The setting sun painted the Henris manor in a russet glow. In the darkening gloom of the gardens, fireflies flickered and crickets chirped. Soft sounds of flowing water came from somewhere unseen.

Alastair lowered his hood, standing before the front gates.

Whatever his plans may have been, coming home was not one of them.

Yet here he was.

✦✧✦✧

The carriage of the Council Mages had forcefully broken through the Brittlerock checkposts shortly after the party of soldiers and mercenaries had set off for Byton with Clearstrike. Hence, the Second Lieutenant sent forth a small unit to warn the party of the pursuing mages.

Besides Eliora, Captain Rivera and some patrollers, Alastair was one of them.

Yet when they finally caught up, it was too late. The mages managed to get to them first--and off they all went behind the closed doors of the Council Headquarters.

Having not the patience to wait outside the entire day, he wandered the city, hood drawn, face lowered-- and none spared a second glance at the youngest of the Henris passing by them. He lingered in the gambling houses of the upper district, catching brief glimpses of his old pals he had left behind when he'd set off for Kinallen in search of glory, accompanied by his newfound trusted friend, Dion. A hired killer who now sits at King Forthwind's dungeon.

He knew not where to go, for everywhere there was naught but loneliness--be it the peaceful streets of the temple district, crowded lanes of the marketplace, or the squalor of the taverns in the lower district.

Wherever he went, the visions haunted him; images of Dion being dragged into the underground cell where Alastair been locked up, the soldiers beating him senseless when the assassin attempted the swallow Glikayne from a pendant around his neck. The sounds of fists hitting flesh rang in his ears, crystalline grains of the powdered poison spilling from the hollow pendant and glittering like diamonds in dim light flashed before his eyes, the way they had been for the past few weeks.

He had kept that pendant. Thankfully, there was no one to stop him if he tried to make use of it.

Only one person in the city of hundreds of thousands awaited his arrival--too bad that she happened to live with the one who wanted him dead.

Nothing scared him any longer. Alastair Henris was already finished.

And thus, the sole reason he stepped foot in the premises of the Henris manor today was Lady Tassya, his older sister.

✦✧✦✧

He went in.

Past the front gates, past the flanking marble columns adorned with flowering vines, and into the great hall.

"Young master?" said an awestruck old servant.

"What?" snapped Alastair, letting his heavy knapsack hit the floor and ease off his shoulders.

The old man flinched, but regained his calm soon enough, as though he expected no better from the spoilt young Henris. "Nothing, young master," he said with a soft smile. "It is good to see you again."

Rolling his eyes, Alastair stormed past him without acknowledgement, boots stomping on the staircase.

"The Lady is in her chambers," said the servant without him asking, then collected his knapsack from the floor to take it to his room upstairs.

Alastair halted at the top of the stairs, watching the old man struggling to climb up.

The disdainful looks of the soldiers from Kinallen flashed in his vision.

The hate in their eyes...it made sense.

It made sense--why none of them approached him as he had sat alone and friendless, why his being proven innocent made little difference to them.

I have carved that hole myself by treating them like filth.

And I will die within it.

Alastair gripped the bannister, knuckles turning white.

Would I?

Despite being many leagues far from Kinallen, he still felt steady eyes watching him from all sides, judging his every move.

He turned back at last, and took the knapsack off the old man's arms.

"I'll--I'll take it, don't worry," he said, the words sounding alien to his own ears.

"Thank you," he added, after some hesitation. "I hope you all have been doing well."

Now the old man looked the proper image of bewilderment, brows raised and eyes wide as though he had just been slapped across his face.

"What?" snapped Alastair again, his face turning red.

He smiled, his lined skin wrinkling around his eyes. "Nothing at all, young master. And yes, we're all well. Would you like something to eat before seeing the Lady?"

Despite having eaten not a bite all day, he had no appetite. He shook his head and made for the hallway upstairs.

He ran into the last person he wished to see.

Alfred Henris stood there, frozen in the middle of the hallway.

Alastair held his breath, half wishing to be anywhere but here-- yet the other half savoring the look of utter bafflement in his face. How does it feel, brother? You wanted me dead, yet here I am, wretched but alive.

"You're home, at last!"

Aye. Not in a coffin, but on my own two feet. Disappointed?

A bright grin spread across Alfred's face, eyes shining. "Why, this is the most pleasant surprise!"

Before Alastair could move a muscle, his brother had pulled him into a tight embrace. Every fiber in his being protested, stomach giving a sick lurch and breath hitching in his throat. Alastair made no move to return the embrace, his insides screaming to shove him away.

"Rhilio's mercy, Al!" Warm tears soaked into his shoulder. "I'd no idea that Edsley boy would turn out to be this cold-blooded murderer, out to kill a commander no less!"

Alastair found himself questioning his sanity, the truth which he'd been told by the sergeants about Dion's true intentions.

Commander Karyk had never been his target. Alastair was. The commander's disappearance was merely something Dion had pinned on him, after that botched attempt of an assassination.

Yet here was his dear brother, holding him and sobbing into his shoulder.

"Sorry lad, couldn't arrange something for you here yet. Work kept me busy, you see. Wait up, I'm going to meet some old pals in the Royal Guard to get you a place," he said, voice drenched in guilt.

Was it a mistake after all? What proof was truly there, that Alfred had hired a killer to finish off his half brother?

The anguish in him felt so genuine...

The sound of a door swinging open at the end of the hallway reached him, weary feet shuffling across the floor.

Now Alfred's nails dug painfully into his arms.

"You'd better keep it shut," whispered his dear old brother. "If you value your life."

"Who are you talking to, Fred?" Lady Tassya had come out of her chambers. "Oh!"

Her eyes halted at Alastair and widened, tears beginning to well up.

Alfred finally set him free of the cursed embrace with a warning look. Yet no relief came to Alastair at the sight of his sister--the one person he had been looking forward to seeing. Dread gripped him like an iron fist.

Everything, everyone--was as he had left them. The manor, sparkling floors and lush gardens, hallways lit with bright chandeliers. The business, flourishing, even better than before since the sea swallowed the entire fleet of their only rival.

All except Tassya, who looked worse for wear. Starting a few weeks before he had departed for Kinallen, she had fallen ill. Alfred had scoured all Midaelia looking for a cure.

For Tassya, he would turn the world upside down--despite whatever schemes he might be brewing up to put Alastair out of the way.

The best healers from around the city had been brought, hundreds of thousands of gold spent in various remedies, yet they had all failed, if her current looks were any indication.

Her hands were deathly cold as she came up and held his, her skin a sickly pallor, bony shoulders wrapped in a silken shawl. Deep shadows underlined her bulging eyes. She looked but a mere husk of her former self--the loving elder sister who always stood by his side against all adversities, and...perhaps spoiled him a bit too much in the process.

"Gods, I was so worried," she said, "all these strange happenings in Kinallen, and your name mixed up in this assassin business--I just didn't know what to make of it!"

Alfred stepped in with an exasperated sigh, prying her hands off Alastair.

"Best you keep your distance." He gave her a stern look. "As much as I'm delighted to see him safe and sound, Al comes from the far frontiers. Those peasant villages are hotbeds of disease. Wouldn't want your condition to worsen now, would you?"

With some difficulty, Alastair flinched away from her hand which she had raised to ruffle his hair. "Right."

"Besides--" Alfred threw another glare at him before morphing his face into a kindly smile. "The healers clearly said excitement is not good for you. Let's get you to your room. You should rest."

"Who do you think you are, young man?" She crossed her arms, her smile playful yet authoritative. "Not happening. One cannot simply order around the head of the household like that. I won't allow such audacity! Now go and bring us some tea. We shall await you in the parlor."

Alfred gave her a tired look and bowed. "As Her Majesty wishes."

There they sat at the parlor after Alastair had helped Tassya down the stairs. The wide glass doors to the gardens were left ajar. Even as the rest of the city shriveled up in the face of the onslaught of winter, the flowerbeds and orchards of the Henris manor bloomed.

In a glass case mounted on the wall on the right, there hung a brass-lined, intricately carved pistol crossbow, small enough to carry around in one's cloak--a quaint little thing Father had brought from his travel to Veland. As a little boy, Alastair would marvel at it, once even going so far as prying open the case--and earning a slap from Alfred as a reward. He had wailed like a banshee that day. He smiled despite himself.

"Fred worries me so much," Tassya said, breaking the silence.

Alastair couldn't agree more. Yet he still enquired. "Why? What's he done now?"

"He's been taking care of everything single-handedly, you see. I haven't been of much help. He would work himself sick at this rate," she said, then turned to him with a serious look. "You've come home to stay, I hope? No more hopping around between Byton and Kinallen?"

"The hopping around has to continue, I'm afraid." He forced a smile. "Until I can find a post here."

"Gods, sign up in the City Watch for all I care! Get your arse back home and take hold of things around here, yeah?" She added with a cheeky smile. "Have you no plans of settling down?"

Alastair wanted to laugh out loud. Haven't even got plans to stay alive, dear sister.

A soft evening breeze flowed in, playing with the wispy strands of her thinning, greying hair--which once used to be put up in an elegant bun. The wind caressed her sunken cheeks. She looked not long for this world, yet the light in her eyes glowed ever radiant, filling the house with her presence.

He wanted to simply lay his head on her lap and listen to her talk, just like the old days. He wanted to ask her to read him a story. An ache clenched his throat, eyes stinging with bitter tears. The only ray of hope in his life was fading away, and he could do nothing but watch.

He glanced up as gentle fingers ruffled his hair, and found himself looking into the concerned eyes of his sister.

"It's altogether better that you stay here before my eyes, you know? Those frontier outposts are dangerous. Don't want you anywhere near those. Ah, speaking of which, did that corporal get you out of this mess?"

"Who?"

"Red hair, big scar here on the left eye?" said Tassya animatedly.

Alastair knew all too well who this could be. Clearstrike's snooping around had provided enough evidence for the Kinallen camp to believe his innocence and set him free.

"Yeah, she...helped." And I distracted the mage to help her sneak out. That's a debt duly paid with interest, and I want nothing to do with it.

Tassya's face brightened up. "I knew she would. Tell me, how is she?"

Swinging from the gallows for all I care! But worry still coiled in his stomach.

Alfred came in with the tea, a maidservant following with trays of food. She placed slices of fruit cake and mincemeat pie before him, while Tassya was served what looked like bland soup. Alfred did not join in, but motioned to the servant.

"It is time for the Lady's medicine," he instructed.

The maid rushed back, and returned with another tray with small folded cones of paper. From it, she unfolded one and emptied its crystalline, powdery contents into a glass of warm milk and handed it to Tassya, who downed it with a grimace.

Alfred joined them, and swiftly propelled the conversation to revolve around him and his grand achievements in their business--just the way he liked it.

But Alastair hardly paid heed, eyes stuck on that empty glass of milk.

The stone floor beneath his feet was a churning sea, the food on his plate sitting untouched despite his head spinning from hunger.

The elegant Henris mansion swirled in his vision.

Dusk turned into a dark, moonless night, and Tassya retired to her chambers. Even as Alfred cornered him in the parlor, he sat frozen.

He watched as his older brother leaned his arms against the back of an armchair, and heaved a tired sigh. "You know...I have given this quite some thought."

Alastair gave him a blank stare, his mind entirely elsewhere.

"You are not worth this trouble, really. My gold could go somewhere better than hiring killers, wouldn't you agree? And you seem to be quite the lucky bastard."

He tossed a bag of coins at his feet.

"Enough to buy yourself a farmstead. There's a carriage leaving for Wickhills next week. Board it. Never show your face again if you don't want to float in the canal in pieces."

One hand tucked in his pocket, fingers clasped tight around a paper cone, Alastair picked up the bag without a word. Heavy gold coins jingled inside.

"You have this week to think it over." Alfred left, giving a gentle pat on his shoulder.

✦✧✦✧

Up in his room, Alastair retrieved Dion's pendant from his backpack and poured the contents on a table.

The sharp, white crystals sparkled in the candle light; characteristic feature of powdered Glikayne.

He exhaled, and unfurled his trembling fist to reveal one of the folded paper cones of Tassya's medicine.

From beneath a layer of fine powder, peeked particles of crystal here and there, identical to those from the pendant.

No wonder she never recovered.

From persuading the Drisian marine fleet to sinking his rival's ships, hiring killers to finish off his half brother, to poisoning the head of the family--how far had Alfred sunk his venomous blade?

It had to stop.

In noiseless movements, Alastair fetched his cloak and yew longbow. He gathered the poison and put on the pendant around his neck, and lowered his hood. He took a deep breath before placing his bare foot on the windowsill, boots in hands.

How many times would his reality be questioned?

How many skeletons lie beneath the land we walk?

To answer that, he would need to get dirt on his hands and dig up the unmarked graves. The time was now.

Alastair landed quietly into the gardens, and headed for the Royal Palace.

Thus concludes the second tale Of Gods and Warriors, Unmarked Graves.