Eifen Square had never, since the days the first sapling had been planted there, experienced so much excitement in one night. It is rumored that property values in the area plummeted the very next morning, and that the area never again recovered from this smear on its reputation. In fact, not three nights later, stories reached residents’ ears that the park was haunted, and one publication even sent out a circular stating that a scandalous cult of nymphomaniacs had taken up residence there.

Tragically, for Gabriel and the mercenaries, the horrors of Eifen Square were not the stuff of hearsay and gossiping. They were all too real. Before the end of the night, each of them would wish the heinous place scorched from the very face of the continent (as would several nymphomaniacs, who had been hiding in the bushes since the since the start of the battle, but that was neither here nor there).

“They’re over here!” one of the faster Order pursuers called from towards the center of the park.

“There goes our chance to run for it,” Lydia sighed.

“No matter. We’ll stay and face our fate. Swords to the ready everyone,” Gabriel commanded, and failed to notice that nobody responded, “Vish, put Rodney away.”

“He has as much right to see this as everyone else.”

“At least pick up a sword!”

“You lodged my sword in Bryce!”

“Then get it back!”

“I’m not touching that.”

Once again, the mercenaries could hear the shuffling of leaves and the tramp of footsteps heading towards them. This time the sounds were accompanied by the clatter of armour and the rattling of weapons; sneakiness was less of a priority.

Lydia dropped her bastard sword on one of the grassier patches of dirt, “Don’t be stupid, Gabriel. Throw down your sword.”

“No.”

“You would be wise to listen to your friend, Gabriel,” Tulcetar said as he broke the tree-line and stepped into the clearing, almost tripping over Bryce’s body as he did. The mage was resplendent in the same dragon embroidered robe he had been wearing when they first met. Despite his wispy nest of thinning hair and soft jawline, he still had a very regal quality about him.

“We’ll never surrender!” Gabriel announced.

“I surrender,” Lydia said, raising her hand in the air.

“Yeeah, me too,” Vish was quick to follow.

“Guys, come on! Where’s the grand last stand?” their captain pleaded.

“This is no grand last stand, this is suicide,” Lydia explained simply.

“Indeed it would be,” Tulcetar carried on, “I have thirty armed men with me, Gabriel, and not one of them is happy that you made them run.”

“He’s going to kill us anyway! He’ll murder us in cold blood, just like he murdered Goyun,” Gabriel lashed.

Tulcetar’s face darkened. The mage stared down Gabriel until the mercenary’s sword arm faltered and the tip of his blade sank to the earth. It was as if the mercenary captain’s hand was compelled by some magic. He felt like a spell was commanding his body, overriding his bravado and sapping his strength. But, alas, no; it was just good old-fashioned intimidation. Gabriel’s fingers and shoulders had calculated the odds, and given in. As usual, it was just a case that his mouth was the last to get the memo. ‘Dragon-Wing’ wasn’t even holding a sword. He didn’t need to be. Gabriel knew that there would be no fight with this man, just a clean, cold (well, hot, actually) slaughter.

When the ‘threat’ had passed, Tulcetar took a few paces forward, skirting around Bryce’s body. He studied each of the deceased in turn, the corners of his mouth sinking further each time.

“Three dead and one injured, including a magrain and,” the mage shook his head, “one of your own, no less,” he stared up from beneath a heavy brow, “What happened, Gabriel?”

“What do you mean, ‘What happened?’ Your little lacky here ambushed us!” he thrust the tip of his sword in Hubert’s direction, “On your orders, I might add.”

Tulcetar followed the sword point to where Hubert was still rolling in the dirt, sucking air through his teeth like it were on ration. He walked over to the teenager.

“Who are you?” the mage asked.

Gabriel’s death-stare wavered.

“My name is Hubert. Help me, brother. I am a friend of The Order.”

“Hubert who?” the mage asked instantly.

Despite the pain he was enduring so terribly, Hubert still managed to look embarrassed when he answered, “Hubert Thatcher. I’m the only son of Vagalad, The Duke of Gladstone.”

Tulcetar stood up straight and stroked his chin, “You are known to me, Hubert, son of Vagalad. Your affiliation with The Order is well documented, if not always well received,” he nodded to one of his sergeants, “See that this young man receives medical attention. He is to remain in our care until I have had a chance to speak to him.”

“I am free to come and go as I please, as are any of the initiated. That is no way to treat a valued member of The Order of the Rising Dragon!” Hubert protested.

“Young brother, you of all people should know that information is a prized commodity in The Order. I would be in dereliction of duty if I were not to take this opportunity to exchange knowledge with you. Secrets, misinformation and lies are the domain of those we hope to unseat, are they not, Hubert?” Tulcetar cocked an eyebrow in challenge.

It was plain for all to see that Hubert felt slighted, but he had the good sense to say, “Of course, you are right. I shall look forward to our…” he couldn’t seem to find a word that wasn’t synonymous with interrogation.

“Just think of it as a little tête-à-tête,” Tulcetar smiled thinly.

Hubert started to respond but was whisked away by two impassive men, who lifted him bodily from the floor by his armpits. The youngster made a few flustered complaints that died quickly and quietly as Tulcetar’s men unerringly carried out their orders.

“We weren’t done with him,” Gabriel hissed, a bit more like a kettle than a cobra.

“It frustrates me deeply that, even now, after devoting my life to the pursuit of truth, I am surrounded by liars. I have sought to weed out corruption, I have sought to promote transparency, and I have preached, time and time again, that honesty,” Tulcetar turned to face them, “is always the best policy. I would take a hard truth over a pretty lie every day of my life,” he started to pace, “Yet, still I find that, even within an order that champions these ideals, there are secrets, covert operations, clandestine meetings,” he stopped between Gabriel and Figo, “And still I find that people you break bread with, people who owe you a debt of gratitude, people you have thought of as friends,” he wore an expression of disgust, “are capable of looking you straight in the eye and lying to you.”

Despite everything else that was transpiring, Gabriel somehow felt ashamed, “We’re not…” he didn’t even want to repeat the daft lie, not even to undo it. “We’re mercenaries,” he said instead.

Lydia slapped her face against her palm.

“Don’t worry, Lydia,” Tulcetar reassured, “That isn’t exactly a big reveal. I know who you are. When I saw you again in Jandrir, I started to ask questions. Questions I wish I had asked much sooner.”

“We did what we had to do,” Gabriel said, jutting his chin out, “You saw what Hubert,” He swallowed, deliberately not looking at Figo, lying at his feet with Bling still kneeling at the young man’s side, “You can see what Hubert has done,” Gabriel choked out, “We only lied to protect ourselves.”

Tulcetar sighed, looked straight down, and knelt beside the archer. He looked the simple boy from Gladstone over, and then carefully closed the hunter’s unseeing eyes.

“I didn’t know him well,” the mage said, “Still, I felt that he was a good man. I felt that,” he toyed with how to express it, “that maybe in another life, another place, we would have been of a similar mind. Perhaps we would have been close, maybe kindred even,” his gaze encompassed each of them in turn, “I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

“Your people did this,” Gabriel reminded him.

With a last look at Figo, Tulcetar rose to speak to Gabriel eye-to-eye, man-to-Gabriel, “I told you when I first met you, there is a small number within The Order who favours a more radical approach than I do. I deeply regret that you had the grave misfortune of crossing paths with this splinter faction. I apologise on behalf of The Order,” there was a grim set to his mouth, “for all the good it’s worth.”

Vish started to take note of how the conversation was panning out, “Wait, does that mean you’re not going to kill us? Or is this one of those, ‘Sorry, but, kind of have to murder you now’, moments? I know it’s poor form to ask, but I am really bad at spotting those.”

The mage was mildly affronted, “I never intended to kill you in the first place. I came here to detain you, not to see you hang.”

“Detain us?” Gabriel frowned, “What for?”

“Is that a genuine question?” the mage retorted, “I could detain you readily enough on behalf of the authorities of Gladstone, or would you prefer that I detain you on behalf of the authorities of Jandrir? Or perhaps I should see you incarcerated until such time as the Albright’s negotiate recompense? You have been creating chaos, ladies and gentlemen. Bar brawls leading to the death of members of the Gladstone Watch. Throwing people out of windows? Breaking and entering? Theft? I couldn’t leave you unchecked. I simply couldn’t. I felt a responsibility to take account of you,” Tulcetar couldn’t resist looking down his nose a fraction, “for the good of the people!” then his face softened, “And for your own good.”

Gabriel hung his head, suddenly exhausted, “It has been an odd couple of weeks.”

“Indeed it has,” Tulcetar agreed, “I had hoped to be the first to get to you. I had hoped to keep you safe. At least with me you would have been shielded from all but the letter of the law. I’m sorry that things didn’t go that way.”

“Are you going to arrest us now?” Gabriel asked half-tentatively, half-hopefully.

“I will ask you to accompany me somewhere safe and secure, that much remains the same, but I shall reserve judgement about your future until I have heard the full story behind,” Tulcetar looked disappointedly around the clearing, this.”

“Oh, sweet!” Vish said excitedly, “Yeah, we had almost nothing to do with this.”

“That remains to be seen,” Tulcetar said, somewhat skeptically, “What I will say is that when I first met you I did not judge you to be bad people, and I certainly didn’t judge you to be criminals. I would like to believe my judgement was correct,” his eyes lingered on the extremely well ventilated magrain, “That said, I am open to changing my mind.”

“I hope we surprise you in the right way this time,” Gabriel said earnestly.

“Well, now that I know members of my order tried to assassinate you, I’m certainly keen to hear both sides of the story. Keep in mind though, you do still have a substantial list of, let’s call them misdemeanors, that are pinned to your names.”

“Mostly Lydia, to be fair,” Vish said under his breath, but not quietly enough to save him an optic curse from the warrior.

“Still,” Tulcetar said thoughtfully, “you have unwittingly exonerated yourselves of one of the more devastating crimes you stand accused of.”

“What was that?” Gabriel asked.

Tulcetar watched the mercenary’s face very carefully when he answered, “I was under impression that it was you who had killed Goyun.”