"Outside the meeting hall, Commander Karyk met someone he killed in the battle of Brihurst Isles five years ago."

"What?"

"My reaction was not much different, when Karyk told me the same," said Lieutenant Evander with a wry smile.

"But how can he be so sure it's the same person he killed?" said Karles, his grip shifted on his bow. "Last raid, sir-- not to brag-- I shot down quite a few. Some six, perhaps seven Drisian looters. Doubt I remember any of their faces."

Farren was not sure she agreed. She clearly remembered her first kill, for the visage had been burned into her mind. A Drisian bandit; slack brown hair pasted to the forehead, one missing eye, yellowed teeth bared in a grin.

"Some faces, lad, you'll find hard to forget," said the lieutenant with a sigh. He looked drained, so very exhausted all of a sudden. "Most, you won't remember. But some, Sweet Draedona, will come back to haunt you, time and again. Flash before your sleepless eyes in the dead of the night, ask you questions you wouldn't know how to answer."

Lieutenant Evander paused. "Pertheran was one of them."

✦✧✦✧

The battle of Brihurst Isles was one Farren had only heard tales about. They all had heard of the encroachment of Drisian marine fleets upon Midaelian territorial waters. Commander Karyk had been sent there to lead a company of soldiers from the capital.

Shortly after the commander's departure, the eastern border here had been under attack. That was Farren's first time in battle. Kinallen had been in flames.

"Pertheran?" Klo asked.

"Aye. Drisian lad; slight build, ginger hair. A Private, from what we saw of him." said Lieutenant Evander. "You might remember I was there with commander Karyk during the attack on Brihurst Isles. Drisian marines--they'd reached shore and targeted the fishing settlements lining the eastern coast. "

"The coastal guards could not hold. They needed reinforcements," said Evander, "that's where we come in, Karyk and I. With our forces conjoined with the coastal guard, we were able to free the fishing settlements, drove them out; I'll spare you the details. Anyway, that's where we found Pertheran, cowering beneath a guard tower. He was just a boy, no more than nineteen, perhaps younger."

Rendarr shifted in his seat, disbelief on his face. "Commander Karyk killed someone like that?"

"Had you been in his place, you would've done the same." Lieutenant Evander looked more drained with every word he spoke. "There he lay, soaked in seawater in the sloshy mud of the coast, foaming at the mouth, arms and legs twitching horribly, as though a wizard shocked him with thunderbolt. One look at him and we knew what it was."

"Draedona's tears," said Farren, who had been quiet for a while. "That's just a nickname, of course. Its alchemical name is Glikayne."

The other three and the lieutenant turned to look at her, their gazes suspicious.

Lieutenant Evander frowned. "That's right."

"Velan warlike tribes use it to poison their arrows and crossbow quarrels," she continued, "deadly. Causes violent muscle spasms; so strong that can strain tendons hard enough to shatter bones. Mimicks signs of consumption when slow-fed in small doses.”

It all came easy to Farren, like a memorized poem. The Countess of Silver Knife had taught her well.

"Anything else?" said Evander, as though it were an interview.

Yes. Thugs and assassins of Byton use it on their blades. The Dark Saints supply it to them.

The Council does not bat an eye.

Farren shook her head. "No, sir."

"I hope you do not intend to renew your ties to the Countess again.” The Lieutenant watched her with narrow eyes. “...For your own good.”

Farren swallowed hard. "Absolutely not, sir. This is just-- well, old knowledge."

Lieutenant Evander turned away. "Pertheran had been shot in the chest with an arrow dipped in Glikayne, when the islanders reclaimed their settlement. The arrow shaft had snapped in half when the poison kicked in and convulsions started.

I knew the lad was done for, he could barely tell us his name. But Karyk--he wanted to get a healer to take a look."

He paused. Took a deep breath. "Then, in a fit of seizures, the boy bit right through his tongue. Began choking on his own blood. Karyk couldn't bear to look at him anymore. He... ended his misery.

Had no choice but to leave him at the shore. The Drisians collect their own dead."

For a moment, silence prevailed.

"Five years after that, Karyk sees Pertheran, posted as a guard right outside the meeting hall in the Drisian Royal Palace. The same slight build, ginger hair. The very same lad."

"And he's certain it's the same person," Klo said.

The lieutenant gave them a solemn nod. "I would recognise the boy if I met him. Karyk even more so. Couldn't forget his face if he wanted."

"The seal on the package, sir, that's Rodormann's," said Farren, finally finding herself a seat. "What does any of this have to do with commander's frequent visits to Valston city, or this historian?"

"To clear a suspicion," said Evander. "It all seemed so absurd, we thought we'll glean more information first, before disclosing the matter to others."

Klo laid her hands flat on the table before him, looking impatient. "I'm not sure I understand, sir. What suspicion do you have? Why Valston city?"

Lieutenant Evander looked indecisive, as though not certain how to put his thoughts into words.

"We suspect some foul sorcery is at play," said Evander at last. "Bringing the dead to life... something's not right in the Drisian ranks. Their Royal Sorceress was appointed around the same time five years ago, which just adds to the suspicion."

"Necromancy, then?" asked Farren.

Lieutenant considered this for a moment, then shook his head.

"Could be," he said. "But I think it's something far worse than a reanimated corpse, I'm afraid. While the Drisians are obviously breaking the law of restriction of magic in the military, a bigger issue remains."

Klo clasped her hands together. "This sorcery, or whatever it is they're doing, is to strengthen their forces in a way no hard training ever could. We have to assume the worst, when it comes to Drisia, for it was they who started the Great War. They might well be planning another such attack."

"Took the words right out of my mouth there, Wolturs." The lieutenant nodded approvingly. "That's why we need Rodormann's help. Man's a scholar. Knows experienced people. What do we soldiers know about sorcery and all that complicated arcane stuff?"

"Just a bit," Farren said, then proceeded to demonstrate with her thumb and forefinger. "That is to say, very little."

"Come again?" said Lieutenant Evander, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Nothing at all, sir!" said Farren,"We do not know about, or practice any sort of magic or that hocus pocus nonsense within the camp walls. The law of restriction decrees-"

"That would be enough, you don't have to recite all of it. We all know how much you abide by that law," said Lieutenant Evander, with what was quite clearly a grin on his face.

Farren let out a relieved sigh, seeing him smile. She did not like it when he was upset with her; it troubled her, felt like she was letting down a parent who had placed their hopes in her.

"We should report to the Council about these suspicions then. They have the authority to question the Drisian Royal Sorceress, or even the king, don't they?" said Rendarr.

"The Council?" Lieutenant Evander let out a dry laugh. "The Council Mages are naught but a bunch of puffed-up power hungry fools, their pockets stuffed with Drisian gold. Consulting them about this would do more harm than good. What we have isn't exactly concrete evidence.

"Valston city, on the other hand, dates back to the time before the Grand War; the vampires witness to many events you and I cannot even begin to comprehend. Ancient sorcery rides the air there, history lurking every street corner. What better place to find out answers to your questions? Hence Karyk seeks out the historian, Mr. Rodormann's help in finding out what all this means, about Pertheran seemingly coming back from the dead."

"And inside this package could be his answer," said Karles. Farren nodded in his support.

"I understand you are eager to know. But I just cannot open it and show you. No matter how long we've known each other, Karyk and I; that would be invading his privacy."

The lieutenant briskly got to his feet, tucking the package under one arm. "I'll hand this over to your commander when he returns. If an answer is indeed found, you'll be informed along with the others."

The other four stood up as well, Farren and Karles looking the most disheartened, staring forlornly where the package had just vanished beneath Evander's cloak.

"Be on your guard," he told them, "it seems someone is already after this, what with the attack on the carriage driver."

✦✧✦✧

At dusk, a couple of mages from the Council rode through the camp gates, their arrival declared by the patroller stationed at the watchtower.

On their way back from an evening patrol, Farren and Rendarr exchanged a terrified glance.

"Rhilio's mercy, they've come for me!" Farren halted mid stride.

"See why I tell you not to do magic?" hissed Rendarr. "The Council's spies are everywhere."

Farren made her way over to Rendarr and gripped his shoulders with both hands. "Tell my gran I love her. And tell Finnian his cookies are the best, will you?"

"The hell?" said Rendarr, "run, damn you! I'll cover for you."

Yet they were too late. Two Council Mages were already riding towards them, urging their mounts into a canter.

The Council Mages wore elegant silk uniforms, with fur cloaks over their shoulders to protect against the chill. Polished, wooden staffs were slung over their back, jewelled rapiers at their belts; more ornamental than functional. One of them stopped right in front of Farren.

She was cornered.

Her heart hammered so hard it hurt. Farren took a deep breath. She must not make a fuss. It was time she accepted what she deserved.

No resistance, no disgraceful outcry.

She did not want to trouble anyone anymore, not her family, not Lieutenant Evander, no one. Hadn't she disappointed them enough already?

"Take me, then," she said, her head held high. "Hanging from the high gallows is... uplifting for my wretched soul, if nothing else. I accept, if that is indeed my destiny."

Farren paused for effect. But the only effect, it seemed, was the utter bewilderment upon the faces of the mages.

The Council Mage stared at her for a long moment, then turned to their companion.

"Pardon?" said the mage at last.

"We just wanted to ask which way is the infirmary. Mr. Crowder's coworkers have come to receive him," said the other mage. Indeed, behind them now rode up three Dark Saints workers, with their pointy hats and dark uniforms.

Farren felt like a fool. Or rather, more foolish than she already was.

"Oh?" gasped Karles, who came up behind her in hurried steps. He gestured to their left. "Good day to you! The infirmary is that way."

The mage muttered a thanks and rode away, throwing Farren a ridiculous look.

“You morons!” Something slapped her on the back of her head.

Farren turned to find Karles had just swatted her with his leather glove. “Do you ever shut up, Farren Clearstrike?”

“Now you're setting unrealistic expectations,” answered Rendarr for her.

And he too earned a swat from that formidable glove, for he was no better than his fool of a friend.

✦✧✦✧

That night, she lay awake for a long while in her bunk bed, listening to the rhythmic footsteps as the patrollers and night archers--the vampire soldiers in their regiment-- trudged along outside, off to their nocturnal rounds at the village. A cold wind rattled the window panes. In the bunk below her, Klo snored softly. Farren's package lay on the high shelf just beside their bed, unopened. She didn't feel like opening it, although she was quite sure Finnian had sent her cookies.

In between wondering whether the commander would be back in the morning and anticipating the surprise the package might hold, Farren drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later, her eyes flew open as an explosion stirred up the entire camp.