Epilogue: Immanent Mortality

Prince Johnathan's sword snapped in half under the intensity of the blow, and he was forced back several steps, too exhausted to recover his stance. The Tenundian officer staggered, gasping for breath, before lining up his axe for the next strike.

With a strained roar, the officer attacked, all of his energy and drive concentrated on delivering the finishing strike. So determined was he that the warrior didn't even stop when the arrow sprouted from his throat, although his body failed him soon after.

Johnathan side stepped the falling man, feeling a sharp, stabbing pain in side where a Tenundian foot soldier had caught him with a mace a few days earlier. From the feel of it, they had finally cracked. Wincing, he turned to survey the battlefield.

"Are you alright, Milord?" Agnes called while slinging her bow over one shoulder. Even as she shot him a questioning glance, she was kneeling by the fallen officer, stripping him of useful items with practiced ease. A tendency she'd picked up during their near constant raids.

"I'll be fine in a minute, just need to catch my breath. This one was tough." He frowned down at the broken stub of his sword before he let it fall to the ground. He made a mental note to track down another when he had the chance.

From the looks of it, the battle was finally starting to wind down. The Tenundian soldiers guarding the supply wagons had been largely wiped out, and the Almiran knights were simply mopping up the last few pockets of resistance.

He was relieved that it had ended in victory. This had been a somewhat risky endeavor, since the convoy had been protected by close to five hundred soldiers, while the raiders had only numbered 197 exhausted and wounded knights. Luckily, the shock of the ambush had proved sufficient to carry the day, or so Johnathan thought.

However, something bothered him about the whole situation. It took him a few moments to realize what it was. The horses pulling the wagons were quiet, a rarity pack animals in the heat of battle. Now that he knew to look for it, it was readily apparent why. They were coated in a lather of sweat, gasping for breath like they had just finished a marathon run.

[Why were they pushing so hard?]

George, one of the few squires who had managed to survive the attrition of the last few days, ran up while he was lost in thought. "Your Highness! The wagons are full of people!"

Johnathan snapped his attention to the dozen covered wagons they had risked their lives to obtain, the ones that were supposed to have been filled with the solution to their supply problem. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he started walking to the closest.

Ripping back the tarp, Johnathan was faced with a crowd of terrified faces. Women and children were staring at him with a desperate fear, although he noticed a current of resignation among them.

For moment, he was silent, working through the implications in his mind, before speaking in a soothing voice. "Please calm down. We won't harm you."

A young woman cradling a swaddled infant gave a harsh laugh. "It is not you we fear, Milord."

Frowning, Johnathan asked, "What do you mean? What are you fleeing from?"

A look of despair coated her features, as tears started forming in the corners of her eyes. "Death."

"Your Highness!" Agnes called from her perch. "We have company!"

A dust cloud was rising in the direction the convoy had come from. A particularly large one.

Thinking quickly, he began issuing orders. "George! Gather the raiders! Agnes, get Father Bartholomew and see what he can to reinvigorate the draft horses. We'll need them to make our escape. I want those too wounded to walk or ride on these wagons now!"

The nearby knights scrambled to comply. They'd had a lot of practice responding to changing circumstances over the past few weeks, and it didn't take long before they had assembled, waiting for further orders.

"For those of you without mounts, you are in charge of driving these wagons, we are taking them with us. As for the rest, I want twenty as a vanguard, thirty ranging to our flanks, and the remainder as a rearguard."

A nearly unified crash of metal-clad fists striking breastplates filled the air, as the knights saluted before leaping into action.

George ran up holding the reins of Johnathan's chestnut mare, who had fled almost immediately after he'd been unseated in the heat of battle. It was good to see that she was uninjured. He suspected he would need her speed soon.

"Go ahead and find yourself a place on one of the wagons, George." He ordered once he was up in the saddle. Not bothering to wait for a reply, the Prince rode up to join the forming rearguard.

As he got close, he quickly noticed a solemn atmosphere. "What is it?" He asked Agnes once he'd gotten close.

Wordlessly, she pointed at the approaching forces, and more specifically to the banner held by a rider in their vanguard. One bearing a white, grinning skull on a field of black. The symbol of Lacot.

"Agnes, I need to you to take control of the convoy. Get them moving a soon as possible." He muttered quietly, not daring to take his eyes off of the implacable enemy which was now chasing them.

"Where are we taking them?"

He thought for a moment, picturing the terrain in his mind, before coming to a hard decision. "We head for the river crossing, but cut south along the trade road. With any luck they will be more interested in following the invasion force."

Agnes nodded quietly, "Father Bartholomew did what he could, but I don't think the draft horses will last much longer, when they start failing, the civilians will have to walk. After that, it won't be long until they," She nodded her head at the pursuers, "catch up."

Johnathan gave his mentor a hard look. He knew what she was getting at, and knew she was right to make him face it, no matter how hard it would be to give the order.

"If the civilians can't keep up, we'll leave them behind." The words tasted like ashes in his mouth.

[So much for honor.] Johnathan thought as he watched the Black Knights of Lacot draw closer.

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Emmanuel sighed and rubbed his forehead, setting down the quill he'd been using to work his way through the pile of documents on his desk. Alexander's Call to Arms had somehow increased his existing workload, and the senior mage had found himself doing more and more paperwork as the day wore on.

[Maybe the pricks from the Mage's Guild have it right. Maybe mages shouldn't be involved in national politics. At least then I wouldn't have to worry about….logistical support requests for the 3rd Urban Youth Corps…whatever that is.]

He stood and poured himself a glass of wine, figuring that this was an excellent time for a break.

[They should be finishing up the meeting soon. Maybe I'll pop in on Alexander and ask his advice on this. Better yet, why don't I just dump all of this on his staff? I'm sure they are better equipped to handle it.]

Pleased with his plans, Emmanuel settled into his armchair and savored the early afternoon sunlight streaming in through his office window. There was a wealth of better ways he could be spending his time, but he felt like he'd earned this moment of respite.

There was a knock on his door.

Sighing, he stood and moved to answer it.

Alan, the Magic Department student charged with working staff duty was standing in the hall, an envelope in one hand. "Message for you, sir."

Taking it, Emmanuel quickly noticed that the envelope was blank save for his name. The only clue regarding its sender was the seal, which belonged to the standard University mail system. Normally this meant that it was a letter from some other department, but in that case, there was usually some kind of sending address listed.

"Do you know who sent this?" He asked the youth, who was attempting to sneak a peek into the Department Chair's office while he was distracted.

"Ah, no. A courier dropped it off with the rest of the mail. I didn't think to ask." He replied blandly, clearly not seeing the problem.

"Alright, thank you." Emmanuel quickly dismissed the foolish lad before shutting the door.

[Why does it feel like the quality of the student body has declined in recent years? Back in my day, the staff duty officer was a coveted position, and only the most diligent and hardworking individuals would even be considered. Really, it's quite the shame.]

He ignored the slightly distracting thoughts that, as Department Chair, a reduction of quality in students was something he was probably directly responsible for, and opened the letter.

Inside were several sheets of paper written in Alexander's neat and orderly handwriting.

[Does he really have so much free time that he can wright me a lengthy letter rather than just stopping by? I figured he would be swamped with work.]

Shaking his head, the mage started reading.

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My friend,

If you are reading this, then my worst fears have been realized, and it will be up to you to defend our city. To that effect, I have already arranged to have the position of Marshal transferred to you in the event of my death. You can find the required paperwork in this packet.

I bet you are cursing my name even now. I know how much you hate being thrust into positions of authority, despite your love the spotlight. However, I also know that I can rest easy with the city in your hands.

Included in this packet is a list of my contacts along with a series of code words used to explain the transfer of authority. With them, you will have access to all the information you'll need.

It has been encrypted in the usual manner. I trust you still remember how to decide it. You'll find a few familiar names from the old days, including a few you would probably prefer to forget. Do try to play nice.

I've also included a list of suggestions about what to do next. If you follow them, I believe we can still salvage victory from the jaws of defeat.

I know you must be wondering why am I telling you this way. Why haven't I spoken to you in person about this. Well, the answer is simple. The less you knew, the greater your chance of surviving the initial exchange.

Unfortunately, I had to drag your student into this. I hope that you'll forgive me for doing so, but I needed to bait the trap, and he was one of the only people who might have lived through what came next.

I will not lie, I have left the hardest part to you, but I do not do so lightly. You are capable of so much more than you realize, and I know you will rise to the challenge.

Good luck,

Alex

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Emmanuel sorted through the remaining pages in a mechanical manner, before folding them neatly and placing them in a pile on his desk, to be decoded when he felt up to. Once again, his work was piling up, but he couldn't quite build the willpower to start.

Rubbing his eyes, the old man growled between clenched teeth. "Gods dammit, Alexander…"

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Lithkala braced herself and pushed open the door to throne room, swiftly planting her face against the floor in obeisance. "This humble one begs to approach the Divine Throne."

For a few moments, silence reigned in the vast empty hall, until a cruel laugh sounded. "You people are so quick to forget, the Divine Throne as you called it, was far too uncomfortable, and so I replaced it with one that better suited my tastes. Anyway, why are you bothering me? Another tribute?"

Suppressing her shudders of revulsion and fear, she sunk even closer to the floor, hoping the act of complete submission would prove sufficient to appease his anger. "This humble one has been chosen to serve your Divine self. Does this one displease you?"

"Hmm, nah. You giants aren't particularly attractive, although there is some novelty about women your size." The voice trailed off, as if considering something, "So, you're here to serve me, right? Is that why they kept sending unarmed women in here?"

"That is correct, Divine One."

Loud maniacal filled the room. "HAHAHAH, whoops. I totally thought they were just feeding the beast, so to speak. I suppose I should have realized after the fifth one, now that I think about it. Oh well, since you are here, you can fan me or something I suppose. That's what servants do, right?"

"If that is your wish, Divine One."

"In that case, let me get a good look at you. Lift your head. I want to see what we're working with."

Lithkala complied, and only her extensive training allowed her to control her expression, allowing her to remain impassive despite her horror she was now forced to witness.

The bodies of hundreds of her kinsmen were strewn about the room. Some were torn apart as if by wild beasts, others had been sliced into pieces, and still other lay in the stillness of death with no obvious sign of why. Most of the bodies belonged to the Imperial Guard and previous emperor's advisors, the aftermath of the new emperor's assault. A handful of women dressed in the grey robes of servants were laying near the door.

At one side of the room, she could still see the shattered remains of the Divine Throne, the traditional seat of the Emperor, and a symbol of his authority. To see it broken was the truest sign of the changing times.

Finally, unable to put it off any longer, she allowed her gaze to rise to the creature who had single-handedly slaughtered the ruling family of the Empire of Navari and declared himself Emperor. As suffocating as his presence was, it was the macabre creation he rested upon that caused her training to fail, and allowed a portion of her horror to show.

He sat in a crude chair made from the still bloody skulls of his victims. Dressed entirely in a black that matched his tangled hair, he might have cut a handsome figure if not for the cruel smile which cleaved his pale face. Evidently, he enjoyed her discomfort. Taking a sick pleasure in her reaction.

Even though he was less than half her size, Lithkala had never been so thoroughly terrified of another living being.

Laughing again, he gestured to the chair. "What do you think? I call it the Skull Throne. Not bad, eh? Although it might be a little too on the nose."

"A fine creation, Divine One." She managed to squeeze out.

"Only fine?" A dangerous light entered the monsters red eyes, one that froze her to the core. She couldn't even muster a reply.

After a few moments he smiled again. "You are right. This thing was a waste. Why did I even bother making it, again? Something about the irony of using giant skulls as a place to rest my ass I think. Doesn't seem very funny now that I think about it. Oh well, time to start again."

With a wave of his hand, the pile of skulls disintegrated, and in its place rose an ornate throne that seemed to have been carved from a piece of pure obsidian. Sitting once more, he turned an amused gaze to Lithkala. "Much better, right? Black always suited me best. Good thing I picked up Dark Magic from that old guy over there." He pointed to the Grand Thaumaturge, who was lying in several pieces near the foot of the throne.

"Indeed, Divine One."

"Say…..whatever your name is, do you know a lot about this world?"

"This humble one has been trained in a number of topics."

This earned her a smile. "Cool. Bring me a map and whatever generals I haven't killed yet. I'm feeling the urge to do some conquering."

Lithkala bowed, leaving the room using the proscribed method, before shutting the door behind her.

It took all she had to avoid breaking down right there, but she had been given a mission by superiors, and failure was not an option. Until they found the invader's weakness, she would have to remain by his side to the best of her ability. The future of her people depended on it.

Although in the darkest corners of her heart, she feared he didn't have one.