Atop a small hill overshadowed by the temple of Lord Rhilio, the High Gallows loomed over a dense forest of red-brick rooftops and chimneys. Wreathed in smoke glittering in the rising sun, it awaited Farren.

Things were not supposed to end like this.

It would have been much easier, if all went according to plan. Once she was turned in by the company, her squad was to defend her, their words supported by a well-planned argument by the Royal Sorcerer himself, strengthened with solid proof. Before dusk, she could have been back in her squad, and the company beneath the command of the princess.

The unforeseen arrival of the mages, with Lord Atruer in her disguise, shattered all plans, leaving them little to improvise with.

Even as the City Watch around them blew up in alarmed shouts and the mages voiced their loud complaints, the other Farren smiled at her, from between the bars of the prison wagon, long-nailed hands grabbing the bars.

"Revenge is sweet, isn't it, my dear?" whispered Lord Atruer in her own voice, the words carrying over the clamor. "But the taste of your despair is even sweeter."

The agitated faces of the City Watch, the panicked looks exchanged between her companions, the serene city stirring awake--all blurred except the gallows high above, visible beyond the temple district.

Remnants of the last executed still swayed from the rope. The old corpse was mere skin and bones, tattered clothes rippling like a grim standard, a blemish upon the otherwise beautiful capital city. Yet by an unsaid rule, the bodies were not taken down, but left there instead, to serve as a reminder to the people.

The black-blooded ones, Reylan's plan to siege the city, the sorceress, Avalyn--all seemed a distant nightmare, almost harmless.

A man would hardly worry about the storm clouds beyond the horizon when his limbs were on fire.

What does the end of the world mean to one who's already doomed?

The imminent threat of a war looked tame to her now, for the people of her own kingdom could kill her in ways much more cruel than some necromancer ever could.

"This one must be some sort of evil doppelganger! I say we burn this creature 'fore Lord Rhilio before worse comes to worst!" shouted a city guard, gesturing wildly at her.

As more of the City Watch began to close in on her, hands reaching out to grab at her chained wrists, Bjorn and Gunvald jerked her out of their reach.

"Come again?" said a harsh voice.

So alien it sounded to her ears, Farren swung to face its owner. She did not know whether her ears deceived her, or her eyes.

Captain Xenro stepped forward, his shadow casting shade upon the faces of the City Watch, his demeanor changed within moments from cheery new recruit into something...malevolent.

All they could do was improvise. And that, he did.

Strands of blond hair escaped the knot and hung low over his sullen face. He hefted his yet sheathed two-handed sword over his shoulder and spat, cursing in fluent Velan. He was no longer an exiled God, nor a soft-spoken young recruit--but rather, an ill-mannered mercenary captain from distant lands.

"What's this nonsense I hear about doppelgangers?" he snarled in heavily accented Midaelian, "ain't no such thing in my company. We bring you--" He emphasized his words by grabbing her collar and dragging her before the City Watch. "--the real thing."

"Sorry," he muttered in her ear the next moment.

The mage who seemed to be the leader of the group gave him a look of disbelief. "You mean to say we, representatives of the Council, are liars?"

"Ploughing rubbish. Anyone can lie for a bit of extra coin. Especially wizardfolk." Xenro shoved him aside and made his way to the City Watch.

"Take this crook--the real one--off our hands and give us the sum promised--and we'll be off. Got supplies to buy, blades to mend. Not much time for this shite."

The City Watch captain eyed the banner. "What company are you lot from? Never heard of you before."

Xenro turned to the mercenaries , and for a moment, he only glared, desperately trying to get them to join in the act. Next, he burst into raucous, rather ungodly laughter.

Thankfully, the others got the message. They echoed his laugh, double the enthusiasm and twice the confusion.

"Byton city hires guards who can't even read?" Xenro pointed a thumb at their grey standard. "Very well. I'll spell it out for you. Stormbringers, from Wickhills. 'Course you haven't seen us around here."

The mage opened his mouth again, but the city guard cut him off, turning to Xenro. "Are you--"

"No, we ain't taking no recruits, sorry. Especially not the likes of you."

"That's not what I asked, you fool! I'm asking--are you and this lot... " The City Watch captain spared a look of disdain toward the soldiers of Kinallen. "All here for the prize money?"

"As if we have no better things to do than joining forces with random hired thugs," snarled Linder. "Keep those baseless assumptions to yourself, Captain. We're here for a comrade who's wrongfully convicted for a crime she did not commit."

The mage gestured to the other Farren in the prison wagon. "This is your precious comrade. Not that doppelganger the mercenaries brought in. She violated the law of restriction, cast immobility spells in the presence of a Council Mage and assaulted said mage with ice magic. Need I say more?"

Karles stepped forward. "You need not, because I will. I am the man she saved from the jaws of certain death. There is little reason in arguing with Council workers, some money hungry mercenary captain or city guards about it, so I will provide my testimony before the Council Head. Now if you'll excuse us."

The Council Mage stood in their way, cutting off the city guard. "I represent the Council here. The band of hooligans and that doppelganger will go no further. She goes to the stake, and the rest-- kicked out of the gates. In the name of the Council, I order the City Watch!"

"And in the name of King Forthwind, I stop you right there," came another protesting voice from among the crowd.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" snarled the mage.

"Oh, my thoughts are irrelevant. I believe this speaks for itself." Astride his mount, Marches held up his golden insignia. Beside him, Princess Lysandra drew her cowl further down her face.

White robes shimmering in the sun, the Royal Sorcerer dismounted his horse and stepped into the commotion with a tired look, as though he had better things to do than sort out an argument of little more importance than a drunken brawl.

"As far as I'm informed, the sole purpose of the Council is to oversee sorcerous activities. Deciding the fate of convicts, or who goes in and out of the city, does not concern you. Or," he said. "have I, by some highly unlikely chance, missed an amendment made to your countless code of laws?"

The mage fumbled for words, eyes stuck on the insignia, bearing the king's seal. "I--"

"If you are done, we are headed for the Council Headquarters," said Marches, and made to stride past him. The soldiers followed, and so did Xenro, hauling her along by the chains. But before they cleared out of the crowd, the mage spoke again.

"What's the esteemed Royal Sorcerer doing with these uncouth folk, I wonder?" The mage gave him a narrow-eyed stare.

Marches' turned, smile unwavering. "Ah, it happens when one is too busy poking their noses in other folk's business, they often forget the obvious. But fear not, I am delighted to remind you, it is a Royal Sorcerer's responsibility to settle disputes related to sorcery. Is Sir convinced, or shall I put it in simpler terms?"

The mage said nothing, glaring daggers at Marches before motioning to his cadre surrounding the prison wagon. "Get the convict to the headquarters. We'll decide today which one goes to the gallows and which one to the stake."

Farren heard Klo whisper to Bjorn, and the next moment, the Velan slid the key of the shackles into her pocket.

"Run, if things go wrong," said her sergeant.

She smiled to herself, sparing the distant gallows another glance. She would not.

Not today.

Running from her problems, that was all she had done in her life.

She had gotten so used to running, she'd thought she could swindle even a God and get away with it. Yet fate caught up with her in the end.

She ran from the first battle she fought, stumbling like a coward. She ran from the law that robbed her of the right to cast sorcery.

She looked at Xenro, now putting on one of his many personas to help her out of this mess.

Even if all went down in flames, she would apologise to him, to everyone today--for all the trouble she put them through. Admit what a cheat she was, declare out loud her deal with Atruer. Come clean to her conscience, one last time.

The guards dragged the chains all the way to their destination, the shackles chaffing and bruising her wrists.

Yet on the bright side, Princess Lysandra took advantage of the commotion and left for the palace--where her spy had taken Dion, and thus avoided what could have been quite another disaster had the City Watch recognized her.

✦✧✦✧

The Headquarters, from where the mages of the Midaelian branch of the Council operated, stood in the upper district not far from the academy. The domed ceiling of the great hall loomed high, a wide column of sunlight streaming in through the circular window overhead, casting intricate patterns across the flagstones as it filtered through the stained glass.

Two of the Council guards snatched her from the twins and shoved her into that patch of light, chains clattering and shackles clanging. Atruer stumbled in her wake, but the guards kept them a good few paces apart.

It took her a moment to adjust to the gloom surrounding her, for the rest of the hall was dimly lit, candles burning low in alcoves. A cobweb ridden chandelier flickered forlornly from above. On either side of her were raised cut-stone daises, lined with cedar railings. Before her stood a platform, behind which sat an old man with silver hair and beard, the Head Mage. The Minister of Defence and a court official flanked him, their expressions dour.

On her left, the Council Mages stood upon the dias, and soldiers from Kinallen, on her right. The guards made the mercenaries wait outside, only allowing the captain to be present.

Before either agitated side could voice their arguments, however, the court official interrupted them, reciting in his monotone voice all the charges against her.

A number of other charges had now joined her act of using illegal sorcery--things she had never done. Allegedly, she had attacked a mage with ice, and injured many others with dark magic when they tracked her down in the forest.

The incident with the ice magic, she vaguely recalled, but the other accusations...

"You're welcome," rasped Atruer, or rather, the other Farren, kohl-rimmed eyes winking. "I promised to be scandalous, and I kept it, didn't I?

She answered the Lord of Despair with a single-fingered gesture behind her back.

"Hah," whispered the other Farren, "such mundane insults mean naught to me, mortal!"

Not only had he ruined her life, but he had the audacity to look prettier than her in her own disguise. Despite the dire situation ahead, she had an overwhelming urge to kick him.

And she did.

Being trapped in a corporeal, mortal form now, Lord Atruer had not the means to dissolve into smoke. Her boot slammed into the other Farren's shin, hitting flesh and bone.

Atruer let out the most obnoxious wail, dissolving into a teary mess, and threw himself--or herself--across the floor, acting as though Farren had flung him with demonic strength. "Get this evil doppelganger away from me, I beg you! She comes at me with the most hostile intent!"

Yet in the Council's eyes, both were criminals. One was a fugitive guilty of several charges, the other, a malevolent shapeshifter procured by the mercenaries to grab the prize money. Thus no consolation came to Atruer.

"Keep your mouths shut, or you both burn at the stake, back to back!" snarled a guard.

The old Head Mage heaved an annoyed sigh, and rose, motioning to a couple of guards. "Bring it."

Heads turned as they arrived at the centre of the hall with an object, shaped vaguely humanoid and mounted on small wheels, with a piece of white linen thrown over it. They removed it to reveal a life-sized statue of a figure in flowing robes, marked with the symbol of the sun, holding a bell aloft. The Priest Of Rhilio.

Farren felt her heart sink even further.

The Head Mage addressed those at the daises. "All the while you speak, The Priest shall be kept here. It can sense lies in one's speech. Blessed by Lord Rhilio himself, it is unbiased and takes no sides. You may begin. Remember, the bell shall ring if you lie."

"Mhm, basic mortal sorcery of detecting brain waves put to use. Not bad," remarked Atruer. "Wish they had one for me too. Atruer's Priest or something like that."

"Wait!" shouted Farren. "Why don't we ask him which one of us is real?"

She started forward, without waiting for an answer. "I am Farren Clearstrike!"

The bell did not ring.

She looked up hopefully, but the old mage shook his head. "I'm afraid that it is not reliable for identifying individuals, for the objective reality does not match up with how one perceives oneself. Doppelgangers, even more so, because many of them train their minds to think like the one they impersonate. The use of The Priest is thus limited to verifying physical events that have taken place."

Atruer tilted his head, looking at a defeated Farren. "Ah, don't you understand? I'll make this easier for you, slow as you are."

"I rode a dragon on my way here!" he shouted at the statue with glee.

The bell tinkled.

The mages on the left dais snickered.

And disappointment smothered the flicker of hope in her.

The Head Mage resumed his seat, and gestured at them to begin.

Marches stepped up, professional coldness in his expression, nothing like the man who but days ago sat with them around the fire and shared meals as though he were one of them. His pale blue eyes regarded the sorcerous contraption for a brief moment, one boot clicking against the marble floor as he arranged his thoughts.

The time for false play-pretend was over. On the other side of the right dais, Xenro stood silent. One wrong word from any one could tip the scales in the Council's favour. Yet the only one untouched by the tension was Linder. He leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

"Do you speak for the soldiers? Or are you here to strengthen the claim of the mercenaries upon the prize money offered?" asked the Head Mage.

"Neither, sir. Unlike some, I've no delusions about what is within my power and what isn't. I aim to settle this misunderstanding, and thus speak only the truth. After that, the final decision rests upon you," said Marches.

"You may proceed."

"The turn of events leading up to this are simple. According to the Council Mages present in Kinallen on the day of the attack, Farren Clearstrike used immobility spells on Dion Edsley, thus violating the law of restriction."

The bell remained silent thus far.

"Later, she was found, alone and helpless in the woods of Kinallen by members of...the company present."

But one of the mages from the left cut him off. "So you think you can cheat the system by omitting the details?"

The mage swung to face the Council Head. "The offences committed by Clearstrike--the real one we have captured-- go beyond mere casting spells. When one of the Council representatives, after witnessing the act, approached to question her, she answered with utmost insolence!"

The bell remained silent still.

Farren remembered the way she spoke to the mage. Gods, why didn't I keep my mouth shut back then?

Annoyance showed in the face of the Head Mage, but he shook his head. "I'm afraid verbal insult, while still punishable, does not call for a death sentence."

"I was not finished, sir! Not only did she insult my colleague, she attacked him with ice magic when he tried to take her into custody!"

Now the bell rang, loud and clear, the sound reverberating off the walls.

The Head Mage looked at him, white eyebrows raised. "Care to explain that?"

"Allow me, sir." Klo strode to the front of the dais.

"I can confirm that Corporal Clearstrike, who has been part of my squad for the past six years, does not possess ice magic."

Several pairs of eyes turned to the device, ears trained to listen.

The bell did not ring.

"In fact, it was the Council Mage who attacked her with lightning bolts, and proceeded to chase her down through the woods."

The bell remained silent as ever-- but the mage did not. "Of course the sergeant leaves out the lies to save her squad member! This is unacceptable. Let us not base our judgements off The Priest's bell. This is insulting to Lord Rhilio, I say!"

Boots clicked across flagstones, and a dark figure leaned on the railing.

"Let us not upset the Gods, for embodiments of misfortune are already walking the land," said Linder. He then gestured to one among them on the left dais. "Why don't we ask the mage in question instead?"

His gloved finger pointed to the one mage, who had travelled with them all the way here, kept under watch just like Dion.

Only now did Farren recognise him.

He was the one who chased her down through the woods, firing spells left and right until she'd jumped off into the waterfall. She did hear him get attacked by someone with ice powers, yet had no idea who the wielder had been.

It clicked at once, the reason Linder had brought him along. Even though he had run to his coven the moment they set foot into the city, Linder was determined to drag the truth out of him.

The man now stepped up, face pale and casting furtive glances at Linder.

The Head now questioned him. "Has this soldier, Farren Clearstrike, attacked you with ice magic?"

He fumbled for words. "Well, she ran--so I had but little choice but to go after her, then she jumps off into the water and--"

"Answer the question."

"I--uh... I was attacked with ice magic. That's true enough."

"By this soldier or not?" the Head Mage pressed on.

"I'm--I'm not certain."

Linder only smiled from the dais. The Head observed the silent bell. "So it was not Farren Clearstrike after all, but someone else with ice powers."

"Oh, come on. Are you forgetting the hospitality of the soldiers of Kinallen?" asked Linder, addressing the man who chased Farren. He seemed to have some leverage upon the mage, for his face paled in fright.

"I don't-- I really don't remember. The spell was too strong," The mage looked defiant still.

"Oh, but you must sir. You must recall how Crowder, the new apprentice healer of the camp, saved your life. Aren't I telling the truth?"

The silence of the bell proclaimed more than the man.

"Yeah, he must've. That's a healer's job," the mage said disdainfully.

"But there's more to it. You must confess the rest," said Linder, amusement gone from his tone, his expression turning dark.

The man in question stood in defiant silence.

"Very well. I will do it for you," Linder said.

A flutter of a black cloak, heavy boots thundering down the dais. He was right before the statue at once.

"So here is the truth! The Council Mages were cowering behind closed doors when the attack came," he began, "and so when Dion Edsley raised the Death Ring, none of them were there to lend a hand. No, they only arrived after Corporal Clearstrike-- out of sheer desperation--cast magic to help her comrade escape the Death Ring."

The bell was silent.

"He lies!" shouted several mages from the opposite dais. The shrill clamor of the bell joined the commotion.

"The Priest does not think so!" Linder shouted back, uncharacteristic rage in his voice. She had never seen him so livid, even in battle.

As his temper swelled, everyone glanced around at the subtle shift in the air. It felt like sorcery, yet not quite.

Farren stood rooted to her spot, eyes on Linder.

He had never possessed magic...as far as she knew.

A shadow blotted out the shaft of light under which Farren and Atruer had been standing. Flapping of wings reached her ears, followed by a thud-thud on the glass.

She looked up to find a large raven oddly perched on the window overhead, head pressed to the glass, one protruding eye watching the audience below.

A bleak wind rattled the windows and played with the end of Linder's cloak.

The Head Mage was the first to break out of the trance. "Let us not waste our time bird-watching, shall we?"

They resumed the discussion, all except Royal Sorcerer Marches. He stared at Linder, and the avian guest above, making some connection Farren didn't understand...yet.

"It has been proven that the one who cast the immobility spell and the one with ice magic are not the same." The Head Mage leaned forward in his seat, ancient eyes on Farren.

A moment later, he shook his head. "No, can't be," he said to himself.

"What is it, sir?" she asked the Head Mage, unable to keep silent any longer.

He told her the same thing the mercenaries had. "You haven't learnt to mask your powers at all. I can sense them."

"Meaning?" demanded Linder haughtily.

"She--the prisoner who arrived with the mercenaries-- possesses little more than ordinary magic used by common street thugs. In other words, she lacks the finesse a proper doppelganger requires in order to change their appearance to mimick someone else." The Head Mage rose from her seat, and nodded to Farren. "She is the real Corporal Clearstrike."

Shouts of agreement rose from the soldiers on the right, Rendarr yelling the loudest. "Damn right she is!"

The Head Mage continued after the guards had stopped Rendarr from trying to leap over the dais railing. "The prisoner brought by our own Council members has allegedly overpowered even trained mages. I'm sure you get my meaning?"

Council guards closed in on the other Farren. "What on earth do you mean, stupid old mage--?" Atruer spat as he struggled.

"I think I made myself quite clear. " He nodded toward the other Farren. "Our fellow Council members have indeed brought in a malevolent entity into the city-- one who is truly guilty of the charges concerning the attack on the Council workers."

Farren's eyes snapped up to stare at the Head Mage, the words unbelievable to her ears.

"Take off any wards put on the doppelganger, for it would not be needed as long as she is within the premises of the Council. Our mages are more than enough to restrain her," ordered the Head Mage, gesturing to Atruer. "Lock her in the dungeon. Her fate will be decided later. The prize money is to be rewarded to both parties accordingly."

The guards did as they were told. The wards went down.

And several things happened at once.

"Ah, at last! I am freed of this godforsaken mortal sorcery!" shrieked Atruer. He swung around and kicked the nearest guard in the face, sending him flying across the room. Another, he slammed into the floor.

An explosion of celestial magic spread through the air, the stained glass window overhead bursting open with an ear-splitting sound. Gloved hands closed around her bruised wrists. Linder drew Farren toward himself, pulling her out of the way of the shimmering rain of broken glass and splintered wood.

He held her close still, even as shards came flying their way, embedding into his arm he shielded her with. Panicked, the mages fired spells, which recocheted off the walls. The raven now burst through another window, croaking loudly at Farren and charging at her with its talons. She ducked, just in time for a thunderbolt to whoosh past her head.

"Well, I had fun. But now tis time for goodbye!" declared Lord Atruer, still standing in the middle of the chaos in Farren's guise, waving at the frightened folk. "Oh, how I shall miss you!"

The Minister of Defence sprang from his seat, bellowing at the guards. "What are you waiting for? Seize her!"

Atruer dodged an arrow. Then a mace, which Klo threw across the dais. Next, a yelling Rendarr who lunged at him, sword unsheathed.

The weapons passed through him as though he were thin air.

"You know what? I won't miss you at all," said Atruer, "you all are stupid and ugly anyway."

And off he went, vanishing into a plume of acrid black smoke.

The shackles, now empty, fell back on the floor with a clang.

✦✧✦✧

It took them several minutes to recover from the sudden disorder that rattled the entire hall. But when they did, it was the Minister of Defence who spoke, for it fell to him to decide the fate of the corporal.

"Although she has not committed heinous acts such as assaulting Council members," he said, "Corporal Farren Clearstrike is still guilty of violating the law of restriction and must be dealt with accordingly." A tense pause followed.

"As the law of restriction of sorcery decrees, she is hereby dismissed from her service in the Midaelian army."

The hall fell silent, all eyes on the minister.

An numbness pressed down upon Farren. She felt nothing at all, as though both of her souls had perished, leaving nothing but a void inside.

So this is how Midaelia repaid her for years of service?

She was back on the dusty training ground from seven years ago, once again the sixteen-year-old recruit who had cried her eyes out over a broken arm.

She remembered the words of Audryn, drill sergeant at that time.

'Perhaps this life is not for you, Clearstrike.'

But she had made it her life, hadn't she? She changed things when they refused to change.

The sole reason she had struck the deal with Atruer was that she wanted to be strong enough to lead this life, and to protect her home.

Yet where did she go wrong?

The chains fell away as Bjorn quietly retrieved the key again, and unlocked her shackles, the sound all too loud in the deathly silent room.

From the corner of her eye, she could see a figure descending from the right dais.

Karles walked up to her, unpinning the insignia from his uniform.

"She broke the law for me. If she goes, so do I. It's only fair," he said.

"No!" shouted Farren, but he wasn't listening.

He strode over to The Priest, and set down his badge at the statue's feet.

The floor beneath shuddered as many boots marched across it, moving in sync. The soldiers of Kinallen descended the right dais as one.

To the minister's outrage and Farren's horror, they arranged themselves in a neat queue.

The man slammed his hands down on the table. "What nonsense! You are willing to leave the frontiers unprotected like that?" he sneered, "for whom? A resistant? She'll be more of a burden on you in times of battle, if you ask me."

The minister was right.

Farren did not find joy nor pride within herself when they all began to resign one by one, only the stabbing pain of guilt--and shame, which she had not felt when the guards dragged her in, devoid of all dignity. But now it bit her harsher than the north winds in winter.

Farren Clearstrike, the lying, cheating coward, did not deserve this devotion from her comrades.

If the Drisians beyond the hills got air of this, Kinallen would be in flames, and it would be her fault. My fault.

She made to rush at the soldiers, but the guards held her back.

Rendarr stepped forward, looking eye to eye with the minister. "Whom you write off as a burden, a resistant," he said, "is my sister-in-arms who willingly refuses treatment, so that the healer has enough sorcery to treat the rest of us. But I don't expect you understand her worth. Or any of ours, for that matter."

And with that, Rendarr slammed down his badge. He came over to Farren, taking her bruised hands in his.

"Let's go home," he said.

Yet, where was home? Kinallen? Fallmead?

Farren no longer knew, for tears blurred her vision.

"Snap out of this madness!" the minister was still shouting, eyes travelling over all their faces in desperation, "do you not want to protect your homeland?"

"To what end, sir? Put our lives on the line just to be dismissed?" asked Klo. The sergeant unclipped her insignia and set it down with a thud. Her squad followed, and then Linder, then, with some hesitation, Gray.

"This is preposterous!" the minister had his head in his hands.

"It'll be even more so, once the other regiments hear of this and come to know how soldiers are rewarded for their life-long service," said Foxward, placing down his healer's badge atop the pile.

"Need I remind you, by abandoning your duties, you are committing treason? I'm sure you know what happens to deserters in Midaelia."

"Aye. Throw us all into prison then," said Lieutenant Evander. "I'm sure the Drisians will agree with your decision."

Now the minister sat up straight in his seat, frightened eyes on the growing pile of discarded badges.

"Don't do this, please!" Farren screamed out loud, ignoring the disdainful looks the minister and council members threw her. "This is wrong!"

She cut herself off, seeing that no one paid heed. The queue of soldiers moved steadily, driving the nail of guilt further into her heart. This was so wrong, so very wrong...

She resented herself for being such a pathetic mess in front of everyone. Tears clenched her throat shut.

By the Gods, she hated crying. Farren pressed the heels of hands to her eyes.

Gentle hands smoothed her sleeves down to cover the bruises and the burnt thief's brand. Klo drew an arm over her shoulders.

“Come along, now,” she said gently.

The soldiers gathered around the two. They began to make their way out as one.

The minister spoke when they neared the door to the far end.

"Stop. I forbid you to take a step further."

The Council guards crossed their spears, blocking the way out.

"This is not the time for impulsive decisions as such, Sirs. I request you to rethink your choices. Considering the conflicts at Kinallen, chances of an invasion attempt cannot be ruled out--not when Krugmann still occupies the throne," said the minister, quite clearly forcing politeness into his words.

Linder turned, one eyebrow raised. "We quite agree, because if Drisia strikes, it's our own homes and lives at stake. We might rethink our choices, if you do the same."

Many a moments passed as the soldiers and the minister glared at each other. A quill ran noisily as the court official took notes. The Priest's bell tinkled softly in the wind. From a high window, the raven watched it all.

The Minister of Defence gave in at last.

"Clearstrike may rejoin the service," he said, "but she will be demoted to the rank of private, for I am compelled by law to not let her actions go unpunished. Now whether she is willing to join with such blemishes upon her name is yet to see... "

Over many protesting voices, Farren's was the loudest.

"I accept," she said.

✦✧✦✧

Farren descended the steps of the Council in slow, weary steps, limbs aching from the weight of the chains she'd dragged around half the city on their way here. Voices chattered around her, speaking of the minister, the Head Mage, the chaos that the doppelganger had raised, but Farren did not join in, drained inside and out. Xenro awaited her at the bottom of the stairs with a sad smile.

"Set foot into the city at last, didn't we?" he said. "Yet I still believe we could have pressed them further."

She forced a laugh. "Nah, this is good enough. I'd been stuck on corporal for years anyway. I can only go up from here, eh?"

No one laughed at her joke. Clearly, no one had a sense of humor.

Lieutenant Evander came forward, landing a heavy hand on her back. "Want to go up, do you?" He said, "you'll have plenty of chances to earn your place back."

She cast him a questioning look.

"We're going to get Commander Karyk back. The plans are ready. Now to set them into motion."

She gave the Lieutenant a salute. "I would do everything in my power to make this mission a success, sir."

Marches now approached them, hands clasped behind his back. "I hate to interrupt, but first we must speak with His Majesty about the siege and get Dion Edsley to provide his testimony. Her Highness awaits us."

They set off with tired steps, another long trek to the palace.

✦✧✦✧

When they reached there, the day had bled into a crimson dusk. As though things were not troublesome enough, the Royal Guards blocked their way to the front entrance.

Before the tired and enraged Royal Sorcerer could enquire into that interruption, they explained themselves.

"No one goes in or out, sir. There's been a murder in the palace."