The next day, we were on our way towards Lark. My carriage had gained two new occupants, though I didn’t mind. The young lad, one of the orphans from Sena City, turned out to be Jacob. He was the brazen youth who had first told me of the conscription of orphans when I visited not so long ago.

The other was the nun Shaelra, a stern woman who had little sense of playfulness about her. She had said only a greeting to us along with a strongly worded warning that Jacob should behave before she fell asleep from exhaustion. Even now, I could see her brows furrow and raise as she was beset by whatever dreams that held her.

The rest of us maintained an unspoken agreement to remain quiet in respect for her efforts. Both Jacob and Count Wilchrest looked from their windows and considered their thoughts. I had withdrawn a tome I had taken from Sena City and began to read it, though the rattling of the carriage on the road was an annoyance. It was around lunch time, when she finally awoke. The scent of hard cakes and wine we were served while moving had drawn her from her slumber.

Both she and Jacob ate as if they had never had sweets before, so I slid my lunch over to them, an act that the Count quickly mimicked. While they ate, the man watched them in amazement before turning his gaze to me.

“Savior, I have been thinking,” he began softly.

The words he chose could mean that this conversation could go in any number of directions. It brought to mind that I truly knew very little of him, only of his pedigree. While I didn’t doubt that he was and would continue to be an excellent example of House Shielding’s honorable line, I hoped that the next words he spoke were ones that could show me something more.

“You have?” I asked politely and sipped my wine. It was one of the more complex grape wines with hints of something else, the taste tart and sweet at the same time.

The sides of his mouth creased, not a frown or a smile, but something else that said he wasn’t certain of the best way to approach his chosen topic. Given that he had the entire morning to think about it, it must be either extremely weighty or uncomfortable for him. With the book still open on my lap, and a desire to return to its words, I raised my eyebrow to urge him on.

He glanced at his wine as he spoke, only raising his eyes for the question at the end, “I have no position to ask you this, but my curiosity. My grandfather lost his title and position to warn the king of the coming Pestilence. You have risked much to warn the King himself, as the Duchess said. Yet, why would you now agree to partake of this war when the threat we face is so dire?”

“What Pestilence?” Jacob asked, curiously.

“Shh, child,” Sister Shaelra hushed Jacob, before turning to look at us, “Yes, what Pestilence?”

I took a large slow breath and glanced at the new Count.

His eyes were opened in surprise and he glanced at me a few times before speaking, “I—I had thought you were already aware. Why else would your god send you all the way out here if not to protect you from this danger?”

I watched as anger flashed in the woman’s eyes and her mouth twisted in a way that likely meant she would be stabbing the Count with words shortly. I simply waved a hand to dismiss his words and spoke before she could, “The Pestilence is an uncountable number of monsters, any single one of which could destroy a city like Eiston. A terror that threatens all the world. Soon they will flood the lands to usher in the end of this age.”

The woman sat in a stunned silence, but the child Jacob seemed unperturbed by the idea. With an excitement that only young children could muster for such a subject, he asked, “Uncountable, is that a lot?”

“It is a lot, more than I myself could count,” I answered with a smile.

Young Jacob and I conversed that way for the next few hours, with Sister Shaelra looking paler and paler the entire time. Count Wilchrest had taken to sitting with an uncomfortable silence, as if ashamed of speaking of the topic. It was as we reached the town of Lark that the conversation fell away.

For a handful of days we continued our travels, our speed slowed by the addition of children. They were of little burden to the duties of a soldier and seemed to cause those men and women to stand taller and carry themselves with more professionalism than before. The children were, however, a burden on supplies. Four times we stopped farmers traveling to or from Lark and purchased wagonloads of food.

The rest stops I had made during my previous trips weren’t available either, both having been taken over by enterprising merchants. One was a farmers’ market, with seven different stands of local produce left behind happier and wealthier. The other had created an inn called Stones Beauty, having boxed in the stone rest stop with walls of wood, though we didn’t stop at it along the way.

The walls of Lark had changed greatly since I last stopped to look. Where once they were large timbers, and then later blocks of stone replaced part of the walls, now they stood finished. Nearly a hundred feet high, looking heavy and thick. It wasn’t the walls that drew my attention, though, but what awaited us outside of those walls.

A grouping of bandits, at least a thousand strong, led by none other than Meathead, Leslie, and Mena. The bandits looked disorganized and were in various states of health. Some stood injured and still bleeding, while others wore finely polished armor and stood firm. Many had a military bearing that I recognized and hoped they weren’t deserters. I had little mercy for a deserter, unless they were Mirktallean.

On the other side of the road, a more random allotment of people waited. Some of them were Scouts, standing in line in their uniforms. A grouping of about a hundred children wearing little more than rags. A dozen mages of various stages. Adventurers. Merchants. Refugees. Others that I couldn’t quite place. The carriage stopped maybe fifty paces before the grouping and I graced the other occupants with a contained smile before exiting.

Behind us, several of the soldiers ran towards Count Wilchrest, I assumed to seek guidance on the bandits. I ignored their chatter as I walked forward to meet my assistant Leslie and my guards. They seemed in a cheerful mood, but I was apprehensive about meeting with them. It was unlikely that they heard the news of Walker’s death.

Mena was the first to greet me, having changed little in the time she was gone. She stood with a confident pose, with her arms clasped before her, and a spear and shield on her back. Her belt hung with an assortment of weaponry. A short, curved sword of some type on the left, three daggers, and a long knife.

“Hiya boss!” she called with a welcoming smile and hand waved over her head.

I returned the smile and nodded as I approached. Perhaps I should have brought my staff with me to this meeting, as I could see all the men and women behind the three watching me closely. It was only after I was less than ten steps away, that my assistant greeted me.

Leslie, her black hair grown longer but no less curly, bowed formally, “Good day, master.” She said it with a smile on her lips that I hoped meant she was successful with her task. If she was just relieved to see me, I would be disappointed.

Regardless, I nodded back, “Good day.”

“Hey, second boss!” Meathead called out as if I were several paces further away than I was.

Second boss? I take it that meant that Bi had usurped my position in his mind. Which was fine, as I expected it to happen eventually. [Champions] of gods rarely submitted to others. Now that Bi had taken his place, I needn’t worry over any potential conflict. Truly, he wouldn’t even be my guard any longer. “Meathead,” I answered in a normal tone. I wasn’t about to answer him at his own volume.

“Boss wants to ask you a question,” he continued, oblivious to the looks both Leslie and Mena were giving him.

I raised my eyebrows. A question from a god? “Oh?” I asked.

Meathead nodded, “Yup! He wants to know if you want a bull.” He said it like it was the most natural question in the world, then he followed with, “That’s a boy cow.”

“Hmmm,” I stroked my beard and looked towards Leslie and Mena. Leslie shrugged and Mena smirked, but neither had any explanation. I turned to look at the ongoings around the entrance to the town. The nuns were meeting and fussing over the new orphans, who in turn were being loaded in with the others. Count Wilchrest was meeting with a scribe of some sort from the town. Several of the merchants were calling out their goods to the soldiers. Mages and adventurers were slowly crossing the road, intent to speak with me for some reason.

“Meathead, I don’t know that I need a bull this day, but please give ‘Bi’ my kindest regards,” I answer with a controlled smile and hoped it didn’t offend the deity. Then, before the conversation could go further in a direction that I didn’t want, I turned towards Mena and Leslie, “It appears we have much to discuss. Let us speak more when we can do so privately and handle our other business here.”

Several hours later, we were gathered in a tavern inside of Lark. A finer establishment than the one I had stayed at in the past. This one had tiled floors of recent cut, finely polished and shining wooden walls and furniture. A large stone hearth of the same stone as the tiles rested in the very back, though the fire was kept small because of the warm summer night. By the bar, a bard sat and blew on a set of pipes in a manner that suggested he could use slightly more training, though it was easy enough to ignore. Sitting and relaxing was a pleasant change from dealing with the petitioners of the last several hours.

The former bandits had turned out to number in the eight hundreds with a complement of a hundred and fifty mercenaries. Mercenaries led by a fourth-tier landless knight who had taken a few disreputable commissions and sought to redeem his company. I had no reason not to hire them, the price asked was only a hundred gold with half up front and the rest due in three months. The knight, Gorgian, sat at a table in the corner with Count Wilchrest discussing whatever it is knights discuss in their downtime, likely how best to brush horses or oil armor.

The adventurers and merchants were seeking money as well, but I diverted them towards the Count’s quartermaster to deal with. The mages, on the other hand, sought me out after purchasing copies of the tome I told Leslie to spread, seeking to profit from reporting her theft to me. My opinions of the lot fell swiftly after that, and I instructed them to join the army or face charges of receiving stolen goods.

The worst of the lot, however, were the Scouts. Nearly thirty Scouts in all, fourteen of which were present. They requested to join the army as well, stating that when King Sena had recalled his king’s armies, they could not allow this duchy to go undefended. It left me in a very precarious position. They were, technically, deserters. Normally, I had no compunctions about issuing death sentences for such a matter, but these men and women were seeking to defend the kingdom even at the price of their honor and lives.

I don’t know why they chose to report to me, but by the expressions on their faces, I doubted they would return to their posts if I asked. Instead, I told them to return in the morning as I considered the matter. It could very well be some plot by the kingdom to show that I supported desertion and was a traitor and I needed to carefully consider that matter.

At the moment, Meathead, Leslie, and Mena were regaling me with the stories of their adventure. The bandits that followed them now were calling themselves ‘Fargus’s Forgiven’, although I wasn’t pleased with the matter. It seemed they had a harrowing journey of monsters, treasure, religious awakenings, and more. It paired well with the ale and the small fire.

Despite their enthusiasm, I stayed subdued throughout. It was only when they were done, that I approached the subject I dreaded. With a sad smile and a sigh, I gave Mena a meaningful look. While I knew Meathead and Leslie knew Walker, it was her that had been closest to him while he stayed at the tower.

“I have come by some ill news of late,” I began with a serious expression to contrast the smile I wore during their stories.

She slowly sat her flagon down, and sat up a little taller, “What happened, boss?”

I was thankful that both Meathead and Leslie stayed quiet when I spoke next, “Walker fell in battle, not a month past. Slain by Mirktallean forces. Lilly is back at the tower grieving his loss.” I said each sentence slowly and, in a calm, low voice. Despite that, I couldn’t keep my eyes from feeling watery. I didn’t cry, it was easy enough to blink away with the amount of practice I’ve had, but Mena didn’t have my restraint or experience.

With a scream, she stood and smashed her hand across the table spilling its contents on the floor. She stared at the mess as silence overtook the other patrons of the inn, before turning on a heel and marching away.

“Walker and Lilly?” Leslie said with a soft voice. I knew she hadn’t met them at the tower, they were gone before she arrived, but I assumed she knew them from the orphanage. “Poor Lilly. I never liked her, but wouldn’t wish this on her.”

Meathead mumbled something as well, and I could see he was crying. I patted the man on the shoulder and stood, “I’ll return.”

It wasn’t hard to find Mena after I had left. She’d angrily marched right out the gate, and into the woods where she hacked uselessly at a thick pine tree with her sword. Sometimes bark or chips would fly off, but it was in no risk of falling. I watched in silence for a few moments before calling her name.

“Mena.”

“Let me be old man,” she said through clenched teeth as she continued to hack.

“I don’t imagine the tree would survive that, if I did,” I mused.

She stopped mid-swing, her arms falling limply to her sides, and she turned to look at me with passionless eyes. “What do you want? Magic can’t fix me—this. Unless you can bring him back? But if you could you already would have, and there’d be no reason to tell me.”

In response to her dead voice, I nodded slowly. She was right, after all. Nothing I could say would make her feel better. Time was the only thing that could heal, and I wasn’t entirely certain why I was there with her. I had come to trust Mena, not entirely, but trust her to act with a degree of competence and cunning that allowed me to have faith in her capabilities.

Our relationship wasn’t a friendship, not like my friendship with Ram had been. There was certainly no romantic interest between us. It was more of a comfort that I could rely on her for certain things. A degree higher than what I would expect from anyone but my assistants. This, in and of itself, was a thing that twisted my emotions. To know that I would grieve her passing soon enough, perhaps even harder than I grieved for Walker.

Another part, a small and greedy part of myself, sought her out in some inane hope that she would have some answer to dealing with grief I hadn’t considered. Not that I hadn’t already investigated many mundane and magical possibilities. There was simply no magical cure for it.

The biggest part of the reason I was there, the biggest factor in following her to the middle of the woods in the early evening, was that I simply didn’t want her to be alone. I knew what that was like as well, and even the company of strangers was better than being alone with the pain.

With a tilt of my head and the same sad smile I gave her before, I answered, “I want you to speak to me about Walker.”