“Official Fadelio... what... shall we do?” a breathless voice reached Fadelio from his back.

“March, you idiot!” the king's official turned his head and shouted towards Rimaq, the old papermaker. Sweat streamed down the uncouth man's face like starchy water down pressed wood pulp, as his chest heaved like a press itself. For now, the official decided to humor the commoner, and followed his example.

“Of course we do!” Along with his shout, the middle-aged man stopped, and his upper body slumped forward. Muddy sweat dripping to the ground, the man contradicted his own words and did what he could best: Talk instead of work. “Ever since noon we have done nothing but march! But official Fadelio said we would be safe in his care! You said there was nothing to worry about, that we could cross into the southern king's lands without any trouble!”

Like the arrogant man he was, the papermaker raised his finger to Fadelio's face, his posture still cramped and lowered. In the face of such disrespect, Fadelio could only scratch his head. A sigh marked the end of his action, and he fully turned to face the nuisance.

“Right. You're correct. I did say that we would be safe to cross the border. But I did also assume that our opponents were normal, intelligent people. Medalan craftsmen are freefolk, they have no lords and can move wherever they like. You know that as well as I do. So in the end, here's the most important question, one which might just make you aware of your position.” A smile crept on the official's face. Corco must have been a bad influence on him. “Why do we get pursued by the mad King Pacha at the moment?”

For a moment the commoner paused, but soon his folded body raised, and he returned Fadelio's sly look, a defiant glint of life in his eyes. “Because-”

“Because he considers this a betrayal by you, the commoners,” Fadelio interrupted. “No matter the Triumvirate of Kings or the Ancestral Hall, he believes Arguna to be his, and all its men and women with it.”

As a single droplet ran down Rimaq's cheek, the two men stood opposite each other. Both were dead quiet as the other commoners wheezed past them, too tired or afraid to get involved in their high politics. Only when one of the trek's donkey carts rumbled past did the papermaker wake up from his shock once more.

“How could a king believe such nonsense?” he whispered.

“Well, they don't call him the idiot king for nothing,” Fadelio spread his hands. He would take any chance to spread Pacha's good name among the commoners. “As someone who has betrayed the king, your life is deemed forfeit. That's why we're running. I'll be fine either way, so I really shouldn't bother so much. Worst case, I get captured and my king has to buy my freedom with some of his infinite wealth. But as soon as the king's armies reach us, you are fucked, as they say. So I'll repeat myself again: March, you idiot.”

Of course, he knew that his death was as likely as the papermaker's if Pacha's troops caught up with them. Though a white lie should be allowed, so long as it would make the commoners faster. Even so, the glint in the man's eyes wavered, but it remained unbroken.

“However, the children are-”

“Master Fadelio!” someone shouted from behind the king's official. When he turned, Fadelio saw one of the ghost warriors march out of the woods around them. These were the troops his master had picked, his father had cultivated and his mother had lead.

“Good news I take it?” he joked. For a moment the warrior peeked towards the papermaker within earshot, only to resume once Fadelio had nodded off the action.

“Master Fadelio, there is a small contingent of skirmishers in the south-east.” Though a finger was pointed in the direction he had come from, the ghost's voice was clear and calm. A ghost knew no fear, and that was how the ghost warriors had been trained. Fadelio however had been trained by Corco, someone far less traditional.

“Wait, east? How the fuck did those pricks get ahead of us?” he shouted. Commoners all around turned their heads to look at the warrior, before they met his eyes and resumed their march.

“Master...” the ghost whispered at last, and looked around the crowd. With a glance over to Rimaq, Fadelio moved in closer to receive his warrior's advice. “With all the dead weight around us, we will never be able to escape our enemies.”

“What the fuck are you saying!?” the king's official shouted again. By now the papermaker had backed off by himself. Although he had proven bolder than he had first seemed, he wasn't suicidal. As a commoner, he could understand well what conversations were dangerous to listen in on.

“If master is worried about the success of our mission, this servant did not mean to imply to abandon the craftsmen.” The ghost motioned around them. The few wagons they had brought with them had been emptied of all supplies and were now filled with children and old people. Even so, the capacity was nowhere near enough. Many others had been forced to march alongside the wagons just like the adults did. By now they formed the tail end of their trek.

“Rather, only those too weak would need to be left behind. This way, all craftsmen can be saved, while we can guarantee success,” the warrior concluded

Reminded of his mission, Fadelio thought back to his friend, and the rift his actions had caused between them during the succession war. Of course. he understood that Corco didn't have any choice but to banish him to the capital for a while. This was the nature of their relationship. They were both bound by their roles, and Fadelio's role was to fulfill Corco's orders. As such, he had failed in his role when he had made his own decision, and thus Corco had been forced to banish him.

However, the warrior had no doubt that his friend only waited for a chance to reverse the decision. This moment was the chance they had waited for. If they could get through adversity and get the craftsmen to Saniya unharmed, they could reverse their previous mistakes. Prioritizing the craftsmen was the right choice, but leaving their children to die in the wilderness felt wrong. Even so, the places on the carts were limited, and the youngsters were weak.

As the last of the trek trudged past him, a little girl no older than ten fell to her knees. Her arms, thin as a stick, sank into the mossy ground as they held up what little weight the girl’s skin and bones had. Again it seemed as if fate would force a decision upon him. Last time, he had been forced to oppose his master, and had suffered for it. This time, not only his status would take a hit. This time, people would die over nothing but a noble's pride.

“You're kidding me! Fuck this!” With a vicious curse to shock the elders and impress the children around him, Fadelio bent down to pick up the little girl and put her tiny body under his arm. Like a docile kitten, the girl let herself get handled, after an initial startled squeal.

“Every ghost grabs whoever they can!” he shouted across the trek. “There's no more food today, and tell everyone to drop whatever they don't hold more dear than their lives. We're running until we see the walls of Rumas!”

Of course, his goal was to fulfill his duties and return to his master's side, but he had his own limits. After years with Corco, his humanist nature had rubbed off on him as well. Even though it was the wrong decision, he wouldn't leave anyone behind. He would make sure they all made it through the day, to see a new dawn.

Stars above, how heavy can these kids be?

While Fadelio trudged ahead, the burden of responsibility weighed him down.

This burden took the form of children. Since he had taken up the first child earlier in their march, they had added to their ranks. By now he held one child under each arm, and another two clung to his back. Even so, he could keep up with the commoners without much trouble.

As he looked around, he saw the younger and stronger among the craftsmen follow his footsteps, sweat on their face and fear in their eyes. Meanwhile, the ghosts had followed his example and took the burden of those who could not carry themselves. All throughout their human snake were the stronger of the ghosts, all of them with at least another person to weigh them down.

At least Brym has been spared from this. As soon as they had gotten word of Pacha's attempted attack, Fadelio had sent the kid away, together with a couple other warriors. At first he had protested, but Fadelio had insisted. Now that war was upon them, there was a good chance that food supplies from the north would be cut off. They would need Brym up there, to organize a few more trips before the borders closed down.

Of course, he had also had another reason to send the kid away: Their path was treacherous, and he didn't want Corco to lose two allies in a single day. Surrounding their formation were the scouts among the ghosts, the ones who would have to be the beacons to light their path.

Even though carrying the children was hard work, the scouts worked even harder. Picked among Emperor Titu's many servants and trained from childhood in the art of pathfinding, the men were thin and tall as reed. Together with the proper cultivation technique, they were most suited for movement in rough terrain. Their light weight made them excellent long-distance runners, but their techniques also improved their eyesight and hearing.

As Fadelio mused on their purpose, one of the scouts showed off his abilities and rushed towards him. Steady steps, like so many before and so many after, brought him alongside the march of his leader.

“Master Fadelio, we've found the border stream up ahead.”

“You're sure about that?” he stared at the scout, and could feel the kid under his right arm do the same.

“Of course, Master Fadelio. My brother is a runner and has traveled the distance many times. I did as well, when I replaced him once during times of sickness. Beyond here should be the lands we seek, and the support we need, if Master is correct.”

“Don't worry, the lord here will support us.”

He'll have to, Fadelio suppressed a frown, but his chest tightened further with every step. This was nothing more than a gamble, but hope would carry them farther than desperation.

“In that case, we should be in luck. Beyond these hills is only the small stream, and beyond it we can already see the city.”

For once, their intelligence turned out to be right. Only another fifteen minutes and they found themselves on the bank of a small stream. Beyond the stream, off in the distance, he gazed upon the iconic spires of Rumas, the blue city. Rumas would be their salvation, as it was home of the religious lord Nasica, the very same who had supported Corco during the succession war.

Once again, Nasica would have to save them from certain defeat. With his heightened senses, Fadelio could already hear the drums of war, and see the banners move above the city walls. Soon Nasica's men would move out, to protect their borders. Not even Pacha would be dumb enough to attack a lord under his own administration over a few craftsmen. At least not if he didn't want to risk the shaky alliance of opportunists he had assembled around himself.

In fact, only a single obstacle stood in their way if they wished to reach their safe haven. The Anqua River was only a small, insignificant stream, but it marked the border between Pluritac land and the territory of Nasica. Even so, crossing would not be trivial. Though the waters of the stream were shallow, its drag was much more severe than they had thought before.

“Master Fadelio, the rain must have swelled the waters. This servant has to apologize for his negligence.”

As soon as he reached the shoreline, Fadelio put down his school of children and leaned forward to inspect their only path ahead.

“Doesn't matter. The ford is still visible under the water, so we can get everyone through here if we just take our time.”

“Joyous news!” Rimaq shouted behind them. By now, everyone had caught up, and the representative of the craftsmen had caught up with the king's official to gather information. “Soon we will be saved.”

“Indeed,” the ghost didn't spare a single look for the mortal. “This servant will begin to organize the commoners post-haste.”

Right as salvation knocked on their door, they heard another sound behind them, a whistle from the woods, to add to the drums from the city.

“Aaah, crap.” Fadelio clenched his teeth, and his hands reached for his axe before he realized.

“Wait, what does that sound mean?” sporting a dull face, the papermaker looked between the ghost and the official. Rather than focus on the nuisance, Fadelio's eyes stared at the singing arrow that had been shot into the sky, the one which had produced the noise.

“That means that our enemies are hot on our heels. And it's more than just a scouting party.”

“A small force, at least,” the ghost added.

“Lord, will we be okay?” from within the huddle of children, one boy stepped ahead and asked with a tremor in his voice.

“You'll be fine, brat,” Fadelio winked before he turned to the ghost once more. “We'll make our stand here. Get a rope across to help the commoners cross the stream. This is the last stretch, so let's make it count... and let's hope Pacha's followers are as useless as their king.”