Counterstrike

[Julen]

Amazement claimed the expressions of those who witnessed the healing. Pieces of partially eaten food remained clutched in scrawny fingers, while empty mouths hung open, and it was a testament to the miracle before them that such needed sustenance could be even momentarily forgotten by starving bellies. Finally, Tulip found the courage to speak, as she inched closer to Julen and whispered “Sir? What is he?”

Julen, awed by this new manifestation of his friend’s powers, once again found himself struggling with that very question. He wondered if the Judges would have been so quick to sanction Aorle’s healing if they’d seen it take this form. To mend someone by touching them was impressive enough, but to do it by...channeling?...becoming?...an angel...that was different. That was the sort of thing which won a man followers. The sort of thing which won him worshippers. Julen doubted the Judges would be eager to risk that potential challenge to their absolute rule.

“What is he? A man trying to be an angel. Or an angel trying to be a man. I’m not entirely sure which.”

Meanwhile, as Aorle touched her, warmth flowed into Cherie. Not the heat of the fever which had tormented her for most of the night, the heat which had made her dreams boil inside her head. But a soothing glow, like sunshine entering her body, burning away her pain. For the first time in nearly a day, Cherie’s eyes fluttered open. White light surrounded her. Cradled her, caressed her, soft and feathery as...wings?

With a rush of understanding, Cherie realized what had happened. She was dead. And oh, blessed death! Why had she ever struggled against it? To float in this warmth, far away from her misery and her sins, was more wonderful than anything life had ever offered her. Cherie hoped that it would never end.

But slowly, the light receded. The wings of white light released her, and Cherie found herself lying on the floor, staring up into the eyes of the man she’d sent to his death. A whimper of terror tore from the prostitute’s lips. She should have known! Even in death, she could not escape the evil she’d committed during her life. The gods had put her here, to be punished by the spirits of everyone she’d ever harmed, until time devoured itself.

Panicked, Cherie scrambled up onto her hands and knees. But her path to escape was blocked by a group of women -- maybe the wives of the men she’d bedded, maybe fellow prostitutes that she’d wronged in some way. And there was also another warrior. Although he lacked the crest of blue horsehair, Cherie suspected that he might be the friend which the first man had been searching for, denied rescue from whatever fate had claimed him because of what she’d done.

Expecting to be set upon, to be torn apart, Cherie threw herself face-down on the ground. “I’m sorry!” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry...please don’t hurt me.”

In truth, Cherie didn’t really expect forgiveness. It had never been shown to her in life. Why should death be any different? But begging for mercy was a hard habit to break, even when hope had long since vanished from her words.

[Sir Karsimir]

Yet still she suffered.

The simple act of pleading for mercy proved that much. Even with the bruises chased away like shadows on the skin, the fever purged by the purifying light, she still suffered. Unreasoning and conditioned terror which kept her vulnerable and pliable. A plea for mercy was oft a pointless act, for those most willing to answer such a plea were those least inclined to harm a helpless and terrified woman to begin with.

Kneeling down by her side to avoid any potential intimidation from his looming presence, Aorle whispered strongly to her. A whisper chosen to gentle, not to avoid notice, any who cared to would hear it. "Stop Cherie. You are safe now. I made a promise to you. No mere demonhag can take that away."

Numerous secrets were unveiled by that statement. First, that the Sword of Heaven knew of the demonhag. Second, so did Cherie. Third, he knew that she knew. Fourth, this was somehow relevent. An astute observer would have noticed all this. Numidar was an astute observer. "She sent you to die in the demon lair." The voice chillingly devoid of emotion, as was practiced. Also announced clearly for all to hear, warrior and civilian alike.

Few who lived deep in the shantytown were truly ignorant of the demonhag. As one delved deeper into the district, the urgent and dire need for shelter grew steadily more apparent, while decaying walls and towers stood seemingly uninhabited nearby. Whatever kept the homeless away was clearly enough to overcome desperation and need. Things worse than the criminals and gangs, among who even the humans were monsters.

Rising and stepping back, the Shining One addressed the gathered ladies. "Bring food for Cherie. None here shall be left hungry." he bid, making no objection to Numidar's conclusion. "All eat and take clothes we have set out. Weapons as well." More than anything, a sign of good faith, as arming those who were the subjects of ill intent was just plain counterproductive. At least now the women would be fed and dressed and with some means of defending themselves.

Yet the Shining One was not done. "I am Aorle Kar, Sword of Heaven and Knight of the Sundered Wing. I have a fortified compound within the city, where if you join us you will be provided with food and shelter and safety. There you will be schooled in new trades, never again bought or sold as chattel. Each of you shall have a living in your new trade. Our goal is to aid those in need and all of you can do much to assist."

In the effort to erase doubts, Aorle spoke imploringly to the one who once sought his death. "Cherie. You have suffered far too much. This," he made a sweeping gesture indicating the corrupt establishment, mildly focusing on the room she was found in, "is no place for you. Come. Live without fear. Atone for your wrongs." Thus more doubts were erased than Cherie's own. Though she now knew she was invited, all now knew she had wrongs to atone for, and Numidar had referred to one of them.

Much of her doubts were no surprise. Accepting that she could do something about her situation would mean accepting that she didn't. Far from an easy thing for a mortal to do.

Once more, Aorle addressed the civilians together. "What say you?"

[Julen]

Numidar’s statement regarding the demonhag elicited rumbles of surprise and anger from his fellow Lightswords. Thetta pointed her spear tip at Cherie’s prone form, apparently ready to carry out a swift execution, despite Cherie’s status as a fellow woman. Even Julen’s hand went for his sword hilt. In his mind, Sasha’s attack had been the tantrum of a child -- no harm had been done by the knife, and little enough danger was posed by it. But he’d watched while Uluki treated the wounds that the demonhag had torn into Aorle’s body. He’d seen his friend wince in pain. And he’d gotten enough details about the battle to know that it might not have been won. Because of what Cherie had done, Aorle could have died a horrible death in those ruins, and when Julen thought about that, he couldn’t quite quell the anger which rose up in his heart.

“You sent him into a trap?” Julen hissed. “Why? In the name of the gods, why?”

But Cherie just trembled and repeated “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...”

Amongst the recently rescued prostitutes, Numidar’s announcement provoked a different reaction. Instead of anger, cries of alarm and fear escaped from gaudily-painted lips. Some were terrified by any mention of the demonhag, their glances darting nervously toward the room’s shadows, as if even speaking its name might be enough to cause an appearance. Others feared that they would now be punished for Cherie’s treachery. When Aorle rose from beside Cherie and still offered them food and shelter, they stared at him in fresh wonderment.

Again, Aorle addressed Cherie, and this time his words actually seemed to seep in. “I’m not...I’m not dead?” Pushing herself onto her knees, Cherie stared up at the Sword of Heaven, her cheeks wet with tears. “But that means...that means you’re not dead either. Snyde was right! Oh, thank the gods, I didn’t kill you!”

“You certainly tried,” Thetta muttered. But she lowered her spear.

In a shaking voice, Cherie clarified her outburst. “Snyde found out that I’d talked with you. I told him that I only did it to trick you, to send you to the hag. But he wouldn’t believe me. He said you were still alive. He said that I must be in league with you, and then he beat me. I knew he was wrong. I knew you couldn’t be alive, because I’d sent you to the hag, and no one could survive her. But I couldn’t prove it.”

“I...” For a moment, Cherie lifted one of her hands, as if she intended to touch Aorle. But then the hand dropped and she bowed her head. “I’m glad that you’re alright. I’ve done some bad things, but I’m glad that I haven’t killed anyone. Especially not you.”

By now, Tulip had returned with a small plate of food for Cherie. But when she placed it on the floor beside Cherie, Cherie pushed it away. “No. I don’t deserve any help. Just leave me here. There’s nothing I can do to make up for my mistakes.”

Murmurs of protest rippled through the former prostitutes. But it was Sigvard who slipped past his sister and crossed the room to stand beside Cherie. “Lady? I, too, was recently tasked with atonement. You must summon all your courage and resolve. You must face the long battle, no matter how fierce your foes appear. You must gather other fine comrades around you, so that they may lend their swords to yours, until you raise a din that reaches the Hall of the Gods!”

“What?” Cherie blinked at him, with confusion in her eyes, but the hint of a smile on her lips. “What are you talking about?”

Sigvard grinned at her, offering his hand. “I mean that you have to try. And, if you wish, I’ll help you.”

Tulip, who seemed to have become the spokesperson for her fellow refugees, addressed Aorle with an awkward curtsey. “Sir? We thank you for your offer. And we will gladly go any place you care to take us. Just as long as it’s away from here.”

[Sir Karsimir]

Briefly, how Sigvard spoke of atonement with long battles and fierce foes gave a moment's pause to the Shining One. Only a moment, for all was clear with those next words. Silently, and as unobtrusively as the knight could manage, he touched a fist to his breastplate in admiration for the warrior's sentiments. That simple offer showed true compassion and empathy, an unprompted choice to grant succor to one in need of it.

With no intention of allowing Cherie to starve herself as a form of self-flagellation, Aorle Kar knelt down by the plate and pushed it back towards her, showing his usual regard for choice. "We do not stand by while people starve, Cherie." There was more he would say, but Tulip was seeking his attention, and best to allow Cherie to eat undisturbed.

Rising to his feet, he answered. "You are welcome, m'lady, and there is no need to curtsey or bow." Truthfully, the formalities were somewhat grating for him, he was not a man who welcomed deference. "When ready, speak with Osaw for directions. He is far better with such matters than I." Plain fact stated truly and openly, without reserve. With the priorities of a military man, Aorle noticed that Tulip herself had stopped eating to converse with him. "Until then, enjoy your meals."

Before finishing, he wanted to say this much to Cherie. "My friend speaks wisely, and is certainly the expert on the subject of raising a din." A good-humoured smile joined that remark.

Finding no further cause for intervention, Aorle left the matter for the others to act as they will. Osaw would give directions when they were done, and both Numidar and Aorle would be finding and fetching any remaining foodstuffs for the warriors - Numidar because he was a veteran campaigner who saw the value of keeping fighters well-fed, Aorle because the first seven years of his knightly education included plenty of serving meals and he was not one to consider the task beneath him upon achieving his knighthood.

The food supplies were only meager, as the owners of this establishment cared little for keeping the girls well-fed. Most of the supplies were mere snacks for thugs and customers. Either way, this spare food allowed work to continue for the day with less disruption from hunger. Toppling a criminal empire was hungry work.

[Julen]

Sigvard grinned, obviously pleased by Aorle’s compliment. Banging his fist against his breastplate, he saluted his leader. Then he went to help Thetta gather salvageable bedding from the ladies’ rooms. If they found any, Thetta planned on packing the pillows and blankets into small bundles, which could be easily carried back to Lightsword Hall by the new refugees. With so many additional people in need of shelter, the bedding would certainly prove useful. And the women might feel better if they didn’t arrive empty-handed.

While the other prostitutes wolfed down the food brought to them, Cherie picked at her own portion, making gradual progress. Despite her obvious repentance, Julen found it hard to look at the woman who’d tried to send his friend to such a gruesome death. He knew that Aorle was right to forgive her. But sometimes, true forgiveness came slowly. Attempting to take his mind off his anger, which he wasn’t proud of, Julen moved through the group and ensured that each received their fair share. That was when he saw it. A silver charm, suspended over the ample bosom of pudgy human woman.

Recognition flooded Julen with powerful emotions. “Where did you get that?” he demanded.

Startled by his sudden interrogation, the woman glanced up at Julen. “Get what?”

“That locket you’re wearing. Where did you get it?”

“Brencis gave it to me. He...he gave me things sometimes.”

“It belongs to me.”

Defiance flashed in the woman’s dark eyes. “So says you. But any could say as much. What proves it?”

Julen swallowed a sarcastic comment, annoyed by the suggestion that he had no better use for his time than declaring false claims on random pieces of jewelry. Seeing Rosemary’s treasured gift hanging from another throat felt like torture. Still, with great effort, Julen forced himself to be patient. If the woman wanted proof, he could certainly give it to her. “Tell me, this Brencis, did he have a wound on his hand? When he gave you the locket?”

“Why...yes. He said that a dog bit him.”

Mirthless laughter escaped Julen. “I was that dog. And I would have done far worse than biting when he stole it, if Snyde hadn’t just beaten me within an inch of my life.” Considering the matter to now be settled, Julen extended his hand. “Give it to me.”

But instead of complying, the woman closed her fingers around the silver charm, clutching it tightly.

“It’s mine! Give it to me!” Exasperated, Julen reached for the locket, prepared to rip it off the woman’s throat if necessary.

And then stopped.

For a moment, Julen was back in the kitchen of House Anstrun, listening to Phelan speak the same words that had just left his lips. For a moment, he remembered his own fingers protectively wrapped around the locket. Shame rushed into Julen. True, Phelan’s statement had been a lie, motivated by malice and petty jealousy. But that didn’t change the situation’s unpleasant similarity -- a man acting like a bully, prepared to take something from someone who couldn’t truly defend it. Julen refused to sink to that level. Not for a piece of jewelry.

Julen’s hand dropped to his side and he took a step back, addressing the woman in a more calm voice. “That locket was given to me by my wife, to help me get through a time when we were forced to be apart. It means a great deal to me and I would like to have it back. Do as your conscience sees fit.” Then, without further pressuring, Julen went and claimed his share of the food that Aorle had set aside for the warriors.

After the women had eaten, Tulip got directions from Osaw, while Thetta distributed the bundles she’d made. And then it was time to go. Standing on the sidewalk, Julen watched the group begin their journey to Lightsword Hall. Despite their eagerness to be free, many among them seemed wary of the outside world, shielding their eyes from the bright light and jumping at any unfamiliar sounds. Like a pack of frightened dogs, they pressed tightly against each other. Except for Tulip. Allowing her fellow refugees to draw ahead of her, she set her bundle on the ground, and then stretched her hands up toward the sun, her face transformed into a look of absolute rapture as it shone down on her. Looking at her, Julen could almost feel its warmth on his own skin. And his lips curved into smile. It was worth it. All the danger, and the darkness, and the opening of places inside him that he honestly didn’t want opened -- for moments like this, it was worth it.

[Sir Karsimir]

Of all who could, Numidar was the one who chose to make a show of support. No stranger to the frustration of being hindered without cause, he saw a stolen trinket be clung to by someone with no real need for it. Frankly, the return of stolen property seemed like a fair price for her rescue and shelter. Catching an appropriate moment after, the black-armoured and black-skinned man-at-arms nudged Julen and spoke quietly. "Finding plenty to trade for your locket today. Seems a good use of the loot." If food and shelter and safety were not enough for her.

Spears and shields were swiftly gathered up without delay, as each raid was a chain of success which led to more excitement and a sense of further victory, more of the enemy to defeat, more damage to be done to this unholy enterprise. They were warriors in the truest sense of the word, and this was what they lived for.

More hideouts would be found, and destroyed, before the day was done. Even if there were victims of this gang who could not be saved, each thug slain was one less able to harm the innocent, one less strand of this web of cruelty. The parasitic blight of the district would shrink steadily smaller, and that alone was a thing worth doing.

Disregarding the urban trappings of a merchant, Snyde and his minions were nought less than thieves. Back with Aorle's people, his 'barbarian' people, these workers of iniquity would be known as outright brigands and robbers. And like robbers, they needed a place to stash their ill-gotten gains.

Striking at that place would weaken the city-bandits greatly, limiting their resources with which to rebuild or work ill. A main storehouse was where they kept the more cumbersome of their ill-gotten gains. Knowing little of the ways of such urban robbers, Aorle could not speculate on what they would keep.

Matching the description given, the building was long and made of filthy-red brick. The space between it and the building behind it was barely the depth of Aorle's body, making him believe the space between them completely pointless. Yet another thing to begrudge of this area, the layout of the district smacked of laziness. There was wide and open land surrounding the city, empty and with no reason not to be used. Still, people were crammed into such small spaces when large swathes of the city were left abandoned. An obvious solution was convenient for the Shining One, but still frustrating when the city officials did nothing.

As was his standard practice, Aorle gave the order to scout, before deciding on how to begin the attack. However, one is not known as the Shining One for being skilled at stealth, and thus he was noticed.

One thug lounging and relaxing with his others suddenly jumped in surprise. No finesse, no subtlety, the Sword of Heaven simply charged in with sword held high and cut with the strike of wrath. Blade swung diagonally and down towards the shoulder, aiming to carve into the body. This one was armed with a rapier, and attempted to counter with a sudden lunge while stepping under the slanting slash. While still a diagonal cut, Aorle simply aimed the slash lower as he read the thug's movements in advance.

The rapier struck upon his belly... and did nothing against the steel cuirass.

The two others with him included one with a rapier and one with an axe. Both shouted and then sought to catch him off-guard. Deflecting the rapier-thrust with his sword, the Shining One took a large step and rammed a shoulder into the axe-wielder to disrupt his balance and thus his swing. In that brief instant, Aorle was taking in details and choosing tactics.

Of the weapons, the axe was the more effective against a man in armour, as well as slower to parry than a rapier. So the choice of first targets was obvious. However, with the knight caught between them and the axe attacking from the flank, there was no room for Aorle to bring the blade of his sword in an effective cut. Instead, he placed one foot back, planting it behind the leg of the axe-murderer, then backswung his pommel in half-sword to strike against the robber's chest, throwing him over the leg of the paladin.

Another rapier thrust came in, using the length and reach of the weapon as the knight's sword was pointed his way, this one was simply batted down with an armoured vambrace. Rather than retaliating, Aorle lashed a cut low at the tripped criminal to attempt to finish him off without delay. It only half-worked, opening the fellow's belly to render him incapable of fighting further, although did nothing to prevent the screams. Taking a retreating step from the fencer, Aorle plunged his sword into where shoulder met neck on his downed enemy before rejoining the fray with a counter-thrust.

The fencer danced back, and attempted to dart away. However, Osaw had come behind him and split his head open with a chop of the falchion.

More thugs came out, armed similar to the three just downed, some even clad in leather and padding as basic armour. They came out in numbers, and the Lightswords were split up at this moment.

"Fall back!" barked the Shining One, as he and those with him gave ground towards a more defensible position. If the enemy was aware of them, then the rest of the unit would be in a similar situation. Now raising his voice, he bellowed to the others nearby. "Fall back to street entry! Regroup there!"

Those Lightswords backed to position, pursued by their outnumbering attackers. Still, together they could reinforce their comrades and each would cover the other's flanks, reducing the value of weight of numbers. Which was good when assaulted five-to-one.

Numidar made good use of the length of his iklwa spear, dropping two with darting thrusts before the weapon stuck in an enemy long enough for the press of numbers to force him back and abandon the weapon. Immediately, he drew his curved saber and launched into an explosive flurry of deadly slices, using the contrast from his seeming stillness to catch his targets off-guard.

Osaw put on a fine performance as well. Ramming with his shield unbalanced his foe enough for a heavy overhand hack to be effective. Battle with him was reduced to parry-ram-hack-repeat in a very one-sided manner.

With neither the cover of a shield or the length of a spear, Aorle was a favoured target of the many assailants. The reason was simple, few of the thugs truly appreciated the value of armour, and could easily perceive him as the most vulnerable. Powerful sweeping cuts forced his clustered foes a step back, allowing him to keep his foes to managable numbers. These numbers often sought to keep him grappled while the others attacked, only grapples with Aorle seldom lasted very long. Instead, he pushed them at angles which unbalanced them while drew the edge of his sword to rake and slice their arms or necks.

Five-to-one became two-to-one very fast.

[Julen]

While Aorle, Numidar and Osaw snuck around one side of the building, Julen and his two remaining fellows scrutinized the other. Rather than having a conventional entrance, this face of the storehouse had been constructed to serve as a loading dock. Indeed, a cart was already parked alongside the raised deck, and several men were busy with the task of unloading it. From his vantage, Julen couldn’t make out the exact nature of their cargo. But judging by the seemingly random assortment of packing containers, he guessed that it was probably “tribute” paid to Snyde by various local businesses, in return for the “protection” of his organization.

Julen was just trying to decide if he should risk getting closer when the sound of combat reached his ears. Apparently it also reached the ears of the four men doing the unloading, because they quickly abandoned their work and moved to investigate. Unfortunately for them, they were destined to go to their graves with that mystery left unsolved, the answer denied them by the three grim-faced warriors who blocked their path. Julen and Sigvard matched blades with the henchmen while Thetta’s spear darted out from behind her allies like serpent, striking unexpected and deadly blows. The confrontation didn’t last long.

But it did last long enough to spook the carthorse. Frightened by the clash of weapons and the screams of dying men, the creature strained against the stake it had been tethered to, which was already coming up from the ground. Julen could vividly imagine the danger posed by a panicked horse dragging a wagon through the streets of the shanty town. Only pausing to sheath his sword, Julen ran toward the terrified beast. His hands barely had time to seize its bridle before a final tug completely uprooted the stake, and the horse reared up on its hind legs, lifting Julen off the ground.

Inconveniently, this was when Aorle gave the order to regroup.

“Go on!” Julen shouted at Sigvard and Thetta, who looked undecided about who they should be helping. Obediently, the siblings dashed off to aid their fellows.

Julen would have eagerly done the same, but by this point, any attempt to disengage before he’d brought the horse under control seemed likely to get him trampled. At least the horse was back on all fours and he could touch the ground again. Tightening his grip on the bridle, Julen forced the horse’s head down, while speaking to it in a firm voice. For a moment, the creature’s eyes continued to roll in its head and spittle dripped from its gaping mouth. But Julen was a farmer. His livelihood depended on controlling the animals around him. Less than a minute passed before he’d calmed the horse down enough that it allowed him to tether it to a post in the loading dock’s railing. After giving the creature a hasty pat of reassurance, Julen raced to join the main fight.

The tide was already turning when Julen arrived, and his presence only helped to turn it more. Soon, the Lightswords were surrounded by the bodies of their foes, and a few crows began venturing down from the rooftops of the surrounding buildings, cawing eagerly in anticipation of the feast which had been laid before them.

Venturing inside the storehouse revealed a strange menagerie of items: bags of grain, kegs of ale, piles of furs and animal hides -- even pieces of furniture. Anything that Snyde had been able to bully out of those who lived in fear of him. One of the oddest discoveries was inside a chest that Julen opened. The container held a number of pouches, which in turn held small amounts of fine powder. At first, Julen thought the tiny grains might be spices of some sort, but a cautious sniff failed to reveal any scent. And Julen wasn’t about to try tasting them. Not when they might be poisons, or even arcane magical components. Closing the lid to the chest, Julen returned it to its previous resting place, and addressed Aorle.

“There’s a bit more out back. They were unloading it when we arrived.”

[Sir Karsimir]

The last of the villians had not fallen, for when numbers did not avail them, flight was their only recourse. This moment they were delaying, for Snyde did not look kindly upon failure. Yet when their forces dwindled to less than twice of their foes, there was no denying that grisly death lay on the end of those blades. Scattering, they fled from these fierce foes, who from their defensive knot were unsuited to pursue.

"Hold!" was the order when the rout had begun in earnest. Battle would be done on a warrior's terms, not a disorganised chase which favoured the robbers. A chase in heavy armour would be tiring, and felling a few more foes was not worth the risk of being caught seperated and fatigued. Priority went to the lives of the armsmen.

Perhaps this meant Snyde would know of their presence, although Aorle doubted any of the survivors were eager to be the one's to bring word to Snyde. Base villainy wrought only weakness, for the just and strong would support each other against adversity, while the corrupt and wicked would be undone from within.

Divesting the slain of both arms and valueables, Aorle idly petted one of the crows already helping themselves to the corpses. The crow welcomed the gesture gladly. When he needed to pull off a jerkin of basic armour, the scavenger perched on the chest of a corpse readily hopped up his arm onto his shoulder while the Shining One did some scavenging of his own.

Observing this, Numidar saw fit to comment. "Here birdy." he remarked mildly, "Have an eyeball."

Noticing the horse-drawn wagon, Aorle realised what Julen had been doing. "Good thinking. You may have spared many from danger." Then, he threw his armload of captured weapons and armour into the wagon. "We take the wagon with us. Load the more portable goods you know of uses for. Yes, that includes ale." Judging by remembered beer-bellies, ale could be more filling than many legitimate foodstuffs.

Between the potential discovery and access to both stash and wagon, there was an opportunity. "Two more targets, then we bring the wagon to base. Start collecting civilians on the way. There will be return trips made here. Partly for the supplies, partly to damage the gang." Containers were chosen for the supplies within and loaded on.

If he found the unknown powder, he would have dismissed it. Not for any suspiscion of narcotics; he had no concept of such things. Instead, he would have had no knowledge of the use for it and chosen something he knew would be useful.

Striking at the next two targets were meeting halls. Any thugs there were destroyed with neither fuss nor fanfare, although no captives. Mostly the people on the street tried to avoid the Lightswords, although a few of the more desperate were convinced to join them. With perhaps a small detour collect potentially vulnerable loved ones, they were done.

Save for finding Tam and Sasha. Rather than split up within the shantytown, they brought the cart with them for the reunion, while Aorle privately prayed for the best.

[Julen]

Thetta’s lips curved into a small, tight-lipped smile when the crow hopped onto Aorle’s shoulder. She’d grown quite fond of these smaller cousins to the ravens that inhabited her homeland. True, the crows possessed a more jester-like manner than their northern counterparts, who were respected as solemn harbingers of battle and death. But there was still something endearing about them. The one currently perched on Aorle tilted its head from side to side, seemingly admiring its reflection in the Angelsworn’s brightly polished armor. Then it puffed up its feathers and released a loud caw, as if to say: Look at what a fine and handsome crow I am!

Really, the crow almost reminded her of someone. If only she could put her finger on who...?

For his part, Sigvard had grabbed one of the wooden ale kegs as soon as Aorle suggested loading their plunder onto the wagon. If there was one thing in the world that Sigvard definitely knew a use for, it was alcohol. Julen, being of a somewhat more temperate nature, concentrated his efforts on the sacks of grain. The hides and furs also seemed like they might prove handy -- as further bedding, if nothing else. And an attractive sofa briefly tempted him. Not because Julen could formulate any particularly practical application for it, but because he thought it would look rather nice in the living room of his farmhouse. Unfortunately, this was a raid, not a shopping trip, and the sofa would take too much room away from more necessary supplies. With only a mild pang of regret, Julen left it behind.

He did, however, surrender to a different impulse. After the loading was finished, Julen lingered inside the warehouse for a little longer than his fellow Lightswords. Curiosity had gotten the better of him. Returning to the chest that had previously attracted his attention, Julen snagged one of its powder-filled pouches, intending to show it to Uluki when he got a chance. As a healer and a fairy, she might have some idea what it was. Julen hated unsolved mysteries. Even small ones.

Two more battles later, Julen felt elated and exhausted. It was a little disappointing that they hadn’t encountered Snyde himself, but they’d badly crippled his organization, probably past the point of repair. And maybe that was a better punishment. Rather than a quick death, Snyde would live to watch his power and influence slip away, until he was the worst thing that someone like him could be -- a nobody. Although still determined to heed Aorle’s wise cautions against vengeance, Julen couldn’t help relishing the mental image of a destitute and broken Snyde, lying in a shanty town gutter, getting the crap kicked out of him by one of his former prostitutes.

Of course, those daydreams would not keep Julen from doing his best to kill Snyde if they ever met again.

Following the directions given to him by Tam, Julen guided the group back to the decrepit inn where she’d planned on taking Sasha. Although the place appeared to have more rats than guests, its patrons didn’t seem like criminals, and the rotund woman who answered their questions actually came across as rather motherly in her concern for the two girls. She said that she’d given the pair an upstairs room. Where, indeed, Julen discovered Tam and Sasha. They'd fallen asleep on the room’s bed. Tam had her arms around Sasha, and despite still being cuffed, Sasha actually looked rather peaceful. A scattering of empty plates and cups on the floor around them hinted at how they’d spent Aorle’s bishani.

“Tam?” Julen spoke gently, not wanting to startle the girl. “Our work is done. I’ve come to free Sasha.”

Tam’s eyes fluttered open and she grinned. Rolling over, she shook her friend awake. “Sasha? They came back. I told you they’d come back.”

If Sasha was glad to hear that news, she certainly didn’t show it. As soon as her eyes snapped open, she snarled at Julen, and scrambled out of the bed. But she only got about halfway across the room before she suddenly fell down. It was then that Julen noticed a sheet, tied around Sasha’s ankle, connecting her back to one of the bedposts.

“She tried to go out the window,” Tam explained. “I was worried that she might get hurt.”

Julen, who’d begun to think that a good spanking might greatly improve Sasha’s attitude, refrained from comment. Instead, he focused on the task of freeing her. As before, it took the aid of several Lightswords, but Julen finally managed to unlock the shackles and unwind the chains from around Sasha’s wrists.

Meanwhile, Tam approached Aorle, saluting him as she’d done before. “Thanks. I sure liked being a hero. Some parts were kind of hard, like when I wasn’t sure what to do, but it made me feel good. If you’re ever needing me to be a hero again, just say so.” She paused, and her gaze moved to something beyond Aorle, as her face took on a hopeful expression. “I was wondering if we could go to that place now? With the shelter, and the food, and the chance to learn stuff?”

“You’re a fool!” Sasha screeched. “They’re taking us to our doom! You’ll see.”

[Sir Karsimir]

Fine qualities had been demonstrated this day. Courage and defence, nobility of spirit and prowess of mind. So timid when they first found her, Tam had come to show a strength both glorious and humble. "Aye Tam. We can go." Aorle smiled, "You have done well, and thank you for your aid. We have done much good with your help." Then a thought came to him, such upright courage deserved to be cultivated, a gift that could be freely given both to her and to the world. "There will be many chances for you to make use of your talent."

Sasha on the other hand, had not shown fine qualities. Deceitful and vindictive, all she had shown was weakness. Inclined to exploit and control others, the cost was much of her personal strength, and thus her only reaction was to be hysterical. Many of her ways were akin to those of beasts and vermin, for her relationships with the world were built on dominance and submission. Dominance when she once berated Tam and sought to deny her the choice offered, submission in her many efforts to curry favour with Snyde. In the absence of cruelty, she was unable to accept the authority of the warriors and thus would challenge them at every turn.

"As promised, you are unharmed." Perhaps that would mean nothing to her, but it would mean something to all of the good men and women present who had taken risks by keeping her that way. "You are free to go, I suspect the room remains open for you. When people help each other, everyone prospers. Betray one another, and all suffer." Part of the Shining One bore an unpleasant feeling for what Sasha may do next, not for any peril she may pose, but from what he knew her intended course would not go well. At least he could leave her with a warning. "Know this. Snyde has lost three-score thugs to the grave this day. Bringing him news will provide only a target for his ire. Farewell and keep safe."

Upon departing, Aorle held the door open for Tam in a courteous gesture of chivalry too rare in these parts. At the wagon outside, both Numidar and Osaw were waiting, standing crisply to attention. Hovering nearby was an older man with a ragged grey beard which seemed grown more from being denied the luxury of shaving than any conscious effort. Thick, heavy wrinkles burrowed deep tracks in his face. This man had a long-limbed and bony youth beside him, the pair hovered close by each other, as if each seeking the other's support. They had joined up not long before, so required no further greeting at this time.

"To base." announced the Shining One.

[Falcon Bertille]

Sasha listened to Aorle’s words with narrowed eyes. Deceitful and vindictive she might be, but she was not stupid. It didn’t take her long to realize that her old life had ended. As impossible as it seemed, her master’s empire had been brought down by six warriors, and her small realm of influence was destroyed along with it. Snyde might remain at large, but he would not welcome her. She was part of his defeat. And, as Sasha well knew, Snyde did not tolerate reminders of failure.

All this, realized in a moment. With the quickness that came from years of practice, as well as a complete disregard for logic, Sasha changed tactics mid-wail. “Did you hear that, Tam? They’re going to leave me here! Where will I go? What will I do? You’ll be with them, feasting on all sorts of delicacies, sheltered and warm forever. And I’ll be out on the streets, hiding from Snyde, cold and alone, slowly starving to death. How can they just leave me here?”

“No, no, no,” Tam assured. “No one is going to leave you here.” She seemed determined to ignore -- or perhaps simply hadn’t noticed -- the fact that every warrior present wanted to do just that. “You can come with us. Of course you can. Can’t she?”

Unsurprisingly, Tam’s question was not met with a chorus of affirmatives. As the silence dragged on, Tam addressed Aorle, determined to make her case. “Please. I know she can come across as a bit abrasive, but she’s not a bad person. When I first started working for Snyde, some of the other girls used to pick on me, and she made them stop. She tried to keep the men from picking on me, too. When she could. I...I know she doesn’t have a heart of gold or nothing like that. But I owe her.”

In a show of solidarity, Tam moved to stand beside Sasha. Whether their friendship was healthy could certainly be debated. But clearly, it was a friendship, and Tam didn’t seem inclined to disrupt it. “You can leave us both here, if you want. I understand. But I’m not going anywhere without Sasha.”

[Sir Karsimir]

Hardly something he could resent. Many places within the Teachings of Angels expected compromise, loyalty was not amongst them. So with that in mind, he must at least consider her request.

After a long moment, he nodded, then approached Sasha.

"Tam has spoken for you. Do not dishonour that." Without missing a beat, he now switched to address the more worthy of the two. "And Tam, you have offered a great sacrifice for Sasha. From here and now, any debt you may owe is paid in full." Finally, he addressed everyone in the room. "We shall speak outside with the others present. Sasha, you will have chance to plead your case. Be aware that your current manner impresses no one."

At that, he held the door open, even for Sasha. Witholding a courteous gesture was not in his nature. From force of habit, given no thought, he would hold the door open for Thetta as well.

With the assembled party all present by the wagon, Aorle began. "Lightswords. Now is the time for wise counsel. While here, remember we have no privacy, so speak of no matter you fear to reach the wrong ears." Mostly this was a subtle caution towards Julen against mentioning the existance of Rosemary. "The matter at hand is whether we extend Sasha our hospitality. If not, Tam intends to stay with her, and I will arrange them both a full week of room and board." More for Tam's sake than Sasha's, but hopefully this would be a demonstration of the true strength behind kindness. They were able to give rather than Sasha being able to take.

"Here is my pause. Sasha has been in league with Snyde, has aided in the oppression and suffering of many whom we strive to protect. To extend shelter to her would be to deny that same shelter to one who has done no wrong, and perhaps a disservice to the others. We all witnessed her attack with the knife, while a hysterical woman may pose small peril to armoured warriors, her outbursts may place civilians at risk." Each of the warriors had friends or loved ones inside the compound, whom they would not wish to be exposed to a knife attack.

"Furthermore, when Sasha chose to try to force Tam away from us, she chose to control her rather than allow her the shelter and protection we could offer. Chose to keep her friend within Snyde's influence." When she began to bemoan being left behind, she lost all right to claim an honest fear of their intent. "This alone I can accept as mere cowardice, yet even now she sought to blackmail her friend rather than apologise and approach us honourably. From this manipulative and demanding behaviour I suspect she will hinder the other refugees and undermine what we seek to achieve for them. In her favour, she has made efforts to protect Tam where she could, although that influence used to protect her was bought with the suffering of others. These are my thoughts, I will now hear your own."

First he turned to Numidar, who would speak his mind. "Tam deserves our help. So will someone else. Save two innocents instead of one."

Osaw took his turn, outright snarling his answer. "She has accused us, lied about us, attack us any way she can, all because she knows we wont hurt her. She made her choice, and now she can live with it." Warriors valued their good names highly, so Osaw was outright offended by her behaviour, making no excuses or apologies for the fact.

The Sword of Heaven turned to the others, awaiting their input.

[Julen]

“Perhaps she could go on quest?” Sigvard suggested. “To achieve atonement?” Apparently, when the Northlander discovered an idea that he liked, he stuck with it.

After unlocking Sasha, Julen had kept the iron key, and now he once again felt the heavy burden of its weight. His heart told him one thing, while his brain told him something else. What if he made the wrong choice? What if he spoke up for Sasha, only to have her repay him by harming Kaydee, or Uluki, or Rosemary? He’d never be able to forgive himself. But what if he spoke against her and Snyde found the two girls? What if they met a grisly end because he’d voted to withhold protection? Would that mistake rob him of any less sleep?

Staring at the iron key, Julen turned it slowly in his hand. “Numidar and Osaw are right. There are others more deserving of our help. But the same thing may be true about many that we’ve already aided. Among those who now take their shelter at the compound, we know of one woman who tried to send you to your death.” Julen raised his eyes to meet Aorle’s, unable to completely banish the anger which still lingered in them. Not anger directed at his friend, obviously, nor even really directed at Cherie. But anger that sprang from his dread of what had nearly happened. “If you were a lesser man, she would have succeeded. And much light would be gone from the world.”

“We could spend our entire lives searching for the person most deserving of our help. Or we could do our best to help the people who stumble across our path. On that first night in Marn, when you encountered a desperate farmer, there were better men you could have aided. There were men whose need was greater. There were certainly men who would have required less effort from you. And yet, you chose me.”

Julen’s hand closed around the key. He still felt its weight, but no longer as a burden. Now it seemed as strong and solid as his resolve. “Yes, there are those who deserve our help more than Sasha. But she’s here and they’re not. So I say that we do what we can for her.”

It only remained for Thetta to speak. Absently, Julen wondered what she would say. On one hand, Sasha was a woman, a member of the sisterhood that Thetta seemed so determined to defend. On the other hand, Sasha’s gender didn’t seem to have won her much affection from Thetta so far.

Thetta looked at Sasha, who stood sullenly beside Tam. Then her icy blue eyes turned to Aorle. And she spoke. “Give her to me.”

“What?” Julen blurted out.

But Thetta ignored him. Instead, she walked over to Sasha, slowly circling the silent girl. “You found yourself ruled by an evil man. And instead of cultivating your own strength, you depended on his. You fed off his corrupted power like a blind leech. Now, you see what becomes of a parasite when its host is wounded. Not only are you hunted by his enemies, but he himself has ripped you loose from his flesh, no longer able support your appetite.”

“You want power? I will give you true power -- power honorably earned, power that cannot be taken from you by the defeat of another. I will make you a warrior.”

“I was like you, once.” Thetta paused for a moment, perhaps remembering lost years in a distant and cold land. Then she resumed her circling. “Your anger is a nest of tiny snakes, striking out at all who venture too close. But tiny snakes have tiny teeth. Their bites only annoy and aggravate. You must learn to join the snakes into a great serpent, and you must learn to direct its attacks at those who truly deserve them.”

“Of course, power does not come without sacrifice. I’m sure Snyde taught you that. And, while I agree with his lesson, my price is somewhat different. If you accept my proposal, you will rise early every morning to train, work hard all day, and then train again in the evening. I will tolerate no drama. Speak back to me and you’ll wish that you hadn’t. Cause trouble for anyone else at the compound and I’ll make sure that you never again take shelter within its walls. All these things will be hard, yes. Far harder than manipulating and oppressing those weaker than yourself. But I think you’ll find the benefits infinitely greater.”

Again, Thetta turned her gaze toward Aorle. “That is, if you give your approval to such an undertaking.”

[Sir Karsimir]

"Done." announced the Shining One, well-pleased with Thetta's suggestion.

Then a pause. "I have terms of my own. She does not handle a real weapon while the stain remains on her soul." Part of him was still cautious on giving Sasha martial training, as it may serve only to make her more dangerous when the time would come. Hopefully, ideally, training at arms would instill self-discipline within her. At this point, he addressed Sasha. "While in our care, you must seek to learn the ways of Right. There will be those within the compound whom you have wronged, I expect you to make up for the wrong you have done them. Do this, and you will be welcome among us."

Sasha nodded dumbly. No thanks, no gratitude, nothing. Did controlling her hysteria take that much effort? Perhaps she was intimidated? Even so, being made was the offer of strength, of her own, the chance to become greater. For Aorle, there could be no finer offer than that.

Of course, Sasha was not Aorle. Sullen resentment was her way. Right now, she was likely resenting the limits set upon her. Far easier to blame everything on being persecuted by others than to admit fault in one's own behaviour. Far weaker as well, for the self was the one thing over which one had most control, and that was the curse of the easy path - it never worked.

Still, the Sword of Heaven had complete faith in Thetta, and knew full well no drama would be tolerated.

Noticing Sasha's sulky reaction, Osaw wanted to object to giving such effort to someone who clearly did not value their help. Instead of challenging the order, he gave a simple rebuke to the offending behaviour. "We owe you nothing, Sasha. Everything we have done for you already is more than we had to. Brave men have risked their lives so you don't have to suffer."

Guiding the draft horse, Aorle led animal, wagon and others back to base.