"Munifices, ready the pila," Jovanus commanded-- "I do not fear my soul returning to the Flame-- but when I die, I want to die fat in a bed and on the ancestral grounds of my people!"
Dario said nothing. He continued to stare through the shield wall, his eyes drawn to the witch sphere in the distance.
Jovanus loaded his crossbow, locking the bowstring into the firing position as he cursed his fate.
How did such a weak-minded scoundrel make it past basic f*cking training?
Suddenly, a shout emerged from that scoundrel's flamescarred mouth, "S-someone's there!"
Jovanus looked up, his eyes following a blur of movement.
A man had leapt out of the water. He dropped some fifty feet, landing in a purposeful crouch.
"The... the Alizeaun," Dario muttered.
Jovanus narrowed his eyes, studying the distant enemy.