over. We had to protect our territory.”

The Gnoll looked around. “Lots dead.”

“We didn’t want to,” Michael said.

“It made dead,” the Gnoll said.

Michael looked at where the body should be. His stomach turned at what Outlanders could do. He touched his neck, shuddering at the memory.

“You say no,” the Gnoll said, watching him. Micheal nodded. “The pain?”

He forced a smile. “Big.” Bigger than anything he’d experienced before.

“You say no.” The tone sounded ashame. “You strong.”

“No. It’s not strength.” But he couldn’t explain what having nothing to lose was to the Gnoll. What desperation was.

“You strong,” the Gnoll repeated. “We go. Not take over.” He barked something, the responses were angry, and he barked louder. He’d made his decision, and it was all that mattered.

Michael remained where he was until they were all gone. As he watched them, his stamina slowly refilled and reached the halfway point by the time no living Gnolls were left in the clearing.

He turned. “Leave one Contuberium here to make sure they don’t change their mind, we—” he stopped, finally taking in the state of the soldiers. “Forget that. We’re going back to camp. Take as many of our dead as you can, we’ll come back for the others if needed.”

They were able to bring all the bodies back. Micheal carried Galio’s body. Joran’s Octacilia’s.

* * * * *

“I don’t really know how to do this,” Michael said, cup of wine in his hand, Joran on one side, Pompeia on the other. On the other side of the biers, Lierin and Caius stood. “I didn’t really know either of them.”

“Speak to what about them will stay with you,” Joran said. “Tell us how they will remain in the world through you.”

“Map drawing,” Michael said. “Octacilia was always drawing her maps. She has the city down to the smallest alley. You guys saw her draw on the way here? You noticed her smirk at the maps we had to work with?”

Joran chuckled.

“I don’t know if I can draw worth shit, but that’s what I’m going to take with me from her." Michael looked at the other body, and thought for a second. "From Galio it’s sewing. I don’t care if back home I’d be laughed at for doing it, in this place I’m amazed your guys don’t all know how. Why did we all depend on him to fix any tear in our uniforms?” Michael looked around accusingly.

Pompeia shrugged. “He was the best.”

“He was,” Caius agreed. “I’m going to apply myself to my swordplay. That’s what I will take of him. When we joined, I could beat him anytime we trained together, but within a year, he surpassed me. I just couldn’t get myself to care enough. Magic is what I want.” He paused. “I’m the one who should have died, not him.”

Michael opened his mouth to protest, but Joran stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“So I’m going to keep Galio with me by making sure that my sword will never again be my weakness, magic or not.”

They went around, each speaking to what they would keep of their dead friend. Once they were done, they drank their cup. The wine was watered down due to there being so many dead to be spoken about. Then they stepped back.

“You didn’t get to see me join the college,” Caius said, “but you get to see me do magic one last time. Safe travel and may the gods welcome you.” With a flourish of the hand, both biers were engulfed in flames. Caius raised his cup again and drained it. The others joined him and then they stood in silence.