It proved easier to get back to the servant’s quarters than he had feared. Duval’s men, whoever they were, swarmed all over the castle, but the girl knew how to get around the worst of the patrols, and he could help her duck away from the rest. By this point, the fighting had all but ended. Corpses of palace guards littered their path, remnants of earlier skirmishes, but they provided no real obstacle anymore.

They traveled mostly unopposed until around the point they passed the room Dere had woken in. There, ten men, armed to the teeth, stood at the turn for the hallway to the kitchen, talking amongst themselves. Dere pulled the girl backwards by her arm before the soldiers spotted them. “I thought you said they wouldn’t be guarding this one.”

She looked at him, annoyed sneer darting across her young face, and yanked her arm out of his hand. "They’re not guarding it. They’re just standing there, talking to each other. Probably slacking or something.”

“For our purposes, I don’t think it makes any difference whether they’re actually guarding it or not. Is there another way around?”

Brow furrowed, she took a second to think while Dere listened for any sound of movement. “Not any easy way, no.”

Dere sighed. “You mentioned other exits, where?”

“A few servant’s exits, all guarded, and an escape route from the master bedroom, which is swarming with Duval’s men. Nothing too easy. This was our best chance.” Dere tried not to look too exasperated while he sorted through the options. The girl spoke again, chewing on her lip as she thought. “I don’t know. Maybe they’ll move.”

Dere frowned. “We don't have time to wait. Whatever friendly troops there were all seem to be captured or dead by now. Sooner or later, probably sooner, they will find us.”

“Fine then,” She said. “We’ll make them move.”

Dere looked at her incredulously. “Oh, great idea, I’ll get right on it. Tell you what, I’ll walk up to them and give them a push. That ought to move them.”

She didn’t seem to appreciate the sarcasm.

“I’m going to try something. Did you see a window at the far end of the hall?”

“Yes...”

“Was there sunlight streaming through it?”

Dere cocked an eyebrow. “Interesting. Yeah, there was.”

He watched as she crept past him towards the corner and peeked around it, careful not to let the soldiers see her. He followed with silent footsteps, pretty sure he knew what she planned to do. The window she referred to sat at the far end of the perhaps sixty foot hallway, above the spot where the hall turned to the right. The corridor to the kitchen split off left about twenty feet down the hall, and the soldiers stood maybe thirty feet away.

The girl took a deep breath and moved her fingers in odd twisting patterns, muttering a soft prayer under her breath as she did. The light pouring through the window twisted and distorted with her movements, until it formed an almost human like figure. She kept it there for a few seconds until one of the soldiers noticed it. He pointed and the others looked. As soon as they saw, she sent the light illusion down the hall, out of the soldiers view, where it disappeared once it left the light of the window.

Alarmed, seven of the ten soldiers went dashing after it, leaving three behind, uncertain whether to follow or not. Dere could handle three.

He turned the corner, drew his sword, and dashed down the hall, faster than any normal human could manage but in almost complete silence. The first soldier never even saw his approaching death. His head and neck separated with a flash of Dere’s sword. The second soldier managed to look at Dere and almost shout before the sidesword slit his throat open, quieting him forever. The final soldier placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and almost drew, but he was far too late. Dere stabbed him through his heart before the sword even got halfway out. It took, in total, maybe ten seconds.

Turning the corner, the girl walked towards Dere, avoiding any glimpse longer than a second at the soldier’s bodies.

“You’re much more handy than I had imagined.” Dere said, sounding a little impressed as he wiped his blade off on a dying soldier’s tunic.

She nodded, trying her best not to vomit. “I can manage a little channeling now and then.” She turned away from him and the bodies. “Can we go now?”

They started walking away. "I’d say it was more than a little channeling.” He whispered, still curious, as they skirted around the edge of the hallway. She ignored him. He shrugged, figuring they both had the right to secrets.

They neared the kitchen but had to stop just short. From inside, the sound of men talking and eating bounced off stone walls.

Dere turned around and signalled the girl to wait. With muffled footsteps, he crept towards the door. When he reached the opening, he leaned against the wall and reached for his sword. Something, perhaps a feeling, stopped him, however. Instead, he picked up a chunk of masonry on the floor. As he did so, he caught a little of the soldiers’ conversation. Their murmurs barely reaching his ears.

“I don’t know. There’s something different about him. He’s off somehow.”

Dere paused, curious.

“Maybe, I’m not sure.” Said a second soldier.

A third spoke up. “Are you pretending to know the Commander?”

“No, of course not, I just… you know, we all get the same orders. It’s different. This massacre, the battle, it’s all so… bloody.”

They didn’t talk for a few seconds. Then, the third spoke up again. “I’m not going to pretend to like this anymore than you, but it doesn’t prove anything about the Commander. He’s always been a hard man.”

The first spoke up again. “Not like this. Never like this.” He paused, seeming to summon his courage. Much quieter this time, he murmured. “I’m telling you, it’s those things. They’re not right.”

“Shush,” Said the third soldier. “This conversation is over.”

Dere cocked his head in contemplation but ultimately chose to ignore it. Brick now in hand, he chucked it down the hall before turning and slinking backwards to where the girl was, pulling her around the corner as he reached her.

The brick made a satisfying crash at the far end of the hall. A few seconds later, he peeked out in time to see three men bursting through the doorway. They looked around, confused and dashed to where the brick landed. As they moved, Dere grabbed the girls arm and pulled her with him towards the kitchen. They reached the door and slipped in while the soldiers were still trying to figure out what they had heard.

“It occured to me” He said, sounding almost proud of himself. “That maybe I shouldn’t kill every single soldier.”

While she fiddled with one of the cupboards, she responded. “They killed almost everyone I know. I couldn’t care less what you do to them.”

He blinked. “Oh, I mean, if you want, I guess I could go…” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to where the soldiers argued over the noise.

With exasperation, she said. “No, no, it’s fine. Let’s leave.”

“Alright.” He said, confused. He had never understood mortals.

A few seconds later she found what she had spent the last thirty or so seconds scrounging for. With a sigh of relief, she pulled something inside one of the cupboards and the whole thing swung open. Dere looked down the tunnel. “Paranoid lot.” He commented.

“For good reason, it appears.”

“Paranoia often is.”

She motioned him to follow her into the tunnel, but he held a hand up, signalling her to wait. He turned around and sifted through some of the cupboards and cabinets.

“What are you doing?” She hissed.

Without sparing her a glance, he responded. “Grabbing something. If you want to leave, you’re under no obligation to wait for me.”

She stood at the edge of the tunnel, glancing at it and back at him, nervous but not moving. Eventually, he let out a quiet grunt of triumph and, from an upper cabinet, lifted two bottles of wine. “For the road.” He said, smiling.

She looked at him, furious. Mouth pressed tight in anger, she opened it to say something, until some noise interrupted her. The sound of fighting, down the hall, where the soldiers had gone to look for the sound. They had been arguing amongst themselves for the past minute until grunts and the clang of metal on metal replaced their frustrated tones.

“It must be some of the remaining loyalists.” The girl said, sounding relieved. She left the precipice of the tunnel and went to peak out the kitchen door.

Dere looked at her, puzzled, and shrugged. “None of my business.” He murmured. Turning his back on her, he started walking towards the tunnel, away from the fighting, until a wave of heat and energy passed through him. A familiar feeling of power, much stronger than before radiated throughout the halls. Strong enough to identify now. An aura he knew well. He closed his eyes. A golden god, perched on a golden throne, glared at him, face tinged with grief and disappointment. His shoulders hunched underneath the weight of everything. Beside him stood a man with reddish gold hair and blazing eyes, who looked on with scorn.

“Banto Re…” It came out as a whisper, audible to him alone.

With a shake of his head he broke from the stupor. The noise had stopped. The fighting had ended. The power had dissipated. He turned from the tunnel, bottles still in hand and went to join the girl at the door. She was smiling. A pair of footsteps came running and the girl went out to meet them. Dere looked out the door to see her hugging a man, a guard. A familiar figure, actually. Dere recognized him. A man in his early thirties, strongly built with brown hair and a square face.

“You’re alright.” The man murmured as he hugged her. “I can’t believe you’re alright.” Then, the guard looked from her to Dere, who looked on with an amused expression. His face, which had shown actual human emotion for a few seconds, reverted back to its previous stony gaze. “Back for more bread?” He said, releasing the girl and reaching for his sword.

Dere smiled. “No, afraid not, just wine this time.” He said, holding the two bottles in the air. The guard scowled and grabbed the hilt of his blade. “Oh, please do. I want you to try. I'm always willing to knock one of Banto Re's loyal hounds down a few pegs.” There was an unexpected hostility in his tone.

A surprised reaction flickered across the guard’s face for a half-second before he wrestled it away and brought back the stoic gaze. Trying to appear unfazed, he began drawing his sword, heat now emanating from him.

“Markus, stop!” Hissed the girl, surprised at the tension. “This man saved my life.”

Markus paused, sword half out, and looked at the girl. “Who is he, then?” An edge crept into his tone.

She pursed her lips. “This is… well, honestly, I don’t know, but he did save my life.”

Dere tilted his head and smiled again. “Well, only after those soldiers so rudely interrupted my offer to hand you over.”

Markus finished drawing his sword. Dere tapped the hilt of his, smile plastered across his face. Each of them tensed for a fight.

“This is moronic!” The girl grabbed Markus’ sword arm and brought it down. “He helped me get here. I’d be dead without him.” A little of the tension throughout Markus’ body seemingly released.

Dere by contrast, remained very still, body ready to move at any moment as he glared at Markus.The familiar power, the image, had set him more on edge than he’d been in a long time. Anger washed out everything else. He had let it simmer and boil, ignoring it, but, underneath, it raged. Loyal for so long and this was his reward.

His hand had gone white as he gripped the sword hilt like he wanted to strangle it. Markus stepped in front of the girl. They watched him, eyes filled with apprehension, waiting for his next move. His grip on the sword loosened. “Yes, yes, you’re right. This is stupid.” The edge in his voice disappeared. The same lighthearted tone he’d used before had returned.

Markus loosened up. The girl let out a sigh of relief. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving. If we're lucky, we’ll never see each other again.” Once more, Dere turned to leave.

“Wait!” It was the girl. He didn’t turn around, but he did stop.

“What now?”

“You don’t have to go. You could help us. We could use you. Take down Duval together." She summoned some courage before her next words. "I am Queen Marcella of Clovin, daughter of Merchantlord Aric, and last remaining heir to the throne.” She said it with an impressive gravitas.

Dere wasn't impressed. “Had you figured for a princess. Seemed too young for a Queen, but close enough, I suppose.” Markus looked perturbed, but she seemed unsurprised.

Dere turned and faced them, small grin stretching his face. “Doubtless, you want to recruit me into your campaign for vengeance, or justice, or peace, or whatever you want to call it. Doubtless, you’ll try to persuade me you’re doing the right thing, you’re the good guys, the heroes. This Duval fellow is the tyrant, the bad guy.” She said nothing. “You know what I also know? I know if I went to this Duval, whoever he is. Doubtless, he’d tell me a different story, a convincing one, I’m sure. Doubtless, he’d tell me about his campaign for justice, or peace. Doubtless, he’d tell me all about how he’s the good guy, the hero. Doubtless, he’d tell me your husband was a tyrant, unfit for rule. Am I getting this right?”

With suddenly hate filled eyes, she responded. “You know nothing, nothing.”

He smiled, a slow joyless smile. “Yet, simultaneously, I know a lot. I’ve been around a long time. Much longer than you would guess. I’ve seen the same story and all its many variants repeat itself again and again. The same sad cycle. And, you know, that’s the worst part. You might be right. Maybe, you are the good guys, the heroes. Duval may be a true tyrant. I don’t know, but I do know this. Soon enough it will just be the same thing again. There will be another Duval and another family on the throne. Nothing will change. It will take a different form, maybe, but it will be the same.” His expression had been darkening. The grin replaced by a mellow ancient gaze as he locked his eyes onto hers. “So why spill all the blood? Why start a Civil War? Why ruin innocent lives? Your family or Duval, it barely matters now and it certainly won’t matter later. This, I do know.”

They stared at each other as he finished. Her face betrayed a maelstrom of emotions, trying to fight back the anger and the tears. He knew his own face looked at her calm and sad. She was full of such fight, of such hope. “You’re wrong.” Her eyes glistened wet with emotion. “You’re wrong.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He turned and left, this time for real.