Unbound

“Is this man your…protector, Lady Dayne?” Tarok asked, straightening as Felix retracted his Spirit.

Felix bared his teeth. “You could say that.”

Tarok raised a single eyebrow. “I thought that honor belonged to the Chosen Hand of the Duke.”

“Darius is otherwise occupied and has given his charge over to this man,” Vess said, leaving no space in her words for confusion.

Oh yeah, he did that, didn’t he? Pit sent from inside Felix’s Spirit.

“Given over his charge?” Lord Patrim gave Felix a curious look. “If his Spirit is so strong as to cow a grip of Dragoons, then I think I understand the decision.”

“Strength of Spirit or not, he has clearly failed to protect you,” Tarok spat. “Else we would not have been visited by such tragedy.”

“Noctis’ tits but you like to hear yourself talk,” Evie groaned. “What’re you even yappin’ about?”

“Yapping? I am speaking of the reason why we are here in this gods forsaken ruin!” Tarok shoved a metal-clad finger at Vess from across the room. “You, Lady Dayne.”

Felix scanned the crowd, and expressions varied as much as Spirits; people watched Tarok and Vess with equal parts worry, anger, and hope.

Vess gripped her partisan, hard. “Explain yourself, Tarok. Dragoon captain or not, I refuse to endure slander.”

“You cannot be unaware of this.” The Dragoon captain clenched his jaw and a vein pulsed across his wide forehead. “You are. Pax’Vrell has fallen in your absence, heiress. What you see before you is all that remains of our once free people.”

“No,” Vess paled and horror etched lines into her brow. “How? Who—?”

“The Hierocracy,” Lady Verona said. “The Priesthood of the Pathless arrived in the Territory a month ago, and their forces captured the city within the week.”

Vess gripped her aunt’s shoulders. “Father?”

Verona closed her eyes, and Patrim spoke up instead. “My brother was captured, as were all others that refused to bend the knee in the Citadel.”

Vess swallowed, rapidly looking between her aunt and uncle. “He is alive?”

“He is,” Patrim said, coming close to Vess. He stopped when she drew away, closer to Felix again. His face remained stoic. “I know it.”

“You hope,” Tarok said, and this time the bile in his voice was tempered with exhaustion. “All we know for sure is that one of the Heirei sits on the throne of Pax’Vrell. The line of Dayne has been removed from the Seat and Seal.”

Yin rumbled thoughtfully. “That is why you were forced to bludgeon down the doors. You have no Authority here.”

Everyone’s face pinched as the Wyrmling spoke, but Patrim gave a begrudging nod. “The vile serpent is correct. Our Authority was derived from my brother, who named me Viscount of the Eastern Reaches. Those lands still encompass this fortress and I had hoped…but we were unable to delve further than the surface. At least until more of Tarok’s men arrived.”

“We have lost everything during the invasion, and those innocents you saw below are all that is left of those villages that resisted Hierocratic rule.” Verona set her lion helm onto the table, which Felix noticed was a map of the mountains.

“You ran? Abandoned my father?” Vess demanded.

“It was run or die, dear. We saved who we could along the way, until our numbers swelled into the hundreds, but we had no chance against the magics the Priests brought to bear.” Verona shuddered. “‘A cleansing light,’ they called it. Entire towns were put to the flame.”

Vess was reeling, her eyes distant as she processed it all. Evie stood close, as did Beef and the Chanters. Harn and Archie kept their eyes on the Dragoons. They were about as unlike as two people could be, but neither of them trusted the spear soldiers. There was silence, until Felix broke it.

“And where are the Dragoons in all this,” he asked.

Tarok bristled. “We are here, surviving.”

Felix craned his neck, as if he hadn’t counted them the moment he’d walked in. “This is it?”

“The men and women before you are officers. Apart from them, we have two hundred Dragoons with us in the fortress.” Tarok’s mouth twisted. “All others fell…or turned traitor.”

Vess blinked, her eyes too bright. “How many impossible things must I hear this day?”

“It is true,” Verona said bitterly. “The vast majority of our order has turned against the people and sided with the Priesthood.”

“Why?”

“I was in the capitol when it fell,” Tarok said. “We were given a choice. Submit to the Will of the Pathless, or die. I saw what the Will of the Pathless looked like when the Priests and Paladins cut down civilians in cold blood. I took those I could and escaped into the countryside.” He shook his head. “Even then, we would have been slaughtered had we not encountered the Viscount and Viscountess.”

“And those Dragoons that remained?” Vess asked.

“They swore binding Oaths to the Hierei and have been subduing the outlying villages,” Patrim said with a growl. “While we hide in the mountains.”

“We have no other choice. If we venture into the Eastern Reaches we will be spotted and killed.” Verona laid a hand on Patrim’s shoulder, and he sagged as if deflating. “We have done all we can thus far.”

Vess took several deep breaths, but her Spirit was in disarray. Too many things had been tossed into her lap at the same time. Felix didn’t wish to make it worse, but there were things he needed to know.

“You said it was her fault,” he asked after a moment, looking at Tarok. “Explain that to me.”

The silver-eyed man’s lip curled. “It was loudly proclaimed by the Hierei when they tore the Seat and Seal away from us. The words are ingrained in my Mind: ‘The Lady Vessilia Dayne has engaged in rebellion against the Hierocracy. As such, her family’s Titles are forfeit and their Authority sundered. By the Will of the Hierophant and the Pathless Himself, Pax’Vrell is to walk in the Light, and the Daynes are cast into darkness.’”

Rebellion. Felix closed his eyes. Of course. She fought them with me.

Vess’ horror amplified to new levels, matched only by a deep, growing rage. Yintarion’s tail lashed like an angry cat, and his golden eyes never once left Tarok or the other Dragoons.

Evie put her arms around her friend before sneering at the Dragoon captain. “You think the reason matters? I’m willin’ to bet my chain that the Hierophant had six other justifications lined up. It’s an excuse to do whatever she wants.”

Harn grunted in agreement. “Kid’s right, Vess. Those higher ups are invadin’ all over now. If it weren’t this, it’d be somethin’ else.”

“Lies,” Tarok hissed. “We’ve existed in balance with the Hierocracy for centuries now. Why would it change?”

“The Pathless is getting desperate,” Tzfell said.

Laur nodded. “Neer was invaded around the same timeframe, as were other locations across this portion of the Continent. The Hierophant is after something.”

“Authority,” Felix said, as connections sparked in his Mind. He looked up at his friends. “She needs more, just like me.”

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“Doesn’t she own like half the Continent?” Archie asked. “What’s a few more towns gonna do for her?”

“Territories, not towns,” Hallow corrected.

“Why would the Pathless, a god, be desperate?” Verona asked, and this time her eyes went to Felix. “What could drive the Divine to such lengths?”

Felix realized everyone was looking at him now, and Pit chuckled nervously inside his head. “Because of me. And because of the Ruin.”

“The Ruin is a child’s tale,” Patrim said.

“And who are you, stranger?” Tarok demanded. “Analyze refuses to tell me anything about you. I find that suspicious.”

“He is Felix Nevarre,” Vess announced, stepping out in front of him. “Autarch of Nagast, King of Ahkestria, and Colossus of Khalheim.”

The Eidolons saluted all at once, their massive fists crashing into their chests as a flash of light appeared next to Felix. “And a real cool guy!” Pit added.

Verona snorted. “Bold claims and many Titles for one so young.”

“Nevarre,” Patrim said slowly. “We saw the notification of his claim on Nagast, Verona.” He gazed into Felix’s eyes as if searching for something. “You rebelled against the Hierophant with my niece, then?”

“I did.”

“We all did,” Beef and Hallow said, almost in unison.

“‘Cept him,” Evie added, jerking a thumb at Archie.

The Delven shrugged. “I’m just an innocent bystander.”

Tarok leveled his spear at Felix’s chest. “You…you drove the Hierocracy to this?”

“We already went over that, idiot,” Harn shouted. “Keep up.”

Felix stepped forward until the spear dimpled his jacket right above his heart. “I am not your enemy, Dragoon Captain Tarok.”

“Then what is your plan here, Nevarre? A ruler of three Territories? Come to claim another?”

“No. But…I will save this one.”

Vess gave no outward reaction, but her Spirit sang in mingled relief and joy.

“Save—? I felt your Spirit. You cannot be more than Master Tier, and you will need far more than that to face down the might of the Hierocracy.”

“Did it before,” Harn said.

“We’ll do it again,” Beef added.

Tarok looked between them all like they’d gone crazy. Behind him, his officers looked as if they spotted the sun after a long night. “I don’t—what do you get out of this? Why are you here, really?”

“A single choice echoes into eternity,” Iiana said, her voice high and clear.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Felix bared his teeth and didn’t much care that some had grown sharp. “Tarok, I’m not your enemy, but understand this: I am the enemy of the Pathless. I’ll oppose his Will until I’m out of breath and the goddamn mountains crumble.”

Verona stepped closer, though she did so warily. “What do you propose, Nevarre?”

His eyes blazed blue-white and red-gold. “I’m gonna tear the Pathless outta the sky.”

Word of strangers arriving in Fortress Fenwald spread quickly, and as the day wore on into evening the entire camp knew approximations of the new guests. Few saw them, but their descriptions and names circulated as treasured gossip among the Dragoons and civilians.

The farmers-turned-soldiers were the chattiest of them all, though the Dragoons derided that as a lack of discipline, they were simply bored. The volunteer warriors were given the onerous tasks around the fortress, such as watch duty on the dilapidated walls, where they had to hide the fire that gave them some semblance of warmth. The winds off the mountains were chilly despite the advent of spring, especially in the full dark of a moonless night.

A Hobgoblin woman in patchwork armor held out her hands to the burning brazier. A scar pulled her grimace into something more like a sneer. “Hoh, not liking this weather. Thought maybe we’d turned a corner toward summer.”

“It’s the mountains. They’re a bastard this high up,” said another soldier, a Human man with a thick red beard. “Buds are probably on the trees down in the lowlands.”

“Bastard redcloaks,” a Gnome spat, his spittle sizzling in the fire. He had curly hair the color of straw. “They even took spring away from us.”

“Least we got entertainment,” Redbeard said. “Did you catch that Minotaur’s armor talking?”

“No, but I saw that dog. Didn’t know Dire Hounds could speak.”

“They can’t. It’s a magic thing or somethin’. Like that hammer the Minotaur had. Thing was bigger than my whole chest!”

“The short one seemed shifty. Had all those knives too.”

“He’s the same size as you,” the Hobgoblin said with a smirk that twisted her scar.

“Nah nah, we Gnomes know when someone’s shorter. I’m at least two fingers taller.”

“Knives? That chain fighter had more blades than an armory. And those eyes, hoo boy!” Redbeard wiggled in his seat. “She can chain me up anytime!”

“The heiress is quite the looker too. Ow! What’s that for?”

“Don’t talk about the Daynes like that, or next time I’ll hit somethin’ real tender,” Scar snarled.

“Alright! Alright. Wouldn’t wanna get tangled with her anyhow. She’s got Dragoon trainin’ and now that odd gold snake.”

“Dragon,” Redbeard corrected. “It’s a baby Dragon. I heard the spears complainin’ about it. Said she made a deal with it, and that’s why we’re in this mess.”

“We’re in this mess cuz the redcloaks and their greed,” Scar said. “Ain’t no other reason. Don’t care if the heiress is partnered with a Primordial if that means we’re about to take back what’s ours.”

Curls and Redbeard grunted in agreement.

“They got two mages. Dwarf and an Elf. Strange folks too, by all accounts. The Dwarf’s all covered in tattoos. On her face,” Curls said, gesturing to his clean shaven mug.

“Lotsa Dwarves do that. Haven’t you ever been into the mountains? I grew up there, and Dwarves traded with us all the time.”

“Oh. Well it's weird.”

“Just diff’rent. Not like those walkin’ fortresses. What’re those? Golems?”

“Ain’t never seen Golems that big. Sides, they watch folks. Golems don’t do that.”

“They don’t watch nothin’. You’re drunk,” Scar said.

“Ain’t. Dragoons took all our booze. Besides, I saw ‘em track a messenger that came close to that giant leader they have. I swear one of ‘em cracked their knuckles.”

Redbeard let out a contemplative burp. “Their leader. Who is he? Some bigshot back west?”

“A king, they said. Courtin’ the Duke’s daughter, too.”

Scar snorted. “Brave, even for a king.”

Curls shrugged. “Didn’t look like no king. Muscles like that? Fancy clothes or not, that man’s a brawler. You see his hands? Black like the night with claws to boot.”

“Claws? Is he a king or a monster?”

“The Fiend,” someone said.

“What?” Scar shielded her eyes from the flames of the brazier. “Wendell, get outta the shadows if you’re gonna talk to us. It’s creepy.”

Wendell slipped closer, revealing a rail-thin build with a large, hooked nose. “He’s called the Fiend. Heard about him from that Windcaller what came through a few months back.”

Scar frowned. “The Henaari? You trust those liars then you’re more gullible than Fink, here.”

“Hey!” the Gnome exclaimed.

Redbeard snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah, that crazy lady with the feather cloak. She told the one about the Glimmerghast. That story used to keep me up all night when I was little. I think I remember her sayin’ some stuff about a Fiend. Called him a demon-eater.”

Wendell nodded along. “Lots of stories about the Fiend, if you know how to listen. I heard his eyes are stars, and that he doesn’t bleed.”

Suddenly all of them recalled things they’d heard, though none was quite sure if they remembered it right.

“I heard he can fly.”

“I heard he carries monsters in his chest.”

“Demon-eater. I heard he ate a Primordial.”

“Shut up!”

“Stop makin’ shit up, Fink!”

Wendell stepped closer, cringing as the heat of the fire hit him. Normally the guy stayed in the shadows, practicing his stealth, but something had him riled up. “You heard what he said, right? The Fiend? The Dragoons have been talkin’ about it all day.”

“What’s that?” Fink asked.

“Said he’s gonna kill the Pathless.”

“Hah!” Redbeard slapped his leg. “Pure craziness.”

A strange silence settled on them as that thought bounced around. Only the whistling wind and the crackle of their fire interrupted it.

“You—you think he could?” Fink finally asked.

“Who?”

“The Fiend, Elein. Could he kill a god?”

“Can’t kill gods. That’s why they’re gods, right?” Redbeard looked between Fink and Elein. “Right?”

“Then what happened to the other ones?” Wendell asked quietly.

The soldier lifted a finger, mouth open to reply, but nothing came out. He shrugged. “S’not the same.”

Fink snorted “It is too. And what if it’s true?”

“What if it is?” Elein asked. “That’s one less evil in this world, right?”

“Maybe,” the Gnome said, wringing his hands. “But that means we’re camped out three hundred yards from a true monster.”

Redbeard laughed, more than a touch uncomfortable. “Glad we’re on his side.”

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