“The Third Contender

For all travellers and traders around the northern reaches of Gratia, please be advised. The city of Monte De Trisse has fallen to forces under the command of a claimant to the throne; Anne Elizabeth Montroi, lost child of House Montroi and wielder of necromantic arts. While she has sent out a communique that all who defect or remain in her lands shall receive clemency and protection. The Gratian Kingdom and Gratian Republic have both issued more statements of condemnation for the death and destruction across the countryside and for inflaming tensions of the ongoing civil war.

At the fortress…”

- Arterian Affairs, The East Explored Section, “Developments in The East”

The dour mood of the little town of Etoile was made even more despondent when news of another village nearby getting ransacked reached them. Their mood didn’t lift when the weeks of healing allowed the other two Potomians to at least get back on their feet. It was a grim picture, three war weary soldiers and a brooding orc helping to patrol the streets. A small show of support, but ineffective.

Mila herself was too weak. Her body was too frail to do much more than shuffle around the small room she had been assigned for being a ‘distinguished’ guest of the local doctor. Her coat and normal uniform, now somewhat torn and ripped, hung from a coat rack. Her sword awkwardly rested across a small night table, clearly knowing it did not belong there. The gown covering her made her feel vulnerable and exposed, even if it was warm.

What did not survive the blast, was a distinctive black leather chestpiece that was now gone. According to pikeguard Chares, the death knight’s explosive death practically burned away her hardened leather armour. Only the wards she normally applied to herself kept the situation from ending up like the many others who perished from the fiery inferno. Though she survived, having been the closest recipient of the entirety of the death knight’s death knell meant that it would take a fair amount of time to recover from the aftershocks. Time that she did not have.

It wasn’t only her that needed help, however. For the town itself was understaffed for what was ostensibly labelled as a ‘military’ town, a place marked suitable for rallying troops. Aside from a detachment of the Knight Order of The Flamme Doree’s two dozen chevaliers. The town had a regiment of valets and royal gardes. Both of which were already stretched thin trying to assist the local marechaussee enforcers. While Gratian marechausse enforcers were likely more battle hardened than other town guards or policing entities elsewhere on the continent due to the constant warfare, they were not fully trained soldiers. Against death knights, Mila suspected that the town would fall in no time. Though perhaps the chevaliers and their fire magic might be able to fend them off if there were one or two.

Perhaps the worse news was that for the rest of the month, the local doctors and physicians had deemed her unfit for hard travel, much less combat. It wasn't just them though, for Marduk, although still sullen about the loss of his comrades, refused to let her venture forth once more. Mila had tried dismissing him but he refused, claiming that as his band's temporary war captain, he was still obligated to ensure her well-being. So, she had instead dismissed the Potomians, thanking them for their heroic but tragic sacrifice in her attempt to stop the death knight. In her two weeks spent recuperating, the Potomians headed back down to Mare’s Berth, though no word had come from the messenger they had sent ahead either.

She shuffled over to a window, her legs wobbling slightly as she tried to readjust to walking. The past few days have been a pain, but the return of some semblance of normality has been helpful to keep her mind calm. This ‘military’ town’s walls were built to withstand a small siege. But based on the depressing accounts of how Monte De Trisse had fallen to Annalise’s forces, she had little hopes of them amounting to much. Though, on the off chance that the republic took this time to attack the kingdom’s territory, she supposed Etoile would buy them some time.

Only the startled shuffling of a few peasants first alerted her to something happening in the streets. Her eyes glued themselves back out the window and she saw a military detachment travelling the ancient cobble street in the distance. Dozens of soldiers on horseback and a carriage behind them. Her shoulders tensed and she felt a sense of dread she had never felt before. True shame. She could tell by the lead rider’s pauldron decorated in gold and white that he was Templar Lieutenant Kraster. So either my ploy to keep him in charge of operations didn’t work, or I’m finally being recalled.

The rest of the posse were either chevaliers who sported the heraldry of an everlasting flame across their chestpiece. Likely riders from the Flamme Doree’s chapter houses from elsewhere in Gratia. Others were gardes sporting the banners of the royal Gratian army. Only three others amongst the crowd were clad from head to toe in dull silver coloured blessed platemail, the armour of the Argent Curia.

With a heavy sigh, Mila simply turned away, wobbling to what was left of her attire and struggling to put it on. She cursed her luck, her path, her misfortunes, but she resigned herself to the stars. For if this was the will of the Goddess, then she would obey. Tying up the laces of her boots, she found herself feeling deeply uncomfortable. Even with her coat now snuggly covering her, she felt like she didn’t belong. That this skin was no longer hers. What did that damned knight do to me?

As if on cue, a light knock sounded from the door.

“Madam, your guard orc requested that I fetch you at once. Please get dressed and gather your belongings.” A soft voice announced. I don’t recognise this one. Sounds official enough though, must be one of the enforcer provosts from the marechaussee.

“Of course.” She sighed in response.

So Marduk already can tell, huh. Fair enough.

Taking very deliberate steps, she grabbed her sheathed blade and her hand trembled. The sounds of the battle and the sensations tickling her fingers. Still shaking, she managed to clip the sheathe back onto her belt and looked at a nearby mirror. It felt strange, seeing herself after everything. She had tried her best to avoid looking at it, yet everyday, she still did. And what exactly do I see?

She opened the door and found her predictions accurate. A lightly armoured enforcer in gambeson greeted her.

“That was fast, madam.” He tapped his helmet politely.

“Of course. Sounded urgent.” She replied.

“Right you are, mam. Your orc bodyguard told me to fetch you at once. And uhh, wasn’t exactly going to say no. Sorry, mam.” The provost apologised.

“It’s alright. Lead the way.”

Guided by the provost, she passed by another two who were stationed outside the doctor’s clinic. Guess they wanted to keep their eyes on a potentially troublesome inquisitor, hah. The marechaussee provosts, seeing the two walk forward, then also moved to follow them. Although they kept a respectful distance behind the two. Definitely keeping their eye on me.

Marduk and Kraster both noticed her approach, the orc nodding, and the templar dismounting to politely bow. Seeing this display, the few peasants curious enough to crowd around the procession dispersed a bit, their eyes now also taking a glance at the diminutive girl being escorted by the provosts. With the marechaussee escorting her, she could already surmise what the unknowing populace might be thinking. That she was a noble being sheltered by the church, or that she had done something worthy enough to be taken by a posse of templars and troublesome enough to warrant the town guards escorting her. And maybe I am trouble, she sighed.

To her surprise, Kraster bowed a little deeper. Less like a bow out of respect and more meant for those of higher status, like archbishops or those of the Observatory. Before she could respond, the other three templars followed in kind.

“My lady.” Kraster’s voice was pitched a bit lower than usual.

“Lieutenant. What…” She paused as he frowned. Ah! so I am supposed to be the noble being taken by the church. “What a surprise to see you here, honoured knight” She tried her best to stop scowling to no avail, the glint of her own persistently dissatisfied expression reflecting off of his armour. Stars, I look awful. She noted the pallor of her skin.

Kraster still seemed to be waiting for something and Mila looked at him impatiently. Only for her to quickly realize it was still part of the performance and she dropped a tired curtsey.

“For your piety and piousness, the bishop has dispatched us to escort you back to Mare’s Berth. He has decreed that the situation was too risky for you to continue being in the field. My apologies.”

“Of course. And the lovely escorts besides you?” Mila tried to sound polite.

Judging by how Kraster winced a little, she suspected that she failed.

“We travelled with a military caravan. They received reports that this town could use the aid.”

Ah, so the messengers made it. Thank the Goddess. Her relief must’ve been evident for the templar even cracked a thin smile.

“So if you please, my lady. Though we do have an esteemed guest that you'll be travelling with.” He whispered quietly. A guest?

But before Mila could ask another question, the templar moved away, barking out a few orders and trading a solemn warrior’s salute with Marduk. Sensing that she was dismissed, she hobbled forward to the carriage and almost tripped over herself. The templar escorts and the orc moved to help her but she waved them away. I’m not that feeble.

A church militant, the clergy’s own branch of armed miltia acted as the carriage driver. Though being involved with the templars and inquisition, Mila suspected that this was from a bishop’s personal guard. Receiving a knowing nod, Mila confirmed her suspicions. He definitely worked with the inquisition before.

Opening the carriage door exhausted her. She wearily climbed aboard only to freeze inside. Silently gesturing at an open seat across from himself was someone clad in the black coat and hardend leather armour of the Inquisition. The lack of more comprehensive armour plating signalling that he was an apprentice or acolyte of a more senior Inquisitor, much like herself less than a year ago. As he lifted his hat, she saw his dark brown eyes with light patchy stubble and a demeanour not unlike herself.

He tapped the side of the carriage with a prearranged signal to the carriage driver before closing the carriage door. He sighed and relaxed against the soft satin pillows of his side of the carriage, removing his hat in a way to signal that an Inquisitor was about to act more casual in front of their peers. With an almost bored click of his tongue he turned to face her.

“Lyudmilla.” He acknowledged.

“Philippe.” She curtly replied, her scowl deepening. Some esteemed guest my ass, she scoffed to herself.

Junior Inquisitor Philippe Roche was one amongst many apprentices that served under Lady Serilda’s tutelage. Back when Mila had served directly in Inquisitor Serilda’s retinue, she had been part of that number, working to help her mentor but also developing her own skills. The boy in front of her had always disliked her to a certain extent, considering that each junior saw the others as more competition. Indeed, it was only due to a series of circumstances that led her away from the others in the Frostwinds and to Gratia and her subsequent hasty field promotion.

She could see much of the same disdain within his eyes as she had seen before. Though admittedly, back then, they all viewed each other with disdain.

“By the stars, you look like shit.” He grumbled.

Mila just closed her eyes and sighed. Of all the people to be my replacement. “Retrieval?” She asked.

“Retrieval.” He confirmed.

The two avoided looking at each other, the awkwardness between them extending even to their body language as they both turned slightly away. Juniors were encouraged to cooperate, but with only a limited number who could make it to full fledged Inquisitors or even be judged as candidates, rivalry was to be expected. Coupled with her own insecurities and inability to form proper bonds or act as the others do, she found herself far more alone than expected, entrenching herself against the world. As it always has been.

“I think you know what I’m about to tell you.” Philippe continued.

“Replacement?” Mila grunted.

“Not exactly. Reassignment.”

This caught her eye, and she managed to bring herself to look at him. “Reassignment?”

“Watched a squirrel drop two acorns today.” He reached into his pockets and pulled out two letters, “Polished them, of course.” Ugh, his coded phrases are so stupid. And of all the people to vet my letters, Mila despaired.

Ever so slowly, a realization crept into her mind. If he's here... then…

“Is The Lady…” Mila trailed off.

“The Lady is taking charge of the developing situation. She brought along a few of us for support and an additional retinue assigned by the Observatory.”

“Then these…” She held the two letters; one was a neatly wrapped scroll with a piece of twine, the seal of the Inquisition keeping the scroll closed. The other was simply a letter in an envelope, an Inquisitorial stamp on the side with the words ‘approved’ under it.

“Instructions. Though I am still to deliver you back to Mare’s Berth. The Lady… let's say she's eager to see you for a debriefing.” Philippe answered neutrally.

Mila’s heart dropped upon taking stock of the statement. If Lady Serilda was here, then she must already know about the disaster that Mila had run into. The faith placed in me… and I’ve only been a disappointment. One of the youngest to get hastily inducted in an official capacity, and I’m a failure.

“Ahem.” Philippe summoned her attention, “The other one is, and I can’t believe I have to say this. From friends of yours.”

“From friends?” Mila arched an eyebrow in confusion, friends?

“I was just as surprised reading it. Considering that no one sends letters to us. Also that of all people, you have friends outside our group or well, just friends in general.” He snickered.

Curiosity beating out her own defeatism, she opened the envelope and unfurled a somewhat crinkled page.

“Dear Mila,

I hope you’ve been well. I know that you and Anna have a lot going on. From both Ary and myself, we hope that everything is alright and that you will persevere against whatever odds might come your way. While I confess that I do not exactly know what is happening with Anna, I just hope that everything turns out fine for the both of you… “

She stopped reading, her eyes wide in shock. Sophie and Aryana wrote to me? But I thought they’d simply forget. That they’d be happy to move on. How low is their criteria that I'm considered their friend? Looking up, she met Philippe’s gaze and the boy just shook his head.

“That’s long and so are your reassignment orders. Read through them both, carefully. Only after that, are you allowed to bother me.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ve got a long ride ahead of us. And the less we talk, the less I’ll start to feel sympathetic for everything going wrong for you. So allow me to feel smug for a few minutes that the star student has been brought low.” Philippe chuckled, “After that though… I presume you’ll have quite a few questions that I’d rather not have to answer.”

For the first time in a while, Mila let out a half smile while scowling. “Fair enough.” She whispered.

Turning her attention back down to the first letter, she felt something tickle deep within her. A small mote of warmth at the thought that someone had reached out to her. What an odd feeling.