Thunder pealed. A storm rumbled in the distance with flashes of angry light, and I worried that we would be held up by its fury. Duke Benedict’s men rode grimly around me, the last horse bearing the wrapped body of the fallen warrior who had been their comrade-in-arms. Clara had cast a spell which prevented the dead meat from rotting, so we were spared the growing stench of decomposing flesh.

In the past couple weeks Rafe had become a completely different person. The barely coherent inebriated sot that I had first met had been transformed into a confident fighter...assassin? Oddly enough, his mood had seemed to improve steadily, even as our situation worsened. From bearing grim news to a king to witnessing an attack upon a duchy to scouting in dangerous territory for invaders to facing off against a puissant sorceress, he became more and more relaxed.

He was constantly cracking jokes and telling stories that were so exaggerated as to be unbelievable. A metallic man who traveled through time. A blond hero with a hammer that allowed him to fly. A weapon that had completely destroyed two cities and ended a war. The stories were absurd but spellbinding, and he refused to tell us which were true and which were merely imagined.

His jokes ranged from the crude to the ridiculous.

Why did the chicken cross the road? Why was that of importance?

Knock, knock. We were supposed to say, “Who’s there?”

Several boys sat on an invisible bench. Invisible bench? What was it made of?

There once was a man from Nantucket. Where was Nantucket?

When I asked him why he seemed so different from before, he frowned before answering, “You know, I’m not really sure. The past...century...maybe several centuries...are kind of a blur to me. I wasn’t really focusing on anyone or anything. Then you showed up and it was as if someone pulled cobwebs from my mind. I remember how I used to be...things I once cared about...memories that I haven’t wanted to relive in a very long time. I don’t know what it is, but my head just feels different now.”

He smiled ruefully at me.

“I was kind of a bastard when we first met, wasn’t I?”

I shrugged slightly, not wanting to affirm his truth.

His smile widened. “Not gonna answer? Very politic of you, Paol. I hope you like the new me better than the old me. Or maybe I say the very old me vs. the old me. Heh. I was very likable, especially with the ladies.”

I asked, “You mean like Kali? Uh, I mean Jenya?”

His eyes darkened a little.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. And actually yes, she liked me quite a bit. I liked her, too, but now our paths have diverged and I’m not sure if we can see eye-to-eye again.”

“Because of Cyril,” I said.

“Yes. Because of Cyril.”

“Is he stronger than you?”

“If he hasn’t had to respawn recently, then yes. There are few who can match him.”

Clara approached us and interrupted our conversation.

“The soldiers say that we should reach the larger force in another day. The Lord Protector has been marshaling the kingdom troops, and the earliest messengers were sent to the forces near the Creshey border.”

Rafe nodded.

“Where’s Amelia? I’d like to get her report.”

“She’s been scouting ahead as you asked and is due back any minute now.”

“Good,” said Rafe.

He turned to me. “Remember, knowledge of the terrain is of utmost importance during time of war. Sun Tzu.”

“Sun Tzu?”

“A famous military strategist. Though I’m kind of summarizing.”

“And do you think we’re at war?”

He said dryly, “I think that hordes of monsters don’t invade a territory and burn down the capital city just to say hello.”

Perhaps it had been a foolish question.

Rafe began, “If we’re that close to reinforcements, I’d like to double time it so that--”

“Stop! Tell everyone to stop!”

Amelia rode into our small entourage, frantically waving for attention. We all turned to face her.

“We have to turn back!” she gasped. “The way ahead is blocked!”

“Blocked?” Rafe asked sharply. “Blocked by what?”

“An army. It’s at least twice the size of the one from which we’ve been fleeing, and it’s in a pitched battle with some kingdom forces. I can only guess that they’re the troops we’ve been trying to reach.”

Rafe frowned.

“But we can’t go back either, not if Jenya is following us. Clara, keep everyone here and be watchful for danger. Amelia, you scout east. I’ll scout west. When we get back, we’ll know the situation around us and be able to best determine our next course of action.”

Our little party reined in our horses and waited tensely for the two to return from their scouting. When they returned, Amelia was tense and Rafe looked grim.

“The invading army is...sizeable. I’m not sure how it happened, but we’re boxed in. I think our only hope is to try to sneak around the edge of the main force while it’s distracted by the battle and try to reach our side. Even if we make it, we might not be safe. That army is huge. I can’t tell how large our forces are, but I find it difficult to believe that a recent levee will be able to hold against that monstrosity.”

Our party set out again, this time angling away from our original path. We rode as quickly as we dared while Rafe and Amelia scouted ahead to make sure we avoided enemy forces. Periodically, they would return and have us change course to keep from getting bogged down in skirmishes.

The sky was turning red as the sun neared the horizon when we reined in at the top of a hillock. I saw two armies clashing across a field down below. The sounds of screams and the clashing of metal on metal assaulted our ears. Orcs by the thousands threw themselves against a shield wall of men dressed in the silver and blue of Paravel. They threw back the waves of invaders as the undisciplined orcs died by the hundreds, but there were always more orcs while it was clear that the number of men was dwindling and in danger of being overrun.

Rose gripped her sword hilt and spat out fiercely, “We have to get down there and help. Those men are getting ripped apart.”

Rafe asked sardonically, “And what exactly would we do? You think our meager party can tilt the scale of that battle? I estimate that’s roughly ten or eleven thousand orcs.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed.

“There are stories about Lord Michael defeating entire armies by himself. When asked about past battles, he always gets very vague about details, but he’s never denied the rumors.”

Rafe responded warily, “What’s your point? That’s Michael.”

Clara pushed, “And how long have you been friends with him? It must be a long time since none of us has ever heard of you before. Your friendship predates us by quite a while, doesn’t it?”

Rafe seemed to pull back a little.

“So what. We’re friends. Why should that matter?”

Rose cut in.

“You’re fast. You’re strong. Stronger than any of us, even when you’re barely trying. You may not be Michael, but something tells me you can do a lot more than you’ve been letting on.”

Rafe’s lips tightened.

“I never chose my skills to be AOE.”

Everyone looked puzzled.

“AOE!” he said exasperatedly. “Area of effect. I’m not built to take on armies. My speciality is fighting small squads, preferably one person. I excel in such situations, but against an army? Well, it’s not what I’m made to do.”

Clara pressed, “But could you do it? Could you go down there and make a difference? Maybe you don’t have Michael’s skills, but something tells me you’re being more than modest about your abilities.”

Rafe clenched his jaw.

“It’s been a long time since I went to war,” he said in a hard voice.

A part of me wondered why any of this affected him so much. Didn’t he think the entire world was an illusion? Weren’t we all just imaginary phantasms to him? Why should he care about...well...anything?

Amelia entreated him in that odd lilting accent of hers, “Please, they’re dying down there. If there’s anything you can do…”

Her voice trailed off.

A little voice in my head pondered why he would care about the death of people who weren’t real, but he seemed affected by her plea. His lips mouthed something as his gaze took in the carnage down below us, and he took a deep breath.

“If I intervene, it will get very ugly. I told you I’m not made to fight armies. When I take on large groups, it gets gruesome.”

Barnabas breathed incredulously, “Do you mean you could beat back that army down there? Thousands of monsters? All by yourself?”

Rafe took a deep breath.

“Yes. Maybe. It depends.”

I interjected for the first time, “Depends on what? Is it a matter of what you can do? Or of what you’re willing to do? Those men down there don’t really mean anything to you, do they?”

He heard the bitter tone in my voice and turned to me. A look of regret flickered across his face for just an instant and disappeared.

He looked down at the battle below and whispered, “The Stricture of Mercy.”

Rafe’s eyes closed for a moment and then reopened.

“Okay,” he began, “I’ll go--”

Suddenly, his voice cut off. His eyes widened as something he saw caught his attention.

Clara asked, “What is it? What do you see?”

Rafe sat frozen atop his horse, eyes glued to the battle.

Rose demanded impatiently, “Tell us! What’s wrong?”

Rafe slowly raised his arm and pointed.

We all followed his index finger to an area at the rear of the army. While the waves of orcs were throwing themselves at the Paravel shield wall, a group of larger creatures was gathered around a banner flapping in the wind. Emblazoned on the banner was a clawed black hand with traces of red in symbols that I didn’t understand.

Barnabas asked, “What is that?”

Simultaneously, Amelia asked, “Whose flag is that?”

Rafe’s knuckles were white around his reins, and his back was stiff and straight. No emotion marred his frozen features, and his voice when it slipped through his lips was flat and hard.

“That belongs to the leader of the army. That’s Cyril’s flag, and if that flag is present that means he’s down there right now. Cyril is here.”

Clara asked softly, “Who is Cyril?”

“You know him by another name, the name he made famous through three centuries of blood and death. Three centuries of war and torture and unrelenting atrocities. Volodymyr. You know him as Volodymyr Luciferus.”