Dere had left the servant’s quarters well behind and now wandered in a more ornate part of the building. A guest quarters, he figured, judging by the more luxurious rooms. These had larger beds, fireplaces, ornate carpets, expensive curtains, fancy windows, and well-crafted furniture. Their size was such that three or four of the servant's rooms could have fit quite snugly into one of these. Not that the luxury mattered much now. The area had already been passed through, trashed, and abandoned by the insurrectionists, allowing Dere a minute to stop and rest.

Still sore, he leaned against the wall, two dozen or so feet away from a dead servant, a victim of the countless skirmishes still going on within the castle. The dead littered the floor wherever he went, impossible to escape. Nevertheless, the stone cooled his body on touch and did wonders for his throbbing head. For over a minute, he stood there, taking it all in, trying not to panic. He almost rubbed his head with his hands, as was his habit when stressed, until he remembered the blood. His right hand still trickled a small but steady stream of the mortal liquid. Only now did it strike him he ought to do something about it.

Ripping a strip from his already dirty sleeve, he started to wrap the makeshift bandage around his hand like he had seen others do long ago. Before he could finish, however, several pairs of footsteps came clanging down the hall. “Never a break.” He murmured.

He dipped into the nearest room, giving up on his bandage as he did. Closing the door behind him, he turned to examine his new surroundings. This room had the same decorations as the others: same bed, wardrobe, curtains, furnishings, and a stained window against the far wall, overlooking the castle's exterior. He walked over and glanced out the window, hoping for an exit route. A hundred foot fall filled his vision and dashed that hope.

The opening and closing of doors soon joined the sound of approaching footsteps. They were looking for something or someone and getting closer. Instinctively, he tried to disappear into the shadows of the room, but it still didn’t work. His abilities eluded him. The actual hiding places weren’t inspiring either, certainly none good enough to escape a group of bloodthirsty soldiers on the hunt.

As he looked around, he wondered if he could still fight. It dawned on him that if he couldn’t he might die, here and now, at the hands of lowly soldiers, which he found kind of funny in a macabre way.

He went to look out the window again, hoping he had missed something. As he did so, he noticed a slight deformity in one of the curtains. Mostly imperceptible given their bulk, but noticeable to someone who looked close enough. Curious, he took hold of the curtain and flung it away, revealing a girl of nineteen or twenty. She wore servant’s garb and had long golden hair put into a ponytail. Her eyes met his and she looked at him with terrified defiance. He looked back with mild surprise.

“Are you one of Duval’s men?” She said, controlling the shaking in her voice.

“If you mean the soldiers storming the castle, no, certainly not. I'm insulted you'd even ask.” Before he could say anything more, the door swung open and four of presumably Duval’s men stormed into the room. Two of them carried halberds and the other two carried crossbows, swords at their sides. They spotted the pair of them, standing by the window in plain sight, and readied their weapons. “Gentleman, look, I’m not…” Dere began, but they didn’t heed him at all.

Instead, one of the halberd men pointed in their direction and the two crossbows twanged. The girl flinched and closed her eyes. Dere reacted. The first bolt came streaking towards his face. He shifted his head to the left and avoided it. The other bolt raced straight for the girl. Instinctively, he lashed out his hand and caught it.

He wasn't sure who looked more surprised at the bolt now clenched firmly in his palm, he or the soldiers. Their eyes were wide open with shock. He assumed that he bore a similar expression. It seemed like he still had some fight in him, after all.

As the soldiers' professional confidence wavered, Dere recovered and turned to them with a smile. “As I was saying gentleman…” Except, once again, they interrupted him. This time one of the crossbowmen shouted, “Blessed” to the others and drew his sword. The confidence had disappeared, but fear and professional resolve remained.

Their nervousness emoldened him, allowing his usual arrogance to return. “Blessed, oh no, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.” They looked at him, weapons at the ready, preparing to charge. “I’m far worse.” The girl backed away towards the window. “This could have been so much simpler. I give you the girl. You let me leave. I wash my hands of this pointless mortal affair. But no, you had to try and shoot me." A manic intensity crept into his words. "I could have died, you know? I could have died!” They glanced at each other and back at him. He didn’t know whether he wanted them to run or try and attack. On one hand, he didn’t want to deal with the trouble. On the other, they tried to shoot and kill him, which was a new thing for him, and he didn’t think he liked it. Plus, it had been a bad day and he could use somebody to take it out on.

At first, it seemed like they might break, their resolve wavering in front of an unknown threat, but they held firm. One of them summoned his courage, yelled, and charged. The rest followed. He would get to take his anger out on someone after all.

The lead man’s halberd came flying towards his heart, but Dere didn’t let it get close. He flung his hand out towards the curtain and ripped it away. Fabric in hand, he swung it towards the man, catching the tip of the halberd with the cloth, and yanked, knocking the soldier off balance. He stepped past the now askew halberd tip and into the stumbling man’s defense. Swinging his arm around, he smacked his forearm into the side of the soldier’s neck. A sickening crunch of bone accompanied a severe deformation of the spine as the bravest of the four went flying away several feet into the halberd shaft of the man behind him.

When the limp body hit the shaft it knocked the soldier off balance, giving Dere the window he needed. He sprung forward, seized the wooden shaft of the halberd, and ripped it backward out of the man’s hands with inhuman strength. Like a pendulum, he swung it straight back, away from the man, and then stabbed the spiked pommel forward again through its previous owners breastplate, impaling him on the end of his own weapon.

He barely had time to finish the thrust before he had to dodge a sword swing aimed at his neck from the next soldier. With a few inches to spare he darted under and to the side of the flashing blade, letting go of the halberd as he did. The soldier didn’t leave much of an opening in his defense, but it didn’t matter. Like a snake, Dere darted in and whipped his hand out to seize the soldier’s sword arm, twisting it until he dropped the sword to the floor with a gasp of pain. Dere met the man’s fearful eyes and slammed his forehead into his exposed skull.

It half worked as it always had. The man crumpled to the floor like a puppet without its strings, which Dere had expected. He hadn’t expected the stab of pain which hit his own skull like Horon’s Hammer. He had forgotten the whole mortal thing.

The man lay prone on the floor, limp and harmless, but Dere staggered in pain. Through watery eyes he looked at the fourth soldier and the reloaded crossbow leveled at his exposed chest. “That was stupid of me.” He thought, for maybe the last time. Except, the stabbing pain of a crossbow bolt never pierced his heart. The soldier never released. Before he could, a beam of light crossed the room and launched him backwards into the bed, leaving a charred hole, the size of a man’s hand, straight through his chest.

Dere looked towards the source of light gingerly, wanting to avoid aggravating his throbbing head any further this day. The girl stood by the window one hand on it and the other, still glowing, pointed towards where the final soldier stood a moment before. She turned to appraise Dere with curious eyes.“Why’d you headbutt him?”

He winced. “Honestly? I didn’t expect it to hurt.”

She looked at him like he was mad, which was fair. As he cradled his head, she continued. “Are you stupid?”

Still hunched over in pain, he managed to respond. “Pretty hard to deny it at this point.”

She raised an eyebrow and glanced away from him to look at the wounded and dying men on the floor. “Okay, if you’re not one of Duval’s men, then who are you and why are you here? You’re no household guard or servant.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he hunched over, trying to drown out the awful pain. After several blinks and a few expletives, he pushed an answer out through gritted teeth.“Not your enemy, not your friend. Just someone who wants to leave this maze of a castle and finish this altogether awful day. Now, please, enough questions.” As he finished speaking, he reached down and picked up the third soldier’s sword. It was a simple sidesword, nothing more or less. It would do.

Still moving gently, he went to unbuckle the scabbard from the man’s unconscious form. She watched him in silence. “Rare to see a servant girl channel Reyn.” He said while still unbuckling the belt. He struck a casual tone, which did nothing to hide the intent of the sentence. She glared at him as he turned to face her, innocent smile plastered all over his still sore face. “Thought so. Whatever, none of my business.” After fastening the scabbard around his waist, he walked away. This entire situation held marginal interest and much trouble, not worth his now limited time.

However, before he got to the door, the girl managed another sentence. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re bleeding.”

The wound on his right hand had opened more during the fight. Now, a steady trickling of blood flowed from it, coloring the carpet. “Oh yeah, keep forgetting.” As he wondered how to stop the bleeding, she walked over to him.

“Give me your hand.”

With more than a little suspicion, he gave her his wounded hand. She took a second to examine the wound before tearing off a strip of her own sleeve as a bandage and wrapping it around his palm.

“Thank you, by the way.” She murmured while fastening the bandage.

He blinked at her, surprised.

“It occurs to me you probably saved my life.”

“Don’t be too flattered. I was fully prepared to just hand you over.” Despite the harsh words, his tone had a trace of light-heartedness to it.

“Yes, I remember you mentioning something like that.” She said as she worked on the bandage, “Nevertheless, first option or not, I’m alive because of you.”

He looked back towards where the fourth soldier lay prone, hole bored through his chest. “And I because of you.” He murmured, unsure if she even heard. She didn’t seem to acknowledge it, at least, continuing to straighten the bandage.

He looked at her face as she double-checked her work. A small girl, her head only reached the base of his neck, with sharp features that made her appear older than her actual age. She had tan, golden skin, slightly darker than her hair, and amber eyes. “Strange looking girl.” He thought. “Certainly pretty enough, though.”

As soon as she seemed to consider the bandage done, she wiped her bloodied hands on the servant’s garb. “So, what god do you owe your allegiance to?”

“Me? As I told those fellows. I’m no Blessed.”

She snorted. “Yes, you did say that, and I don’t believe you. Who is it? Horon? Valeris? Afre, maybe?”

He smiled. “I told you. I’m not a Blessed.” She seemed doubtful. “I suppose, if you insist, you could say I ... follow Dere.”

“Dere?” She said, sounding surprised. “The God of Shadows doesn’t take mortal followers. Besides, if he did, I doubt they’d be so…” She looked at the corpses on the ground with a little queasiness. “...direct.”

He laughed. “Believe me, I'd have been less direct if I could. As I said. I’m no Blessed.”

“Not a Blessed?” Her tone reflected her disbelief. “No way, you're too fast and too strong for any normal human.”

“Who said I was human?”

She rolled her eyes at him. He smiled and shrugged, choosing to let the conversation end there. She seemed less satisfied, slight frown curling her lower lip. After a few moments of silence, she spoke up again. “You said you wanted to leave the castle?” She asked.

“Yes, thanks for reminding me. I really should be going.” He turned to leave, uneager to stay any longer.

“Wait!” She said, a tinge of desperation in her tone. “If you’re having troubling leaving the castle, I can get you out.” That got his attention. “Most of the main exits are swarming with Duval’s dogs. I know a few other ways which are more lightly watched, one of which I’m sure they don’t know about. We’d still have to force our way through a few men, but that’s much better than the main gates.”

He pondered it for a second. “Tempting but no. You’re trouble. I help you out, suddenly I’m mixed into this whole thing, which is the opposite of what I want. I don’t get involved in mo... in political affairs.”

“Please. We help each other out and split ways afterwards. I promise.” She was too proud to plead outright. This was as close as she’d get. He sighed.

“I suppose that’s... reasonable.” He said, sounding a little defeated.

She suppressed a relieved smile. “Good, I’m glad we can help each other." She passed him and peeked out the door. "If we want to escape, we should leave now.”

“Where?”

“The kitchen, near the servant’s quarters. There’s an unguarded exit there. It’s our best chance.”

Dere rubbed his forehead with his uninjured hand. “Because of course it’s there. Why wouldn’t it be there?”