Isaac snored, by the fire, bottles of wine beside his head.
Neither his Phoenix Blades dared recover him, and Nathan swore it would've been possible to shove the Turd Lord's head into flames without much resistance.
Of all the Pyrs to be born into the house, none were more deserving of a messy kiss from the death god.
The idea of listening to the pig turd squeal, hands and feet flailing engulfed in flames, almost made Nathan's pecker hard. All the Pyrs weren't worth of the gods' name, but none more so than the turd. The latter almost didn't seem possible, to be of royal blood with holy convictions.
Much as he wanted to test his luck, he limped beside the young father, William, to a smaller fire by the northern edge of the camp.
Three adventurers, an archer and two warriors, the same lot he saw within the fabled Black Grass. One warrior was so bashful, she couldn't even dare look his way. Yet the other was more welcoming, introducing Nathan to the Embers Three.
"Arthur, good sir!" Arthur, a man with a spear slung to his back greeted, shaking Nathan's hand. "Our fearless leader, Lady Allison, and the quiet sword of the group Danielle, or, Dany for short."
"Nathan," he muttered, breath easing, "Son of Nordwell."
Allison glared at him. "You were a kingsguard? During the Massacre of the Graves?"
He nodded.
Hand on her chin, Allison asked, "Where is he? The Brute, or, Bane of Evil some call him."
Nathan cleared his throat, though his voice was still coarse. "Marryvia, in a village run by a false priest. He's been cursed, and needs the hand of an anointed priest."
William's face grew red.
Allison looked Nathan up and down. "What happened?"
Everything, from the moment he and the warlord crossed the bridge until a vampyre scout left her mark, Nathan explained. He fought to hold in his frustration, but by the end of it he found himself scowling the flames.
"I am an enemy of the house," he said, looking towards a pig sleeping Isaac. "Were I not born with the honor of a knight, I'd gut his lordship with a rusty sickle."
Allison stared at Isaac as well, the red-haired Phoenix Blade meditating as Gravous stared back.
She was sharp, something like Larosa, but a bit odd. All soulless hailed from a different world, a different time, and there was life in her eyes unlike his lordship the battle master.
"I wouldn't blame you," Allison said, a hand on the hilt of a dagger strapped behind her. "The fat one's an incompetent fool, but he's cruel as the kings of old, from our world. He'd fit right in with a number of houses, and some fantastical plots."
Unsure of all what she meant, he nodded. "I, imagine you're here for some quest? Carl's not friendly with the mercenaries, but he's always kept an eye out for soulless talent."
Allison unsheathed the dagger and twirled it in hand. "His brother's put up a handsome reward, for anyone to bring down the most feared of all warlords."
"Who?" Nathan asked, wondering why Maurador was still alive. "I could probably give the Rorik dog a proper burial with just a few strokes with a good blade."
"Lord Alrieon of Navornhelm," Allsion said.
Nathan's eyes widened as chills took his spine. "H-He's here?"
Allison nodded. "Over ten thousand coin for his head, and a five thousand bonus for the King of the Mountain's, Hardok the Iron Death."
The greatest of all dragon riders, and dragons of the mountains.
Father spoke often of the mountain elves, the greatest of all their kin. They tamed many beasts, but none greater than the dragonborne of the north, Lake Daemonhelm, a cruel land of ash and sulfur.
Hardok was a nightmare, a horror often compared to the death gods themselves. It was believed his scales were all but impenetrable and, to make matters worse, according to legend he possessed one of three suits or armor fit for the gods.
If the Embers had the stones to hunt in the Burning Lands for such creatures, they were his best bet.
Between the armies, gargoyles, savage riders, and opportunists, Nathan realized many of his prayers for safety were answered.
He handed out every coin he had, begging for the three soulless adventurers to join him with their priest.
Allison held his pouch, examining it with a tight eye.
"What exactly did he promise you?" She asked.
"Nothing," he replied, and her eyes widened. "I am in his debt, for saving his majesty and I."
Allison tossed the pouch back to him. "No amount of coin could make me want to save someone's skin who's so reckless."
"Please!" Nathan said, bowing his head. "I've not much left, and if I return to those woods empty handed, if I return, we'll not last the night!"
Danielle murmured something, though he couldn't understand.
Allison seemed to do so, and spoke with the near silent warrior for a moment. Nathan prayed, to whoever was left for him to do so, and Arthur was silent, head bowed as well.
"Very well," Allison said, holding out a hand. "I shall take a coin of good faith. Your word, as well as the brute's, that he'll help us in slaying Lord Alrieon once we free him of his predicament."
Puzzled, Nathan dug into the pouch for a single coin.
"Yes, of course," he said, handing Allison the coin.
She flipped it, then shoved it into her pockets.
"Welcome to the Embers Three, young squire!"
Until dawn he rested with the newfound trio of warriors.
The young father was off with his lordship, and at first light joined them by several horses.
"Are you…do you know Father Willbress?" Nathan asked.
William nodded. "He took me in from a raided village. Not far from Wayfork's territory within the fields."
"He's with his majesty then?"
"Indeed, and the light shines in him more so than I could ever hope."
Nathan thought of the Brander.
The village, spirits, darkness, screaming hordes, the squealing lad in the air within bloody gargoyle claws. A cold darkness within his soul, and he couldn't sit up straight, not until William put a hand on him.
"Easy," the young father said, a gentle voice. "Whatever you've seen has passed, there's no need to be afraid..."
Warmth took his body.
In an instant, even with all the harrowing thoughts racing in his mind, so long as William's hand was on him he was at ease.
"Thank you," he stuttered.
William smiled, then bowed before heading off to tend to other shaking soldiers.
Raul took a hand from the young father, and even Turis, salty old soldier he was, welcomed a touch. Such was the power of the Lord of Light, all the eight lords, and Nathan had little doubt his lordship would be beyond saving.
Yet he was still unsure about the kingdom and wished he could've sent a small letter to father.
Turis handed him not one, but two blades. One an iron short sword, the other fine steel, likely looted off a dead knight.
"Keep that one concealed 'till your clear of his majesty," Turis whispered. "Gods knows I'm a damned man for lootin' off one of The Order, but for ye' of the serpent swords, and a brave lad, you're worth the trouble."
"Thank you," Nathan said, wiping his eyes before hugging the elder knight.
He was lost in thought, examining the longsword, when a hooded Larosa approached him. Not until a few snorts got his attention did he turn to see Yuri, a coat of black like the night, sniffing towards him.
"Easy boy!" Nathan said, smiling wide. "I missed you too!"
"Take care of him," Larosa said, keeping her head down. "His lordship shouldn't notice, he's still drowning in wine."
He held her hands tight. "Come with us."
"I cannot. May the lords be with you."
She turned away, though he grasped her hand.
"My lady, I-."
"Stop," she snapped, pulling her hand away. "Go. Please."
Yuri whimpered, and Nathan promised he'd return.
"Until my last day...," he started.
Larosa froze.
"...when the stars become my home," he went on, and he knew she was tearing up by the way she folded her arms.
She turned to him, hood still up, tears running down her cheek. "...I so dearly swear to cherish thee..."
They whispered together, leaning close within the Burning Land's morning darkness.
"...By the love of Norvir, I shall honor thee, tend to thee in sickness, and love thee as you are now, who you will be, and shall never forsake thy name."
They stared at one another, winds brushing through the early morning darkness.
'Come with me. I need you.'
Yet she stormed off, holding her left arm as though it fell limp.
So much he wanted to say, and drive his sword through, though she was property of House Pyr. A tale as old as time, she had no rights of her own, even being the heiress to the Archives.
He started making his way to her, his body free of aches, then a dagger laid against his throat.
"You have my sympathy," Allison said, steel cooling his neck, "however the sooner we rescue your friend, the sooner we can end this war. Understand?"
A tight sword hand, and he nodded.
Atop his home steed, he rode with the Embers Three, until reaching a hillside.
They crossed a river, the air grew cold, and the atmosphere was darker.