Prologue: Alive         Episode 2: Mercenaries, Part 1

 

I think this might have been both the hardest and also the most dramatic thing I have ever written. Dang I love Pent. I might be taking him a tad into OOC territory, but you know what, he’s under a lot of pressure that he wasn’t under in the game; I think it’s fine. Also I wish to draw artwork. Lots and lots of artwork. But first, here’s the two chapters for tonight. If I can upload two chapters per night, I’ll be done this story by the end of the week, a.k.a. the end of NaNoWriMo, and I will never have to write stories in the Elibe universe again, unless I get the desperate urge to, which I might because it is my most favouritest Fire Emblem game. Darnit.

But my logic is that I will be less tempted if I have no unfinished stories lying around asking to be finished. : P *writes furiously*

Eliwood and Hector won’t be around for a while yet. This is just a teaser to let you know they’re still important-ish.

 

Episode 1: Exile

 

“It’s lovely to be home,” Louise said yet again, in the parlour after dinner with her husband and adopted son.

“It’s certainly marvelous,” Pent said, “and we shall not be leaving on wild, continent-spanning trips for some time, I think.” He nodded significantly at her belly, which was only just beginning to show signs of pregnancy. “If I had known…”

“Lord Pent, I didn’t know, so you couldn’t have known. Besides, Ceniro needed us, both of us. We couldn’t leave Erk to fight dragons on his own, could we?”

“I would rather not have done that, yes,” Erk said. “But now everything is over, so leave everything to us, all right, Lady Louise?”

She smiled. “Yes, Erk, dear. My, how the wind blows tonight!”

“It’s autumn,” Erk said. “It’s only going to get worse. And it’s raining, too…”

There was an urgent thump on the front door, a couple rooms over, and Pent rose. “I wonder who that is, in this weather…”

Ulf, the new head footman, was heading to open the door, but Pent stopped him. “I’ll get it, that’s all right.” Ulf bowed and retreated.

Pent opened the door and blinked in mild surprise. “General Douglas!”

“Pent!” Douglas gasped. He had clearly been riding hard; his horse was showing the whites of its eyes and was covered with rain and sweat. “I need to warn you – King Desmond has brought charges against you regarding… his son. I’ll be returning tomorrow to bring you to Aquleia.”

Pent blinked again. “I… don’t understand.”

“Pent… I know you were running around the continent earlier this year. You started in Nabata, but then you went to Bern for some reason. I hope he has nothing to pin on you, but…”

“His son?” Pent queried. “I was with Marquess Pherae’s group. We saved his son.”

“King Desmond says otherwise. You had best work on your defense; we shall be arriving at dawn tomorrow. This is all the warning I could give you. The king does not know I am here, and with luck, he never will. Good luck, Pent.” Douglas remounted his horse and rode off, back into the not-quite-stormy night.

Pent stared after him a while, though the rain-filled wind blew around him and into his coat, before he finally closed the door and turned back to Louise. “Interesting.”

“What is the matter, Lord Pent?” she asked; she could clearly see that something was wrong.

He gave her a smile anyway. “That was Douglas. I think we’ll be taking a visit to Aquleia tomorrow.”

“Ah, I understand,” she said. He knew she had heard most of the conversation at the door. She put aside her teacup and stood. “In that case, I should prepare some things. Lord Pent, will we be dressed for battle or for elegance?”

“I think in this case we’d make more an impression if we were dressed for elegance. Not, however, without bringing our weapons.”

“Am I going too?” Erk asked, putting a bookmark in his book and standing, ready to help.

“I don’t know,” Pent said. “But let’s plan as if you are. It might be good to have you around even if they don’t ask for you. After all, they only seem to know that we were there. I doubt King Desmond would pay attention to you.”

“I don’t mind,” Erk said. “About any of those things. I shall be pleased to assist.”

“You should sleep early, then,” Pent said. “Keep all your strength up, just in case.”

Erk nodded and left the room.

“And you should as well, Louise,” Pent said. “I don’t know whether you can shoot in your condition…”

Louise laughed, a low rippling laugh that he loved so well. “Lord Pent, of course I can use my bow. I may not do nearly as much dodging, but shooting won’t affect the baby at all. I will have your back, whatever may arise.”

“Though I would still hope that you allow me to protect you.” He put his hands on her shoulders, looking down into her violet eyes. “I know you can take care of yourself, but you don’t have to take care of me and the baby at the same time. That would be too many people to take care of.”

She laughed again. “All right. I will abide by your wishes. This time.”

He smiled. “That’s good, then.”

“What will you say to them?”

“I’m not sure. We must protect the others, of course. I’m sure this has to do more with the Shrine of Seals than with Prince Zephiel. King Desmond hired those assassins himself; why should he try to pin it on us if there were not something else he wanted to protect?”

“I think you must be right,” Louise said. “It’s unlikely he’s had a change of heart in only a few months. If anything, I fear he will treat Hellene’s renewed patience with greater suspicion. And of course, he can’t reach Eliwood and Hector, and Lyn, even if he knew they were there. He has few connections in Lycia.”

“He’ll be afraid that we’ve already given up the location of the Shrine, and hope to either discredit me or forestall me with this trial. But as you know, if it were only me, I would feel little worry about giving King Mordred the location of the Shrine. Although I would wonder what Etruria’s next move would be… But it seems that King Desmond is afraid to even bring up the topic, so he is attempting to frame us in a lie.”

“So we say nothing about the Shrine?”

“I think it unlikely that it will come up. Although, if it does come up, we must be clear that we say nothing in order to protect other people, even if they’re not Etrurian. It will win us no points with King Desmond, but I think King Mordred will listen – although he must do what is best for Etruria, of course. He will be fair, of that we can have no doubt.”

“The court might be less fair… You know how much they dislike our eccentricity. Maybe I should say… how much they dislike your eccentricity… and me entirely.”

“It’s a good thing I love you so much that their dislike doesn’t matter at all,” Pent said, smiling. “And about the attempted assassination… we should of course tell the truth. Or, most of the truth. He can’t know that we saved him partly to learn of the way to the Shrine of Seals…”

“But we didn’t,” Louise reminded him. “We recovered the Fire Emblem to learn the way. We learned that Prince Zephiel was in danger from overhearing the assassins themselves while attempting to recover the Fire Emblem. We could simply say that we were coming back to visit again, this time with our traveling companions, and heard the commotion.”

“Yes, you are right. We should also say as little as possible about everything else. Desmond doesn’t need to know about Nergal. Now that would get us in trouble for insanity.” Pent chuckled.

“Then everything is simple, is it not?” Louise asked, resting her hands on his chest. He put his arms around her, his wife and the soon-to-be mother of their child.

“In theory, yes. But in practice… everything is much more difficult. We should be prepared for everything, including… losing.”

“We were prepared for that from the moment we went to speak to Hellene,” Louise said resolutely.

“I love you,” Pent said, and kissed her.

 

One week later, the royal courthouse was filled to overflowing, the air humming with politely hushed gossip. King Mordred was in the judge’s seat, his face impassive; King Desmond sat next to him, looking irritated.

Trumpets blew, and the crowd hushed as the court crier announced the defendants. “Lord Pent and Lady Louise, Count and Countess Reglay!”

The great doors swung open and there stood Pent, resplendant in dark blue velvet, and Louise, radiant in rose-like pink and her golden hair done up elaborately, on his arm. Her bow was at her side, even though she was wearing the finest in fashionable ruffled lacy gowns, and murmurs followed her as together they walked confidently down to their assigned place at the front of the court, facing the kings. Pent bowed low, and Louise curtseyed. She sat, but he remained standing, ready to face whatever King Desmond had to say.

King Mordred stood. “Court is now in session for the trial of Lord Pent and Lady Louise. King Desmond, state your charges.”

Desmond stood, fixing Pent with a baleful look. “We do hereby acuse these two, Count and Countess Reglay, of plotting, aiding, and abetting an attempted assassination on our son, Crown Prince Zephiel of Bern.”

“Ridiculous,” Pent said immediately.

“Silence!” Desmond barked. “You were there, that night, were you not? You were identified by the guards and by General Murdock. There were dead assassins everywhere, assassins hired by you and defeated by the brave guards of the manse!”

Pent snorted. “Hardly. The guards of the manse had been subdued by the assassins by the time we arrived. I was calling on the Queen with some friends and interrupted them at their work. We were the ones who drove off or killed the assassins!”

“Such insolence,” growled Desmond. “You are a most impudent man, Count Reglay. Show some respect and manners!”

“Kings and counts, queens and countesses, we are all men and women,” Pent said. “But I apologize if I have offended your Royal Highness.”

“Who were these others you were with, if we may ask?” Mordred interjected.

“I would rather not say, for their own protection,” Pent replied. “Surely King Desmond already knows their names. If not, I will not betray them.”

Mordred glanced at Desmond, who shot a look back. “All I know is that they were from Lycia. One of them may indeed be the new Marquess Pherae.”

Pent was silent. Even if Desmond suspected, or even if he knew for certain, Hector and Eliwood at least were beyond his reach currently. Lyn, he wasn’t so sure about, but she was clever and had probably already taken Ceniro back to the plains. Desmond would be hard-pressed to find her even if he knew about her.

From there, things took a grueling pace. Every detail in each side’s opening statement was picked apart, and several times King Mordred had to ask peace to be restored.

“I tell you, I am innocent,” Pent said, his face the very picture of innocence. “I would not assassinate anyone, and I certainly would not hire others to do it. That is against my character.”

“What character?” sneered Desmond.

“Your Majesty, I am Etruria’s Mage General, and my wife is an elite sniper. We are trusted by the King of Etruria, the Army of Etruria, and by the people of Reglay. If, for whatever reason, we abandoned this trust and all sense and we were truly at the manse to attack the prince, with allies, whether the dead assassins you found or others, your guards there would not have stood a chance.”

“He does have a point,” Mordred said. “He was not made General for nothing.”

“But what would I gain from such a thing? I have no wish to provoke the might of Bern, nor do I harbour any ill-will against her royal son, Crown Prince Zephiel.”

“What would you gain from it? Nothing, if you were found out. But if not… you would uproot the entire royal line of Bern, putting her into chaos. I know only too well the difficulty of succession of my kingdom! Reglay, I will have my revenge…”

“For what?” Pent asked, and suddenly the discussion was no longer about Zephiel but about the true reason for the trial. Pent’s eyes gleamed, tacitly daring the king to mention the Shrine of Seals.

The court was hushed, watching the two men lock eyes and wills, Pent with a tense smile and Desmond with a heated glare. Louise saw her husband begin to sweat again, but when she glanced over at the king, his forehead was also covered in a thin sheen. She folded her hands, silently praying that St. Elimine would aid them.

“What’s this all about?” Mordred asked.

“I think it is better both for His Majesty and for me if I remain silent,” Pent said slowly.

“At least you can be remotely reasonable, Reglay.”

“It is for my own benefit as well as Your Majesty’s.”

“If it would aid this trial…”

“I said it is of no consequence!” Desmond burst out, and Mordred shut up. “To return to the main point… I have one thing that even you cannot deny, Reglay.” He reached into his robe and withdrew a sheet of paper. “King Mordred, if you would have a look at this.”

Mordred took it with some confusion and opened it. He scanned it quickly, and then again more carefully, a frown spreading across his face. “Lord Pent… is this true?”

Pent spread his hands. “I must confess to being completely in the dark about the paper Your Majesty holds.”

“There is a simple test,” Desmond said. “Ask him to write these words and compare them.”

A table, paper, pen, and ink were brought for Pent, who sat and took the pen with his own frown of apprehensive confusion. Louise felt a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach that was wholly unrelated to the baby, and knew that Pent must be feeling the same.

Mordred cleared his throat and began to read. “Time… Prince… Target… Recompense… Already… and your signature, if you please.”

Pent glared at Desmond and wrote the words, then stood, handing his sheet of paper to a page. “Your Majesty, what exactly does this note say?” he demanded.

Mordred cleared his throat again, looking uncomfortable, and read. “Brendan Reed – the time has come. The prince is your next target. Recompense is already in the usual place. Pent, Count Reglay.”

“That is an outrage!” Pent exclaimed. “I never wrote any such note. I have had no contact with Brendan Reed or any of his vigilante group the Black Fang.”

“Did you not?” Desmond asked softly. Pent’s fingers twitched; Louise knew that he wished for nothing more than to burn that lying scrap of paper.

“I had not until the night I helped their own top assassin defend your son from their blades,” Pent said in a deadly low voice.

Mordred blinked. “That is a new turn…”

“They match,” Desmond interrupted, yet Pent would have sworn there was a hint of relief on his face. “They match! Reglay, you fool, you should not have left this lying around…”

“And where exactly was it lying around?” Pent demanded.

“On the body of the assassin leader.”

“Whose name was?”

“How should I know?”

“The head of your investigations is lacking in thoroughness,” Pent said. “The leader of the assassins that night was a woman named Ursula, the Blue Crow. She was slain by Jaffar, a former assassin; you may know him by the name of Angel of Death. Jaffar did this to protect a young girl named Nino, who was with Jaffar and wished that the prince be spared. Both have since disappeared. I have had no hand in any of this!”

“A woman was the leader of the assassins?” Desmond smirked. “You are making this up. There were no dead women found at the manse.”

Pent bit his tongue. Of course; Ursula’s body had appeared at Nergal’s lair on Valor, so there wouldn’t have been a body to find. “It was… removed by a fourth party.”

“A fourth party; how convenient,” Desmond said.

“You do seem to know an awful lot that you are not telling us, Pent,” Mordred said. “And this paper is unsettling.”

Pent straightened. “There is much I cannot tell you because either it would bring others into danger, or you would simply think me mad. More mad,” he corrected himself, his gaze sweeping the galleries. “In any case, this paper is a forgery, placed on the body of a random assassin to implicate me instead of the true culprits of this crime.”

“And who might you accuse them of being?” Desmond said, smirking, daring Pent to speak.

Pent dared. He took a deep breath; he had nothing left to lose. “I happen to know, Your Majesty, that you were the one who hired the assassins to kill your son!”

Desmond’s eyes almost bulged out of his head, but that was nothing compared to the uproar that broke loose in the galleries.

“You do not trust Etruria!” Pent shouted. “You do not trust your own son, and favour your daughter-”

“Order!” Mordred shouted, interrupting everyone. Louise hoped that Pent hadn’t been heard. Things could be very bad for them, even worse than before, if Desmond had heard what he said.

Slowly, relative quiet returned to the courtroom, and the fainted ladies were removed. There was still a tense buzz humming through the hall, and Pent was still glaring defiantly at Desmond, who was glaring triumphantly back.

“There shall be a half-hour recess for the jury,” Mordred announced.

“Your Majesty-” began Pent.

“Lord Pent, if you refuse to speak further, there is nothing more to do,” Mordred said tiredly, and Pent shut up. He didn’t know what else to do. It might have been possible, dancing through the pitfalls of protecting the others and not offending King Desmond further and showing that he was perfectly sane and telling the truth, but at this point… it looked rather the opposite.

He sat down next to Louise to await the return of the jury and the kings.

She took his hand. “It’s all right, Lord Pent.”

“It’s not going well, Louise.”

“That is an understatement,” she said, smiling. “But it’s all right. I am prepared.”

“I can’t do anything else,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting him to pull out forged evidence.”

“Nor was I… Perhaps King Mordred will restore reason.”

“I wouldn’t count on it…”

“I am not. But there is always hope. Isn’t that what Lord Eliwood liked to say? Something like that?”

“Perhaps he did,” Pent said, and smiled finally. “In any case, even once all is said and done in this room, there is always hope. They won’t execute us. Where there’s life, there’s hope, someone else liked to say.”

“There’s plenty of life here,” she said coyly, and he couldn’t help but smile at her.

Smiles faded when the jury and the kings re-entered the courtroom, all looking grim, and they both stood to face them.

“In light of this evidence…” Mordred said slowly, “there seems little doubt that Count Reglay is an assassin and a traitor to Etruria.”

Pent momentarily looked stricken; he had not expected the king to be quite so harsh. There was little doubt what their fate was to be, now.

Louise did the only thing that she could; she put a hand to her head, gave a little moan, and faked a fainting fit. Pent reached to catch her – of course he knew she was in no trouble, he knew the difference between her ‘distraction’ faints and her rare, real ones – and she sank into his strong arms, looking up anxiously at his silver-grey eyes. There was a flutter, and a servant gave Pent a damp scented handkerchief to dab at her forehead with.

But King Desmond was unmoved. “I am glad you see reason, King Mordred. This is an excellent renewal of our countries’ ancient friendship.”

Most of the court was unmoved as well, though some of them exclaimed that it was very hard to put this ordeal on a lady with child. Louise had not thought her little act would help much, but she had done what she could.

After a moment, she ‘recovered’, and sat up in Pent’s arms, and both turned towards the kings for Mordred’s official judgement.

“I am sorry,” King Mordred said. “For the benefit of both Etruria and Bern and the friendship between them, Count Reglay is hereby stripped of his rank, title, and military standing, and banished from Etruria. If it should so come to pass that he finds a way to clear his name by good deeds…”

“I doubt that will happen,” scoffed Desmond. “If he is banished, how will you learn of them?”

“If Pent Reglay should prove that he is worthy of the trust of Etruria, then these things shall be restored to him.” Mordred’s voice indicated he thought there was small chance of it. “You have three days to leave the country. Farewell.”

Pent raised Louise to her feet, and both bowed to the kings before turning to leave, almost as calm and proud as they had been when they walked in.

They had not gotten far outside of the courtroom when they heard Douglas signalling them quietly. “Pent! Here!”

“What is it?” Pent asked.

“First, a note from the king.” Douglas handed it over, and Pent read it. It was a simple apology which, oddly enough, comforted Pent, though it did no one any good at the moment. “Next… my own sympathies.”

“Louise and I thank you, but we don’t really need them,” Pent said. “We were mostly prepared for this outcome. What was that thing about proving our worth?”

“I don’t really know,” Douglas said. He lowered his voice. “But if that paper was a forgery, you could find out where it came from – and if the real thing exists. I can hardly believe your own accusation, and yet…”

“Don’t worry about it, Douglas,” Pent said. “I shouldn’t have said that, but I was a little desperate – and a lot angry – and wanted to knock him around a little. I don’t want you in trouble over it.”

“Pent, you’re too hot-headed and too air-headed,” Douglas said with gruff affection. “Where will you go?”

“I think we’d better not say,” Pent said. “But I will give you a hint. You remember that young man last year…?”

Douglas nodded. “St. Elimine be with you on your journey.”

“Thank you, Douglas. For all your help. Take care.”

 

Far away in Lycia, in Pherae, Eliwood and Ninian walked together under the fading trees in the garden. The pool there reflected the sky, a colour of blue the same paleness as Ninian’s seafoam-green hair.

“Pherae is truly lovely,” Ninian said. “Nils and I didn’t spend much time here… but I’m glad I have the chance now.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Eliwood said, squeezing her hand under his arm. “You seem to complete the place, with your ethereal beauty…”

She blushed and giggled a little. “Lord Eliwood, you say the sweetest things.”

“I say true things, don’t I?”

“No, no, no… I don’t deserve such extravagance.”

“Of course you do. What do you say you deserve, then?”

She thought for a moment. “I’m not sure that ‘deserve’ is the right word anymore…”

“We’re making progress,” Eliwood teased her.

She laughed. “I am happy that we get to be together. And there are so many people here who I know, I’m truly not lonely at all.”

“I would never want you to be lonely.”

“But even when you are working with Marcus and Merlinus, I can spend time with Isadora and your dear mother. I am looking forward to Isadora’s wedding!”

“As am I. Both Isadora and Harken have looked much happier since we returned. Do you think Harken is recovering?”

“I think so. I suspect he is not fully recovered yet, but he only needs time and Isadora’s support, which she’s much happier to give him now.” Ninian turned to him. “I do have a question, though, about something else.”

“What is it?”

“What are you going to do with Durandal?”

Eliwood frowned. “I… don’t know. I don’t think I should keep it. Its purpose has been fulfilled. But I don’t dare trust it to anyone else, and I’m too busy to head to Ostia right now…”

“Perhaps in a short while, or… or you could send me?”

“Would that be all right?” Eliwood asked, his blue eyes full of concern for his fiancée.

She smiled up at him. “I think it would be. But it doesn’t have to be right now, of course. I think we will know when the time is right.”

“You’re probably right. Shall we go inside? It’s getting dark already.”

“There will be frost tonight,” she said, touching a leaf.

 

In Ostia, Hector slumped on the throne that he still thought of as his brother’s. “Oswin, I’m bored.”

Oswin looked up from the reports Matthew was holding. “Surely you are not out of things to do.”

“That’s not it,” Hector said. “I have too many things to do. I have thirty seconds to slouch here and complain at you, and then some other lord so-and-so is going to come ask for a stupid favour that I’m probably not going to grant anyway. I want to fight something.”

“I can take you on after dinner, if you wish,” Oswin said.

“Nah, I have my own paperwork to do. Otherwise…” He made an evil face at Matthew, who grinned innocently back at him.

“You miss the rest of our companions, do you not?” asked the spy cheerfully.

“I do, exactly. This was so sudden, coming back and having to take the reins. Ugh, why couldn’t you have chosen a more convenient time?” Hector complained at his departed brother.

The tapping of armoured boots on flagstones caught their attention. “Lord Uther had no say in the matter,” said a stern female voice, and Uther’s captain, Commander Freya, approached Hector, glaring at him. “Your brother…”

“I was just being silly,” Hector replied, nettled. “You know I respect my brother. Miss my brother.” She raised her eyebrow. “Well… maybe I didn’t show it a lot. But I did. I understand he did a lot for me even in his last days. And you were there through all of it, so you know it better than me. …Also, what the hell is a ‘convenient’ time to pass away? There’s no such thing.”

She gave him a nod that said he had better remember it, and stalked away again. “Your 4:30 is here, so sit up.”

Hector grumbled under his breath and hauled himself up. “Just a minute. I have something I need to say to Oswin, first.”

“Make it quick,” she said, and shut the door behind her.

Hector turned to Oswin and spoke quickly and quietly. “Oswin… you know I still have Armads, right?”

“Is that what is bothering you?” Oswin asked.

“It shouldn’t be here in Ostia. If anyone found out what it was, we could have a problem. And I can’t watch it obsessively – that way lies madness. Even Matthew can’t watch it obsessively.”

“I’d rather not, certainly,” Matthew said. “What does my young master intend to do?”

Hector grimaced at him. “I’m the Marquess of Ostia, leader of the Lycian League, and you still call me ‘young master’?”

“You’re wasting time, young master,” Matthew replied.

“What I need… is enough of a break to haul it back to the Western Isles – secretly.”

“I don’t think you’ll get that much of a break until spring,” Oswin said evenly. “Can you hold out until then?”

Hector sighed, exasperated, and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, I guess so. I’d like to see Eliwood about it first, too. After all, he still has Durandal.”

“I think that will be simpler to arrange,” Oswin said. “I’ll get on that.”

“Thanks, Oswin.” Hector turned back to the door. “All right, who was it at 4:30?”

 

And in Sacae, Ceniro was sitting on his knees in a tiny ger, wearing a deel, a traditional Sacaean robe. Lyn carefully swirled the tea bowl in a ceremonial fashion with a soft embroidered cloth folded just so, twice, three times, and then set the bowl down carefully in a specific spot. She refolded the cloth and placed it in another specific spot, then rearranged the bowls and utensils for no reason Ceniro could see.

Ceniro was patient, but she had been doing these sort of things for about ten minutes already. “Lyn?” he whispered, knowing it was horribly rude to interrupt the tea ceremony, but wondering just how long this took.

“What?” Lyn whispered back, pausing in her slow, deliberate movements.

“Are we going to… actually drink the tea at some point?”

She glared at him, but put down the things with the sigh. “I really wanted to show you this custom… It’s an old, very formal, traditional custom that is very important to my people…”

“It’s very inefficient,” Ceniro teased. “Are all Sacaean customs this inefficient?”

“You know very well that we have many extremely efficient customs,” Lyn retorted. “Besides, what do you call Lycian ladies who spend hours every day putting on make-up and doing their hair?”

“All right,” Ceniro said, smiling. “Anyway, I can tell you’re even more impatient than I am.”

“Yes… You know what? I’m not even very good at this. Let’s just have tea. I’ll get a real master to show you some other time.”

“That sounds fine to me.”

“My mother had trouble learning it, too,” Lyn said, a slight frown on her face. “My father was the only one who was any good…”

Ceniro leaned forward and touched her face with his hand. “Lyn… You’re fine. I was just being an ass.”

“You’re not being an ass,” Lyn said, leaning towards him.

Their lips almost touched when there was a shout from outside. “Ceniro! Are you in there?”

Lyn jumped and almost bonked him in the head. “Who’s that?”

Ceniro looked up, frowning. “It sounded like Pent. What’s he doing here? Now?” He got up and pushed aside the curtain-door of the ger.

There was Pent, on a grey horse, and Louise beside him on a white horse, and several familiar faces. Erk, George, Caddie, Yens, Andy, and Frank, all looking various degrees between smug and simply happy to see him. Beside them was Rath, looking impassive as usual. “Pent…! What…”

“It’s a bit of a story,” Pent said amiably. “To tell the short version, we’re now homeless. And we could use your help getting unhomeless.”

Ceniro stared like a fish out of water.

 

Prologue: Alive         Episode 2: Mercenaries, Part 1