All's Fair Chapter 13

All's Fair in Love and War
C h a p t e r 13
Ashes to Ashes
A crisp, wintry day graced Ester with her presence; she was not too cold, but comfortably refreshing from the hot summers that seemed never to end. The people warmly welcomed this change in weather, as they did every year; they also welcomed the mark of a full six months of peace between Larsus and Velia.
Four months had passed since Erhuidt had announced to the populace that his adopted son was a caster. The news was, surprisingly, well received. Then again, was it so surprising, considering the boy had become a symbol among the people? The royal family and friends did not debate about it; they were simply pleased with results. Upon making this announcement, the castle began receiving citizens to present themselves pledging their undying support to Rylaen and the rest of Larsus, despite the fact that he was the first caster in thousands of years. The best part was, to Erhuidt, this was all of their free will.
He had no doubt, however, that not everyone approved of this.

Rylaen had continued training himself on all fronts: after a week's worth of deliberation, the young knight decided to accept Kithkopphus as his magic coach, after (of his own desire) Kith had profusely offered apologies. He also sparred with Jedediah at least once every day, and they had finally begun to keep records of their matches, so skilled was Rylaen becoming with the sword. They could not determine who was better at this point, as their matches more than half the time came to draws.
The prince had changed, considerably, though, in the last four months. His attitude, demeanor, even his personality was a bit different now, and it didn't go unnoticed. He seemed more hardened, serious. Of course, he was still the prince that everyone loved, even if his new golden eyes sometimes unsettled and caught others off guard. Rylaen tried not to admit it when everyone told him he was so much different; they didn't know if it was denial or merely that he didn't notice it so much as themselves.
Truth was: Ry knew it. He was different. He looked different. He felt different.
Perhaps it was the responsibility of being the first caster in thousands of years. He wanted to give them a good name now. A better name than they'd ever had. Rylaen took his duties more seriously than ever, and trained harder than he ever thought he'd want to.
Not only were there changes in his life as a knight, though, but his relationship with Ariadne seemed to change dramatically as well. They had spent a great amount of time together in the last four months; whenever Rylaen was not in the Caster's Tower (as the eighth tower was called) honing his abilities as a caster, or on the grounds fighting with fledgling knights or Jed, he and Ari were taking walks through the Kingstree (at one point they even visited the earthen wall made by Rylaen), or along the castle gardens. Sometimes she would sit in on Rylaen's training in the eighth tower, and watch him give direction and train other knights. With all the time they spent together, they both realized they meant more to each other than ever. They were better than best friends, and they thought they'd been close before.
Rylaen's relationship with Erhuidt was as good as ever. After they had let that nasty business with locking him away drift under the bridge, they continued to strengthen the father-son bond that they had had before.

As Ariadne had told Rylaen, casters were typically efficient in only one of the proficiencies. Ry was no exception—at least that they had discovered. Proficiencies included, as Ari explained, fire, water, earth, wind, light, and dark. There were other minor proficiencies, not even all of which had been recorded, Ari suspected. And then there were the rare cases in which someone was born with more than one. When Rylaen proposed that she knew far too much of all this, she stated that when he had his Awakening, she began to familiarize herself with many of the old teachings, so she could be of as much help to him as possible.
Ry didn't need anyone to tell him, however, that his proficiency was of the earth. He'd figured that much out on his own just from his Awakening.
"Do the one with the floating rocks again," Ari told Rylaen as the caster attempted to remove a stone block from the wall of the tower. He looked at the princess and grimaced.
"This is my training!" Despite his changes, Rylaen never failed to remain ever playful and friendly with Ariadne. "You know, if you were born a caster, all you'd do all day is play with your magic."
"Maybe I would. It'd be better than sitting here and watching you do that all day." She smiled back teasingly at Ry, who laughed, and then, with an upward flick of his left hand, he lifted a few rocks into the air. Concentrating, he turned to face one of the targets they had set up along the walls of the tower. Rylaen pushed his hand forward, and the rocks followed suite, moving quickly. The first hit the target, dead center, and then Ry moved his right hand up with his left—and Ari watched as his left hand moved one rock into another target across the tower and his right spun the other rock behind him into a dummy target posed with an axe.
"Happy now?" he asked.
"It's really fun to watch," Ariadne admitted. "I do wish I could do something like that.
"Hah! Who knows? Maybe you're a caster, too. You just haven't had your Awakening yet, hmm?"
They hadn't heard or seen Kithkopphus enter the tower; after he earned silence from the prince and princess, he clapped his hands, a smile softening his old face. "That was quite the display, Rylaen. You're becoming rather skilled in your work."
"Yeah, with flicking rocks around. It's all Ari ever wants to see."
"Aha! And the princess will get what she wants from her prince!"
Rylaen found Kith to be rather amiable and amicable once all the issues of four months ago had been resolved; they had proved to be decent friends in their time training, and now shared the pleasure of joking and light-heartedly haranguing one another.
"Have you had any luck with moving a stone from the tower?" Kith asked Rylaen as he made his way to them between all the pillars of magical trinkets.
"I have not," the knight admitted. "Are you sure my proficiency allows for that?"
"These stones are made from the earth, Rylaen! You should not doubt my word, or your ability as a caster. The moment you question whether or not you can move that stone is the moment you become unable to." Kithkopphus smiled wryly. "Go on."
Rylaen looked to one of the target stones on the wall. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and lifted both of his hands; closing them into fists, Ry drew them both toward him, and slowly, the giant cut stone slid from the wall, with surprising quiet. He then opened his eyes, smiled triumphantly, and began to idly spin the stone around the chamber with his hands as he returned his attention to Kithkopphus.
"Is that satisfactory?" he asked as he flicked the stone into targets without looking. Rylaen could do this in his sleep.
"My boy, that is wonderful progress. But you've much more to do. And you're growing more and more egoistical by the day!" Kith's warning was serious, but he was smiling, so Rylaen tried not to pay it too much mind. Then, without turning back to face the gaping hole in the wall, he slid the stone back into its place.
"You can take the rest of the day off now," Kithkopphus told him, laughing.

Rylaen and Ariadne left the castle, and began one of their daily walks across the green courtyards of Castle Sleipnir. It was still fairly early in the morning—nine or ten o'clock—but the knight had missed breakfast that morning after sleeping in longer than he'd intended to. As they passed a girl with a basket of apples in her hands, he handed the girl a gold coin and took two apples. Ry took a bite from his as he passed the other to Ari.
"Even in the winter, they're still not half bad," Rylaen told Ari.
"It's because it doesn't get too cold here. At least, that's what Father tells me." The princess shrugged. "He says the frost doesn't ruin the trees, like it would up north, in some provinces like Xiovi." Rylaen smiled at her—she seemed to have an answer to everything. He then tossed that cheerful grin at a few guardsmen at the eastern castle gates as they both left the castle grounds.
The streets of Ester were bustling with as much activity as ever: street urchins bouncing along the roads, buyers and sellers haggling over prices, bartering for a reasonable and sound purchase. Here or there was a rider on a horse. Travelers, perhaps, or smaller figures of nobility. The two enjoyed walking through this market district; it made them both think of the peace that Larsus and Velia were now enjoying, the benefits of an open trade economy between the two countries.
Eventually, they passed through the boundaries of the market district, and neared the city walls. Ahead, Rylaen noticed a commotion; and, without making sure Ariadne kept up, he jogged to the gates to see what was happening.
"It was Velia!" a man on a light brown horse cried. "Velia, the traitorous curs! Let me in, I'm from Damarius, let me in!"
Rylaen stopped next to the guards. "What's going on here?" he inquired.
"Well, m'Lord, he's just comin' up here demanding entrance to the city, sayin' he's from Damarius, and that she's been attacked," the guard explained casually as he leaned on his poleax.
Damarius. Rylaen knew that name a little too well. Fearing what this man said we true Rylaen stepped past the guard and approached the man on the horse; he was fairly aged, perhaps fifty or so, but retained the musculature of a twenty- or thirty-year-old. His thinning hair was gray, his eyes were a similar grayish tone. The man wore brown breeches and darker boots, and a rough brown tunic.
"Hold, sir!" Rylaen said as he neared. "If we may speak a moment…," and he gestured for the man to join him on the ground, who complied quickly, seeing that Ry was dressed as nobility, in his gray tunic and blue vest with gold trimming, white riding pants and rough leather riding boots.
"I'm Derrick Feremone," the man said as he knelt in front of Rylaen, who was now joined by Ariadne. Derrick kept his head down, but said: "I'm honored ta be in the presence of you, Prince Rylaen, and Princess Ariadne." He then stood and looked Rylaen in the eyes. "My city, she's been attacked!" His voice was frantic, panicked. "You mus' believe me. Please, at least lemme have a council with the king, if anythin'… But somethin's got ta be done!"
Rylaen looked at Ari, who only had to nod her agreement. "Very well," he told Derrick. "You'll come with us. We'll get you to Erhuidt. Mount up; follow us."  Ry and Ari then began their walk to the castle at a rather brisk pace; the two of them were thinking a mile a minute, trying to piece this all together at once; they walked with Derrick in tow.
"You don't honestly think…," Rylaen started quietly, keeping his voice low.
"He may just be a crazy old man," Ari answered, lowering her voice as well. "How is it that he would escape?"
Rylaen thought a moment about the incident at his home when he was but a boy. "It's not uncommon for a lone survivor to run from attacks and survive." Ariadne still knew nothing of that past.
"I suppose you may be right," she commented. "But, he is old and perhaps just a little…"
"Perhaps," said Rylaen, although he was deeply concerned. "All we can do is take him to Erhuidt and see what he decides. After all, aside from claiming the destruction of Damarius, the man does seem rather down-to-earth, eh?" Ari only nodded in response. "Derrick!" he called back. "None of the military force stationed at Damarius survived?"
"No one, milord!" Rylaen heard Derrick answer. "No one survived, least not that I saw, milord! I was lucky ta be able ta escape. Velia hit us hard, y'see, and in the middle of the night!"
"How many men?"
"A thousand, at least!" Far more than enough for a small border town.
"And how many nights ago?"
"Six, milord! I been ridin' hard since I escaped, an' I was lucky ta make it here as quick as I did!"
Rylaen was silent the rest of the walk. Damarius was a hard, six day ride. Derrick was either just completely out of his mind, or he was telling the truth—but Rylaen didn't know how he could consider him insane if he was able to recall so many details. Then again, the details might have been made up to begin with.

"Jedediah!" Rylaen shouted as they came onto the castle grounds. "Jed, I want you to sit in with us on this meeting—"
"What meeting's that, Ry?" Jed asked as he wiped sweat from his brow and tossed his axe onto the ground. "And who's he?" A gesture to the man on the horse.
"His name is Derrick Feremone. He's from Damarius." Ry's answer was quick, curt. They had business that urgently needed to be seen to.
"That's a small place on the border, isn't it?" Jedediah asked.
"Yes, I'm glad you're familiar with it. Derrick says it's been attacked. Come on, we're going to see Erhuidt now." And Rylaen grabbed him by the arm and started dragging Jed along.
They promptly joined Erhuidt, who was in the throne room.

"To what," Erhuidt said as Rylaen, Ariadne, Jedediah, and a stranger entered the throne room, "do I owe this abundant pleasure?"
They all knelt, as was only polite, before Rylaen presented the issue:
"This man here—Derrick Feremone—he says Damarius has been attacked, My Lord." Rylaen's  voice was calm and under control. Strictly business. Although he thought he let some of his worry seep through his tone.
"It's true, yer Highness! Six nights ago, y'see, they killed everyone! I was lucky ta escape, yer Lordship, and I knew I had ta come and tell yeh!" Derrick was visibly riled up, frightened even. "Yeh've got ta send someone out there ta take care of it."
Even Erhuidt was now visibly disturbed. "And who was this assailant, Derrick?" he asked as he leaned forward in his throne.
"It was Velia, milord! Velia!"
And the king rose and pointed a finger at Rylaen. "You will ride out to Damarius. Take Jedediah and an expeditionary force of two hundred."
Rylaen nodded and saluted Erhuidt. "May I take Derrick with me as well, My Liege? He knows the area better than any of us, and he was there during the attack. I think it may be helpful."
Erhuidt nodded his confirmation. "Yes, take him with you. Good thinking."
"But there were at least a thousand of 'em!" Derrick interjected. "Two hundred men can't stop 'em, yer Highness! What if they've taken up board there?"
"If there were a thousand," Jedediah cut in, "not all survived. Guarantee that. Even if they attacked at night. And they wouldn't all stay behind. Six, maybe seven hundred. Bahaha, that leaves us maybe two or three hundred, and if you knew what Rylaen was capable of, paired up with a couple hundred of our own men…" The master-at-arms was an expert tactician as well. Of course he would think these things through, Rylaen thought to himself.
"Keep in mind, I haven't been tested in battle, Jed," Ry told him. "We don't know what'll happen." All this while, Ariadne had been watching and listening. She finally chipped in all she could:
"I hope everyone stays safe." Rylaen looked at her, smiled warmly, and nodded.
Of course, he was praying to Pasx for the very same thing.

The next day, before the sun rose, Rylaen and his force of two hundred were mounted and ready to move out. At the head of the small column rode Jedediah and Derrick, on either side of him. He felt comfortable having a companion like Jed on his right: someone who knew his way around a battlefield, who was skilled in what he did. They promised to watch each others' backs, which helped put them at ease if anything did.
With as small a force as they were moving with, it was easy to traverse the (mostly) flat plains of Larsus; they moved fairly quickly, and with the aid of a map from the castle, Rylaen and Jedediah concluded that after the first day of riding, they would arrive in less than a week's time.
One night, around their campfire, Rylaen sat in his camp clothes, staying warm; the nights during a Larsus winter were colder than he would have liked. Jed was sitting on his right, and Derrick sat across the fire from them. There were a few other soldiers in their circle, men who Rylaen knew from the grounds and personally asked to join him in his own camp for the night. These were more experienced men, though—Jedediah had counseled Ry to not take any of the less seasoned knights, in case they did encounter resistance.
"Can yeh believe those rotten, good-fer-nothin's, useless, rotten, hoardin', pig-faced Velians?" Derrick suddenly said. "First they attack us ta get us ta give 'em our land… an' when that doesn't work, they go on an' make peace with us. But half a year later they come aroun' and clout us on the side o' the head! Without so much as a warnin', too…"
Rylaen listened intently, pausing from eating out of his bowl of soup, whereas Jed seemed less interested. "It's wrong," Ry said in response to Derrick's complaint. "If any of us had seen it coming, we wouldn't have signed a treaty in the first place."
Jedediah heard that much and he too stopped eating for a moment. "Yeah, but what can we do? All is fair in love and war, right?"
Rylaen had never heard that before. He pondered then, deliberating upon Jed's statement.
All is fair in love and war.
Anything goes.
A good bit of advice, but nothing too extensive, the young knight concluded.

* * *
Their week's ride was cut a bit shorter than they'd estimated; the column picked up its pace as the days passed, and by noon on the fifth day, Damarius lay just ahead over the hill in front of them. The soldiers did not fail to notice the eerie quiet in the air, which had previously been occupied by birds and their own conversation. The weather today was overcast, and there seemed a malevolent chill in the air; Rylaen hoped it wouldn't rain, for what it would do to the horses' ability to travel.
"O'er the hill," Derrick told Rylaen and Jedediah. "Whaddo we do?"
The barkeep had told them that morning that they were drawing very close, and as such, Rylaen had dressed in his armor today: a suit of metal, complete with a hard, round, oak shield. At his left hip he had his sword and knife—the very same he had used in the final battle of the Four Years War. Jedediah was dressed in his full chain mail suit, a small axe on one side and a longsword on the other. They both wore blue Larsan tunics over their armor, the moon within the sun of Larsus displayed proudly across their chest. Derrick bore a grisly-looking axe as well, and as ugly as the thing was, Rylaen didn't judge its killing power.
"We ride over the hill. And we investigate the village. And, well, if there's anyone there, we kill them." Ry slid his sword halfway from the scabbard, and then tapped it back in self-consciously. Today he would lead more men to their death, probably. Some of these men, he knew, were some of the men who had fought in that last battle with him. It was easier this time, though. It was war, at any rate.
Men were bound to die, right?
The commander spun his horse around and looked out over the column. He would have yelled words of encouragement and strength to them again, but they understood that they did not want to yet lose the small benefit of the element of surprise yet. That was, if there were still any enemy occupants in the village. As Ry looked over the small force, the soldiers all raised their left hands in a salute. He smiled, turned his horse back around.
And led them straight over the hill.

As He shall arise to smite their foes,
So too will His friends fall by His blade.
His power will be unmatched by man,
Second only to the Gods.

Erhuidt threw the paper from his hands, unable to read further; the prophecy made him sick. He buried his face in his palms, and chanced a glance at the ancient scroll. Maybe it wasn't Rylaen. There had been a number of knights and men who were suspected of the fulfillment of prophecy, but turned out in the end to be no one at all. Of course, it was impossible to say if Rylaen was one such case. But so far, Erhuidt was not pleased with the results. He had originally feared it might be this boy when he had been the sole survivor of his brigade's butchering, and had thusly adopted him to keep a close, wary eye upon him. But now! Now he almost regretted that decision.
He was a prince now.
The boy was a caster—the first in at least a millennium. That was enough to leave his power peerless. Erhuidt also couldn't deny that he was a born leader, naturally charismatic. He had been doubly so since his Awakening. Rylaen was skilled in combat; he was beginning to make wielding any weapon look easy. Erhuidt supposed he had Jedediah to blame in part for that. And then Kithkopphus was training Ry to become an even more powerful caster, as if the mere possession of magic didn't make him strong enough.
Erhuidt did not want to fall by Rylaen's blade. He made a note to keep this prophecy in very close check, and if necessary, halt it.

Well, Rylaen thought to himself, at least we know the man isn't insane.
The village was an absolute wreck. He wasn't surprised that there were no other survivors—at least that they knew of. Ry couldn't even help but wonder as to how Derrick escaped. Many of the buildings were hardly standing all the way; he surmised the ones that were had been used as quarters. The place had been burned, pillaged, ravaged. And, thinking fondly of what memories this village once held for him, the knight felt a hot, burning anger in his chest. Corpses lay strewn left and right in the street. The Velians couldn't even do as much as burn the bodies.
Rylaen checked himself. Made himself stop assuming. He didn't know if the Velians did this yet; and, with a resolve stronger than ever, he pressed forward, bearing the stench.
When it came time to check the buildings, the entire force dismounted. "Jedediah, Derrick, I want you working together to clear the houses. Sound a call if it turns out the Velians are here, and they're starting a defensive," commanded Rylaen as he gestured at the war horn Jed had across his chest. "I'll be just across the way from you, checking those houses there. Take some other men with you, give them direction. We'll finish this before evening."
Rylaen approached the first building after directing some other knights as he had Jedediah, and before opening the door, he drew his knife, pulled his shield from his back, and strapped it to his left arm. Cautiously, he slid through the wooden door of the house, making a note that it was larger than this village's standards. Might be used for commanding officers.
There was a man sitting at a table in a Velian uniform, shuffling some papers around as if he was trying to look busy. Unarmored, though. Odd, was all Rylaen told himself before taking his knife by the tip and flinging it deftly into the side of the man's skull. He approached the body and the table casually, when from behind another wall a Velian leapt with a knife. Luckily, it was on Rylaen's shield side, and he was able to deflect the blow with ease; he smashed the steel rim of his shield into the man's face, who cried in pain, and almost instinctively, as the man hit the floor, Rylaen lifted a three-foot spire of earth from beneath him, impaling him to the ground; he gurgled helplessly as blood began to well up and drain from his mouth.
Awhoo! Awhoo, awhoo, awhoooooo!
The horn! Either there was still a number of Velians garrisoned here, or Jedediah found something else that was just as interesting but hopefully not as deadly.
No, he wouldn't be blowing that pattern if it wasn't deadly.
Rylaen fled from the house after retrieving his knife, and tried to make a mental note to return for the papers that had been on the table. When he came outside, he felt a light drizzle, and cursed his luck. What was worse was that they were now in open conflict with the occupants. The third thing Rylaen noticed was that anyone who wasn't wearing a Larsan tunic was wearing a Velian uniform.
So it was true. Velia was a traitor to their treaty. Rylaen knew what this meant:
Complete, full-scale, unbridled war with her.
He put his knife away and drew his sword before rushing into the battle; remembering his vow to Jed to watch his back, he sought for the taller, bulkier soldier. No sign. The sound of the horn had come from just across the road. Where was he?
A squad of Velians—five of them—who had not engaged in the combat yet now surrounded Rylaen. The knight would have felt very, very discouraged if not for his newfound talents. His grin looked grisly and grim, as the ground beneath his feet began trembling with the power he had yet to unleash.
Derrick Feremone was doing the second thing he loved most (the first of which being working at his tavern, alone): defending his country. He wondered if he was allowed to count himself as a veteran now, after the insurrection of Damarius, and if he lived through this first battle. Thankfully enough, they'd given him the proper gear at the castle, as he'd never owned a single piece of armor in his life; he was without a shield, as his axe was required the full use of both of his arms, but he was in a suit of mail and war boots. Derrick smashed the rod of his axe into the back of a Velian who collapsed to the dirt, before burying the head of the axe deep into the spine of another man.
Jedediah was still inside the first hut he'd investigated; there had been a group of seven men in there, and when he saw that, the experienced Jed knew there had to be more soldiers. He didn't want any of his other men to be caught off guard, so before setting to his bloody work, he sounded the war cry.
That sure had surprised the Velians; he'd well near given one or two of them a heart attack.
After he dispatched them with great haste, Jedediah burst out of the shack, his axe in one hand and the sword in the other. He cut into an unaware enemy before sliding into a fluid dance that felled soldiers as he passed them. In the back of his mind, he recalled the promise Rylaen and himself had made to each other, so he quickly scanned the battlefield. The Velian numbers were nothing alarming. Jed was pleased that, from this view, his estimate had not been far off: there couldn't be much more or less than two hundred. And his companion was not hard to find in the small battle—particularly when he witnessed a pillar of earth spurt forth from the ground and launch three Velians a hundred feet into the air. Jedediah grinned and began to fight his way there.
"Jed!" Ry cried as he saw his friend join his side. "It's good to know you're okay! I almost thought I'd—"
He stopped speaking as he thrust his sword through the chest of another Velian.
"—thought I'd broken my promise for a minute." Rylaen grinned. Jedediah only nodded.
"Aye, boy, you've still got—what's that?" Jedediah stopped as he looked to the skies. A moment passed, and Rylaen did likewise as he heard Jed bellow, "Archers!"
Rylaen remembered the last time he and Jedediah had been caught by archers, and stepped in front of him with his shield held at a safe angle. There were a few dull Thunks! as the arrows hit home on the shield; he then thought he might command his force around that line of houses where the archers hid, but Ry knew it would take longer than he wanted it to; already a few of his men had been picked off. The knight sheathed his sword and discarded his shield to the ground.
"Jedediah, guard me!" he urged as he lifted both hands into the air, tugging and pulling upwards at the ground that was some hundred feet away from him; his hands and arms felt like they were moving through quicksand. Rylaen had never tried casting at something so sheer in size and weight from such a distance before, but he wanted to know how far he could push himself. And suddenly, he felt the ground he was ripping at give way, heard the rumble of tearing earth, and his movements suddenly became easier; Ry flung both arms straight up and waited.
The spectacle halted everything on the battlefield.
A slab of earth ten feet thick and a hundred feet long flew into the air, and atop it the Velian archers could be seen, grasping for purchase as the unsteady ground beneath them wavered in the air. Jedediah looked at Rylaen (who was holding his hands up as if trying to keep an invisible roof from caving in on him), and the knight slowly tilted one hand lower than the other. The earth he was controlling tilted, and the Velians began to slide, falling off of the floating island one by one. Seconds later, the knight pulled his hands in a downward motion, sending the earth crashing into the battlefield, and he watched regretfully as it instantly executed a large group of soldiers of either faction.
"Rylaen," Jedediah whispered, "you… by the Gods, did you… that was you?" He turned to look at Rylaen, and almost panicked at the sight: his face was tired, pale, he looked sick.
"I, I… ov…er…did… it," he managed to gasp out before a Velian swung his sword into the side of Rylaen's left leg; Ry hit the floor, and clutched his leg. Jed threw the small axe he carried and buried it in the chest of the young Velian lad, who fell to the ground just as hard as Rylaen had, dead. After yanking the axe free, Jedediah knelt at Ry's side.
"Are you all right, Rylaen?" Jed felt stupid, asking that. He saw blood welling up between Rylaen's fingers. The Velian had been lucky enough to hit the weak joint in the armor at the knee. Jedediah tore a thick strip from his tunic and made a makeshift bandage for Rylaen, who was now unconscious. It couldn't have been blood loss; just the fatigue of exerting his magic so heavily. Turning his attention back to the battle, he cried: "Rylaen is down! He's down, men! Here!"
The soldiers heard the call and began to form a defensive perimeter around their leader. Quickly enough, though, it became apparent that it was unnecessary: any Velians that hadn't been killed already had fled the field.
Derrick then joined Jedediah and swept his arm out in a gesture to the destroyed town.
"Is that evidence enough fer yeh? Velia's a two-faced, good-fer-nothin' liar. They've taken it all from me now. Everythin'. I never really had a family ta begin with, but they took Andrew, an' my home, an' they took my freedom fer awhile there, they've tried ta take my life…"
"Velia's taken a lot from all of us, Derrick," Jedediah said before glancing around at all the men that had gathered. "Can I get some men here to get Rylaen into a house? It looks like the sky's going to open hard on us soon! Take up shelter here, and as soon as the rain breaks, we ride for home!"
A few soldiers—soldiers Jedediah knew, soldiers who were always ready to provide necessary aid—rushed forward and lifted Rylaen and began to carry him into one of the houses that had not been utterly demolished—the very same Rylaen had told himself to revisit when he had time.
"Whaddoes this mean, Sir Jedediah?" Derrick asked, his voice forlorn.
"It only means one thing, Derrick," Jedediah answered gruffly. "It means we take this war to their land, their country, their innocents. It means we fight on even ground. Do we have your axe behind us? You seem like you know how to handle yourself."
"Humph," Derrick snorted. "What's that yeh said before…? All's fair in love and war?"
"Ashes to ashes, Derrick." There was venom in Jedediah's voice; it was obvious that he was beyond furious. "Dust to dust with these Velian curs."