The Knights Celestial have come into their own, having discovered their powers (and weaknesses), but it may not be enough. Undead have arisen.
Wardyn arrived in the morning to see the ash remains of the undead being burned and the town of Faerlong Dell halfway between hope and despair. He now wore the regalia of the Knights Celestial, but that didn’t stop many humans withdrawing inside doorways or standing behind carts when he arrived, on foot, as the Urukesh always do.
But as he joined the Knights Celestial—clearly one of them—some relaxed their guard. A few even came to see him, an Uruk not trying to slaughter you or steal your land, to see what they were really like. When they took in the size of him, they immediately developed a deep respect for the knights who had pushed the Uruk back over the last five or six years.
“Morning all,” Wardyn said. “I see that you’ve discovered something my people have known about for a few seasons. How did you fare in the battle?”
“Nine casualties, seven that Scarlet was able to help. Two who were beyond help,” Philip said.
Wardyn nodded. “May they rest well,” he said.
It was a simple sentiment, but brought people to silence for a moment.
“I see there was very little by way of ransacking here. Looks mostly like abandonment.” He nodded toward Scarlet.
She nodded back. “Some places were abandoned long ago. At this point, it doesn’t matter why. All that matters is restoring things.”
“There we agree, Sera Esmerelda.”
“Esmerelda?” one of the townspeople asked.
“It’s my name among the knights,” Scarlet said. “But I remain Scarlet among my people.”
Wardyn inclined his head at her, took her meaning, and endeavoured to be more careful of his speech—as she had been endeavouring to be more careful of hers.
“Let me just say this,” he continued. “Your Lady Scarlet represented the humans well at the council, and we are now at peace—finally—a long lasting peace. Perhaps now we can return to the cordial relationship of our grandfathers’ times.”
“You represented your tribes well, Krang,” she said.
“I am no longer krang,” Wardyn said. “My people have chosen new leadership.”
He didn’t go into any detail about how or when that happened, and no one asked.
“You oversaw the return to peace,” Drogoth said. “That’s more than can be said for any other krang in recent memory.”
Wardyn nodded. “Well said, and thank you.”
“What are we to do here?” Amira asked. “We can’t leave these people unprotected.”
“I would ask,” Philip said, “that you, Senna, Yselle, and Aldric remain behind to lend protection to the people here. Given the powers Epherion has granted each of us, this seems to me to be a good unit. Is anyone opposed?”
“Yselle is not here,” Amira said. “She left in the night.”
“Without telling anyone?” Philip asked.
“She told me,” Amira said. “She had something to attend to.”
“Which was?”
“She didn’t offer and I didn’t feel compelled to ask,” Amira said.
“Then, perhaps I should stay,” Drogoth said. “To make it four.”
“I think we may have need of you in Stormrest,” Scarlet said. “If the Usurper is truly there.”
“He is there,” Chenguer said.
“Can you really see him?” Drogoth asked.
“It’s difficult to explain,” Chenguer said. “I see a map when the Unfinished are close to me. I can see their power and relationships and I can see the source to which they tie. He is there, or was last night.”
“Then it will be three that stay behind. Prepare the settlers for fire. The Unfinished shy away from it. The rest of us ride for the Garrison and then onward to Stormrest. Any objections?”
No one objected. The three staying behind walked them to the edge of town. There were no long goodbyes—knights didn’t tend toward them—but Scarlet held Amira’s hand for a moment before she mounted.
They arrived at the garrison at Tallfellow Canyon shortly after dark, having ridden the last half hour in twilight. Thankfully when Ashira and Isen rose for the evening, they smiled down on Vael, showing a dimly lit path down into the valley.
They were challenged upon arrival, and cheered when they identified themselves. Undead had attacked the garrison as well, although they were few in number. Two men were drained, but still living, and Scarlet restored them. As with Philip and the others, the restoration was never fully complete, but sufficient.
They spent the night. For the second time Scarlet slept in Philip’s bed alone, and for the second time she didn’t want to be alone.
The next day, they arrived in Harrowgate, where fewer undead had arisen, but had wreaked more havoc, killing five townspeople. Two others were hovering on death’s door, but Scarlet restored them with Lifegiver.
They did not stay long. The town had its own people moving through it now, doing what people do after a crisis—clearing, accounting, beginning again. Scarlet left them with what she could: the knowledge that the Unfinished feared fire, and that help was coming from Stormrest. It wasn’t enough, but it was something, and something was what she had.
The road west from Harrowgate was long and they rode it mostly in silence. Philip kept pace beside her. The land they moved through had been fought over for two generations, and you could see it if you knew what to look for—the abandoned farm, the broken fence line no one had repaired, the village that was smaller than its road suggested it should be. She had spent her whole life fighting for this land in the abstract. Riding through it, she understood for the first time what restoration actually meant. Not a legal document. This. The fence repaired. The farm reoccupied. The village full again.
By noon on the third day, they were at Kestrelmont.
Charles dreaded the idea of Isabelle coming for afternoon tea and dinner. He still loved her, but he felt like he was no longer in love with her. And he still felt like it was a flaw in his personality. She was perfect—but different now. Even her kiss was not the same. Not that long ago, it made him tremble. Now? It made him want to wipe his mouth on his sleeve. He didn’t, but the instinct was there.
He sat at his desk, leafing through grain reports that his father had given him. Normally, this would go to Scarlet, but he had taken on more of this in recent weeks, and was well inclined to the task, except his heart was not in it at the moment.
He stared out the window at the bridge leading to Kestrelmont, its low rise over the moat. Charles remembered playing there when he was eight or nine years old, when life was simpler. He remembered his sister riding there on her horse, her blonde hair catching the light.
He straightened in his chair. Someone was crossing the bridge—blonde hair, that particular way of sitting a horse.
He jumped up, dashed down two flights of stairs and ran out through the front entrance as fast as his legs would go. In the foyer, his mother called out to him, but he didn’t hear a word she said. Some admonishment about running in the house, he was sure.
He met her at the foot of the bridge, where she dismounted.
“Scarlet—”
“Hi, Charles. I’m back.”
He scooped her up, noticing that she was, perhaps, a little shorter than she had been when she left—unless he had grown. And then he smiled as he realized which was the more likely case.
He spun her around.
“You’re back! You’re back!” Then he dropped her to her feet, held her at arm’s length, and took her in—the armor, the sword, the whole of her. “What on Vael are you wearing?”
Then he looked up and saw four others, similarly dressed.
One was an Uruk!
“Who—Who are you all?” He paused. “Forgive my manners. Good day, I am Charles Wentworth. I am Scarlet’s brother. Welcome to Kestrelmont.”
They all dismounted, except the Uruk, who did not ride a horse.
“Where have you been? What happened? Are you just getting back now? Are you okay?”
Question after question spilled out of him.
Scarlet laughed and said, “There’ll be time for all of that.” She looked up to see her parents coming along the drive, their faces full of questions.
They were still thirty paces away when she saw her mother reach out to grab her father’s arm and say something to him before covering her mouth with her hand.
Her father glanced at his wife and then back at her. His jaw set and then his jaw released and he grabbed her mother’s hand as they hurried together.
Mother must have said many things, but she could not make out a single word other than her own name being repeated as her mother held on for dear life.
She reached for her father who held her tightly, then pulled away to look at her.
He gave her that look he always gave her when he didn’t need words—a little displeasure over what she had done, mixed with pride that she’d had the fortitude to do the impossible anyway.
Then he noticed the Uruk, and the astonishment on his face was something to see. He turned back to Scarlet.
“The war is over, father,” she said. “Our lands are restored.”
He nodded then and said, “I am very angry with you. But also very proud.”
“I know, daddy,” she said. “We have a lot to talk about. I did some things. Made some promises. Did what I needed to do.”
“I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“You’ll come around.”
“Of course I will.”
The other knights had been quiet, observing this reunion, the impact slightly different on each. Something in Drogoth’s bearing had eased—a calmness that was close to a smile. Chenguer made no attempt to hide his. Wardyn laughed quietly at the first, but a wistfulness settled on him afterward and stayed.
Her mother, still wiping her eyes, had not let go of her daughter’s hand and, just gently, rested her head against Scarlet’s shoulder. Her father still had his arm around her.
“Mother. Father,” she said. “Let me introduce you to some of the Knights Celestial.”
“Wait—” her father said. “You’re wearing the same armor.”
“I have joined them,” she said, raising her eyebrows slightly, watching him carefully.
“You have joined the Knights Celestial? A woman?”
“I am far from the only woman,” she said.
“Joined?” her mother asked. “What does that mean?”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Scarlet said. She paused and then walked her parents to each of the knights, individually.
“This is Sir Drogoth. He’s from Drakkar.”
Drogoth gave a very short bow—not the type one gives to royalty of their own lands, but one meant to show respect. “Your house has produced worthy children,” he said.
“And you know Christine’s Chen, right?”
“Yes,” Elise said between sniffles. “I believe we met at Christine’s party.”
“Indeed, madam,” Chenguer said. “We did. I am glad to see you again. And you, sir, I believe you were dressed as a lion the last I saw you.”
“Good memory,” Caspian said, shaking hands with Chenguer, after a similar bow.
“This,” Scarlet said, “is Wardyn Holt, a knight, and former chieftain of his clan of Urukesh. He was one of three to sign the peace treaty.”
Scarlet was astonished to see her father give a short bow first. “I am told,” Caspian said, “that the war is finally over.”
“As am I,” Wardyn said, returning the bow. “One thing we both established early in the negotiation was that it was no Wentworth who began the hostilities. But it was a Wentworth who ended them. I hold your daughter in very high regard.”
The statement made Caspian’s lip tremble and brought a very slight dampness to his eyes.
“Well said, Sir Wardyn,” Caspian replied.
“Your people have always fascinated me,” Charles interjected. “Did you know in my great grandfather’s day we had Uruks in our household—before the war?”
“I did not,” Wardyn said, somewhat surprised.
The two wandered off chatting.
Scarlet took a few more steps to her right. “And this,” she said, “is Sir Philip Beckwith.”
“My lady. My lord,” he said, bowing to them a little more deeply than the others had.
Scarlet caught her mother’s eye. Elise’s attention moved from Philip to Scarlet and back again with the quiet efficiency of a woman who had already understood everything and was simply confirming it. She squeezed Scarlet’s hand.
“I believe you danced with my daughter at the masquerade,” Elise said.
“I am not sure I did much dancing,” he said. “It’s more like I tripped over my feet while walking beside a graceful swan.”
“Oh, hush,” Elise said. “You two were the talk of the evening.”
Philip nodded at her politely. “It is kind of you to say.”
“So you are the knight who has been recovering the land and now holds a legal claim on it,” Caspian said.
“The legalities,” Philip said, “are a matter of some debate and I, my lord, am not a great debater, and won’t pretend to be.”
“Do you intend to pursue the claim?”
“I have something else in mind,” Philip said. He glanced briefly at Scarlet, then returned his attention to the Duke.
Caspian caught it, raised an eyebrow, and said, “Oh. I see.”
“What are you two talking about?” Scarlet asked.
“Man stuff,” her father said. “Never you mind.”
“Well, let’s not stand out here all day,” Elise said. “Come. Come in. We were just about to set out lunch. I will have cook whip up something more substantial. You must all be hungry and thirsty following your ride.”
“If you don’t mind all,” Chenguer said. “I will take my leave for now. There is a certain young lady who I need to see.”
“Of course, Chen,” Elise said. “But if you do find her, bring her back for dinner will you?”
“I will try my best,” Chenguer said. He climbed up on his horse and headed to Wyndmere where Christine waited for him.
Wardyn and Charles remained in an animated conversation as they walked.
Philip walked beside Scarlet, but didn’t touch her. She noticed, and she took his hand, making things plain.
Stephen B. Anthony is the author of Transmigrant, an epic science fiction thriller, available on both Amazon and Audible.
I so badly want to know what will happen when they see Isabelle!