A Tale of Steel and Blood

In the mountainous north ruled the Griffon Kingdom, as they had for a thousand years. Though, they weren't ruled by a king, but rather a 'High Lord', a hereditary rank of royal blood. Under the High Lord, the griffons built many great cities and mined the mountains for gold and other treasures to fill their coffers. They had their conflicts with other nations, mostly the Equestrian south and sometimes the Hundred Kingdoms to the west, but they mostly kept to themselves.

A dozen years before Sombra, their realm fought a great civil war known as the Griffon's Dance, in which the brothers Gerrion and Galdwin fought for control of the throne. Gerrion was victorious, and took the kingdom under his control, declaring himself High Lord.

When Sombra's demons arrived in full force, the griffons were caught off guard. They could do little, and suffered. Many of their villages burned and castles crumbled. But they held, and they fought back valiantly, but they would soon crumble were it not for Celestia's march on the Crystal City. Celestia's timely victory saved the kingdom.

Their ruler, Gerrion, had other plans besides enjoying peace....

The High Lord... where is he? Why isn't he here? He should be hearing this. His kingdom is in shambles, and he broods in his chambers. Why? Lord Darleck Gerith's thoughts were interrupted by the ongoing report of the realm.

" ...raven from Griffonstone. Highstone Keep has fallen, and the garrison is undermanned to repel such an invasion of the scale the rangers report." The words bounced off the dark stone walls, hanging in the cold air like a spider on its silk. "Additionally... reports from Tearbeak report that the people grow restless. Some swell the numbers of the cultists." Ser Knorrig of Nost, a griffon with ruffled feathers as grey as a storm, commander of the city watch, growled at that. Lore Master Joric looked up from his report and blinked twice, sitting back in his seat.

Gerrion needs to be hearing this. The realm is falling apart! His realm! Darleck gritted his teeth in frustration.

Darleck surveyed the council chamber known as the Stone's Meet, where all the High Lord's advisors met to discuss the state of the kingdom. The room was cold and made entirely out of stone, just as Gessyn the Mad had built it. The table was made entirely of stone as well, and there a large map of the known world sat in the center. Twenty chairs, once made of stone, now a simple black wood, sat around the tables, only six occupied now; Master of Medicine and Lore, Joric Skajin; the city watch commander, Ser Knorrig of Nost; Vella the spymaster; council advisor, Henri; Relina, Lady of Shadows; and Darleck himself, trusted advisor of Gerrion, despite being an Equestrian lord.

Henri, a stallion from one of the city-states at the border of the Griffon Kingdom, of thirty and three years, spoke. "This... proves troubling. Vella, any news south of our borders? My home is of great importance to me."

"Nothing as of yet," Vella, a middle-aged griffon and Lady of Secrets reported. Darleck raised a brow. "Though the last report was quite intriguing, as we all recall-"

"Yes, whispers of that solar bitch making to attack the Dark Lord," the hard voice of Knorrig spat. "We all know how that will turn out."

Darleck's mouth curled sourly. Knorrig's stubborn negativity always frustrated him. "Knorrig," he said, trying to hide the tint of anger in his voice, "I would not cast Celestia's march away so easily, now. She may as well-"

"What?" Knorrig challenged. "End this madness?" He snorted. "Damn green boy. What do you know of battle? Have you held a shieldwall or commanded a fleet of galleys? Go fight a battle before you educate me on war." Knorrig's mouth curled in the most disgusting manner that Darly could think of.

Brows furrowed, anger swelled inside the young Lord of Cliffscrown. "With all do respect, Lord Knorrig," he said, choking back the anger, and failing, "I fought in the battle of-"

"Of Hardbaryn?" The gray griffon laughed bitterly. "Fought? You stood in the rear with your guard while your men held the line and were slaughtered, just to allow you time to escape! You bloody fucking craven." Knorrig spat at Darleck. It struck him straight in the face.

Darleck shot up with a cry, throwing both his hooves to the table. Knorrig shot up as well, and they stared straight at one another.

"My lords, please," a quiet voice piped up. Relina. The Silent Knife. Darleck and Knorrig ignored her.

"Yes, you heard me right," Knorrig growled. "You're a bloody fucking craven. A turncoat, and a craven." Knorrig had always despised Darleck Gerith. He had never trusted the former Equestrian lord, something Darleck could sadly understand.

"Call me a craven one more fucking time," Darleck said through gritted teeth, "and I'll cut your tongue out." A hoof went to his arming sword.

The city watch's commander sneered. "Is that a threat, boy? Or another bluff?" The griffon laughed dryly. "Come on, then. Do what you've been waiting to do for six years." The two stared at each other, trying to break through, force the other to submit... but neither did. Their grips remained on their blades, just aching to taste blood and sing a song of steel.

Darleck grimaced. Oh, how he so wanted to watch the smirk fall off the griffon's face as he cut off his head... his sword hoof twitched. Perhaps.... No, he realized, there was no honor in striking an ally down, or whatever Knorrig passed as. Gods had no mercy on a traitor. He was a knight now, and had to act like one. Noble, and honorable, like the knights of legend. Not like Knorrig. No, he was no true knight. Darleck's sword hoof slackened....

....The sound of a creaking door broke the tension in the room, as if they had just been relieved of water that threatened to drown them all. "Sit down, both of you." The voice sounded surprisingly blank, almost bored-sounding... but it held a weight that broke through the room like a warriors' charge, and Darleck and Knorrig sat immediately. Through the door came Lord Crestin, head of House Farling, Master-of-Armies and Strategies. Old, feathers graying, and slightly stooped, he looked like one might expect any elder griffon to look.

But Darleck knew better. Crestin was old, yes, but not frail, not in the slightest. His feathers were old and wilting and brittle, but beneath it hid the bitter steel of Crestin the Great Warlord. His mind was addled by age, but there was no breaking the same iron will, the same fire, the same fierceness that he carried since he was twenty-and-one.

"My lord." Darleck bowed his head.

"Darleck," Crestin replied lazily. He sulked over to a seat across from Relina, his footsteps echoing through the cold room. Darleck watched him move with admiration. The way he carried himself, like a soldier -- no, a lord, even when his back was slouched and his pace lazy, was a testament to his unaged strength. He found a chair and sat. His tired emerald eyes scanned them all, flicking between Knorrig and Darleck once before falling. "Apologies for being late," he muttered. "My age is catching up to me." Then, suddenly, his eyes shot up, as if the old battle commander had miraculously gained new life. "What did I miss, Redeye?" He looked at Henri. The stallion flashed a mischievous grin, like a child looking to cause trouble, while his eyes remained cool and sharp.

"A few more reports on how the kingdom falls apart and demons attacking keeps and cities -- Griffonstone this time -- and the cultists growing in size."

"So the usual." Crestin scowled, and sighed. "Damn it all. Were I as young as I was before. I could that Sombra's head off and stick it on a spike."

"He'd just grow it back," jested Henri. Vella and Relina, the Quill and the Knife, whispered something to one another. Darleck shot them a look.  What is it they always whisper to one another? I don't like it.

He heard a few hurried steps outside the door, shadows whispering. Darleck studied the door curiously. Odd. He turned his attention back to the council.

Lord Crestin Farling placed his head in a claw. "If anyone has anything to say, speak now," he mumbled, barely above a whisper.

"My lord, may I speak?" Darleck asked.

"You don't have to ask permission, Darly. Go on."

Darleck bowed his head. "As my lord commands. As we all know, in the south, my lords and ladies, the two princesses, gods damn their names, have lifted the siege on Vin Ferrio, crushing the demon horde there with their legions. They've gathered their hosts, and march on the crystal city as we speak -- they may as well be fighting the battle now. The last raven they sent reported that they prepare to face the enemy in battle." Knorrig scoffed, but stayed silent. Darleck shot him a look. That's right, Knorrig. Even you must bow and hold your tongue before another.

Crestin looked Darleck straight in the eye, his cold stare piercing. "Lord Darleck, I too hope the Sun and the Moon will end this all. They've proven their capability in leading an army ten times over, but... the best we can hope for them, my young lord, is a safe retreat home with most of their army intact. They are no match for the dark hordes of the enemy." Darleck bowed his head. A safe retreat for their men is all I hope. He held no love for his former sovereigns.

Master Joric cleared his throat. "My lords, there are still other matters that require attending-" There was more movement outside the door. Someone cried out, followed by shouting. They all looked a few curious moments, but paid it no more heed. "My lords, across the eastern sea, there is-" His voice was cut off by further cries outside the room. "Th-" More hollering, running. Joric growled, and Henri the Redeye laughed. Darleck could not help but follow, quietly.

Crestin eyed the door, his green eyes glinting with suspicion. He looked at Knorrig, who looked at the guards at the door. Frantic, heavy steps streamed past the door in waves. Darleck heard a sword being ripped from its sheath, and the clatter of armor. What was going on...?

"For fuck's sake!" Knorrig thundered. "You two, open the door." The two sentries at the door nodded, and turned. One gripped the doorknob and wrenched the door open, the other standing by vigilantly.

A stream of guards ran past, their metal-tipped talons clicking against the floor. Darleck shot up, as did Knorrig and Crestin. Hoof and claw went to swords, metal ripping against scabbard.

"Oh, shit," Knorrig swore. The three ran to the door. Another stream passed.

"You!" Crestin cried to a soldier. The man almost tripped over himself as he snapped to his chief commander's voice. "Report, now! What's going on?"

"I-I don't know, ser!" the guard replied. "All I knows is that some of the men heard commotions, screaming a-and the like, a-and... we thought...."

The man did not need to finish for them all to know what he meant. A silence fell on them. More men-at-arms ran past, officers shouting words that passed over deaf ears. "Oh, shit," Darleck swore. He never liked swearing. Father had taught him not to.

"Shit is right," Knorrig muttered.

"Dismissed." Crestin's voice was hollow. The guard ran off. Crestin turned to the council room. His eyes were filled with something that did not belong on the Old Griffon's face... what was it?

Fear, Darleck realized.The Old Griffon is scared. Gods, we're doomed....

Darleck took in a sharp breath of air. It was cold. Too cold. It hurt to breath.

"Fucking demons," Darleck heard Knorrig swear. The griffon fell into a chair, head in claw. Relina and Vella, the two most mysterious ladies Darleck had ever known, did not look so mysterious now; their looks gave away their fear. Even Henri, the cunning, sly, quick-witted Veto, had to bow in the face of death. His usual mischievous smile had fallen, and his eyes were full of worry.

A few more dozens of men ran by. Darleck watched them pass, a small whisper of men racing to their deaths. I will be one of them soon enough. He sighed. The sword at his side hung uselessly... but he could almost feel its thirst for blood, if swords could feel. His own sword hoof twitched. Crestin looked like he was in another world, fighting an eternity-long battle in his mind. Knorrig looked defeated and lazy. Only Darleck thought of fighting. Am I the bravest here, among those who have fought more battles and killed more than I? The gods were cruel.

He drew his sword. Steel scraped against leather scabbard. He nodded at the guards, who moved to follow him.

Lord Crestin Farling stirred immediately. Darleck gave him a sad glance, which Crestin returned. The Old Griffon nodded. Knorrig stood, claw on hilt. "Then or now," Knorrig said.

"Let it be done," Crestin said. "Knorrig, take the council and escort them out of the city. Take the tunnel."

"Aye." His voice was... sad. Darleck never knew Knorrig for sadness....

"Take Jerik and Farrn with you, too. They'll guard you well." The two guards moved to Knorrig's side.

Knorrig nodded. "Aye. It'll take three score whatever's out there to take us down."

"It better. Now go. Godspeed to you."

Knorrig turned away. "Unless you all plan on meeting your ancestors in those fucking chairs, come with me. Not in those damn chairs." The council stood without hesitation. Knorrig began leading them away, to some secret door or another.

"Knorrig!" Darleck found himself crying out. He did not know why, or how... just that is happened. The knight turned. Darleck looked for words, kind words of parting for a man who deserved none... but only nodded. Knorrig gave him a smirk in return, the one that looked cruel and imperious, but was meant as a kindness. They would never see each other again, they both knew. Best leave on a positive note. They were, by all means, allies.

And when Darleck turned away, Knorrig called to him. "Darleck!" he said. "Give them hell."

He smiled. It should have felt wrong giving it to Knorrig, but it didn't. "I will."

And then they were gone.

Darleck and Crestin raced out the door, barreling down a hallway in one direction or another. It was all a blur. Paintings and tapestries and doors passed by in a rush. He had nothing on his mind besides one thing: combat! They flew through mazes of halls and passages, running past the odd indoor courtyard. On a better day, Darleck would have sat there, the breeze flowing over him, and he would remember.

Strange shouts sounded from ahead of them. A different tongue, Darleck realized. But which one?

"KALA-KO, KRILIN-ALA!"

"YRAH!"

"Desert folk," explained Crestin. "Ambassadors." They came into view, a dozen tall equine warriors in red cloaks and armored in dark steel. Their helmets hid their faces, so only their dark, lifeless eyes bore out of them. "Hail!" he called to them. One shouted an order, and they all stopped. An even taller one took the head and marched to Crestin.

He removed the helmet atop his head. "My Lord Crestin," he said. His voice was thick with an accent that could only be from the desert lands.

"Ambassador Abadul," Crestin replied, his voice in want of courtesy. "I suggest you move with us. Strength in numbers."

"Agreed." His dark eyes flicked to Lord Darleck. Darleck shuffled uneasily under his gaze, then he remembered he was almost a man grown, and a knight at that, and straightened. "This is the young lord Darleck, yes?"

Darleck nodded.

"I do so hope you know how to use that sword. It will see its uses. Its last ones at that."

"I do."

Abadul smiled grimly. "Good." Shouts could be heard, louder. "We should not linger."

"Aye."

And they went off.

Crestin mustered more men as they went through the halls, calling them with shouts louder and more commanding than all the others; his battle voice. Knights and men-at-arms and city guards joined them, a stream of hundreds of men. Spear tips flew above like standards, armor clinked like bells; a thousand steel talons pounded upon the floor.

And there it was at last: a small, pale grey dot at the end of a hall, growing. They barreled towards it. Shouts and screaming echoed ahead.

Darleck grasped his arming sword's hilt with his mouth. He held it there with a tight grip.

Closer... closer....

The men cheered ferociously as the entrance loomed closer. They were a hundred versus a million.

"Gerrion! Gerrion! GERRION!" was the men's shout. They were ready to give their last.

And then they were out.

And then... they looked up.

By the elders....

"M'lord Darleck! The High Lord demands your presence."

Demands? From me? It must be urgent.

Lord Darleck turned away from Crestin, the smile from his hearty laugh lingering. The steward panted, breathless, waiting.

Darleck nodded. "Very well. If he must. Please excuse me, Cr- er, my lord."

Crestin laughed genuinely, so unlike him. "Enough with the fucking 'm'lords' Darly." An oddly warm smile crossed his face. He nodded, and went off, laughing like a drunk man with some of the other men.

Darleck turned to the steward. "Where is he?" he demanded.

"His chambers, m'lord. I'll take you to-"

"No," Darleck said at once, "I'll go myself. You get some rest."

"But... m'lord...."

"Go. I'll be fine. I know the way." Darleck left before the steward could retort.

Darleck made his way towards the large double doors of the Black Keep. He waded through the crowd of guards, all in high spirits. The sun was back, and the Black King was dead. Well, it never left, Darleck mused, we just couldn't see it. When the Black Usurper took the crystal throne, a cloud of darkness took the skies, an endless darkness that no pegasus could find the end to, and washed the light away.

It had been that way for six years, and for six years endless war waged between the free nations of Equis against the demons of the King. But it hadn't been enough, it had never been enough... not until now. The sky was alive again with the light of day. The Black King was dead, and peace could finally return to the realm. Darleck smiled.

Around him, men cheered and laughed and jested and celebrated. Below, the city had erupted into cheering and merriment. Above, the pale yellow dot shone down, just as it had six years before. And inside of him, Darleck finally found hope.

A trio of soldiers passed in front of him, laughing together, arms over each other, helmets discarded. A small group he passed were drunk on skins of wine, japing with one another. More were on their knees, praying to their gods, new and old, from the north or the south or the west or even the unknown east. One man cried while trying to utter a prayer, tears of joy glinting on his face and choking half his words. He watched it all; the happiness, the joy, the hope. A man next to him told a jest, and Darleck laughed as he passed by.

Darleck passed a familiar face. Ambassador Abadul had a faint false smile on his face. Darleck nodded, but a strong grip took hold of him.

"Young Lord Darleck," the desert equine said.

"Ambassador," said Darleck, curt. He tried to walk forward, but the ambassador blocked him. What does this sand man want?

"I trust you are well?" The fake smile watched him.

"I am." Darleck looked for the men the ambassador had brought with him. "I find that the sun returning helps that." He looked to his left. A particularly large group of jovial griffons blocked his way, japing with one another. They were too dense and too drunk for him to push by.

"A truly spectacular event, yes? And now that the Black One is fallen, peace may return. A good thing, hmm."

"That it is," Darleck muttered, "that it is." He watched those dark, onyx eyes. What did he want? "Gerrion has demanded my presence." I have him now. "I must be leaving to him. Pardons. Tell Sultan Hazamphet I wish him good tidings and a long life."

The desert man's smile did not waver. "The King's death erases all purpose I have here, it seems. Gerrion no longer has need of the desert's might, hmm. An unfortunate turn of events, do you not agree?"

"Yes, yes, most unfortunate... I must be going now, and you block the way. The High Lord will be angry. I-"

"Heed my words, young Darleck. Do not disregard the power of the sands so easily. The desert does not forget." And he was gone. Darleck looked around, but he had seemingly... vanished.

What an queer man, Darleck thought as he passed through the gates and trotted the halls. Of course, queer places breed queer men. Still... the desert man's words sent an eerie chill down the young lord's spine. The desert never forgets.... What did that mean? Was it a threat, or a code? Was he now part of some conspiracy?

Though, it was true that the power of the desert was not to be taken lightly. They were a rich and powerful realm, with strong armies and stronger walls -- though they were a mere shadow of their former selves. Not even King Sombra's hordes could conquer the sands, and so Saddle Arabia had remained untouched. The council had opened up negotiations with the Sultan's own court, but it appeared that there was no longer any more need for that.

Darleck watched the dark stone walls pass as he walked to the king's chamber. Here in the Black Keep, sound from the outside was muffled... until it faded, leaving Darleck with only the sounds of his breath and hoofsteps. No soul walked these halls, either. They're all outside, Darleck thought, or fled. Knorrig is still in that passage, most like. He grinned. Somehow the thought amused him. He could just imagine the look on Knorrig's face when he realized he had traveled all that way for nothing.

Only, he wasn't laughing when he passed the door to the Stone's Meet.

The Redeye, Henri, stood, lone. His pale blue eyes trailed Darleck coolly, a sly smile playing his lips. It unnerved Darleck, truth be told. He did not trust those eyes, nor that smile, nor that wit. He found no kindness in him... only hunger. For what, Darleck could not say. But he did not want it. None of it.

"Redeye," Darleck murmured, his hooves moving quicker.

"Young ser," said Henri, trotting to meet Darleck. The knight did not look to meet him. "You are well." It wasn't a question.

"I am, lord," Darleck said, indifferent.

He could just feel Henri smirking. "Ser Knorrig realized the sun was back halfway," he began. "Hole in the wall. It shed light on his simple mind." Darly knew his grin broadened. "We doubled back, and now I'm here. I must say I did not like it down there. Cold, dark, and dreary. Much like this castle." They moved in silence. Darleck tried to keep his eyes forward, but he did find himself glancing slightly to his left to see if the stallion was still there... and darting back when he found Henri keeping pace, hooves moving in time with Darleck's own.

"I have a meeting with the king," Darleck blurted. King? The bastard has my tongue, and he's hardly said a word.

Darleck felt Henri's grin broaden. His cheeks burned with shame. "Oh, the king. I see, I see. I best not keep you waiting, then." But he did not leave. Why did he not leave?

He got his answer.

"I can have a ship for you, in the north or the south, your pick. You can have a galley or a dromon, or a simple cog or holk, it matters not. You can even be a deckhand if you so please, you need only give the word." Lord Henri had come close, so his mouth was a mere few inches from Darleck's ear, his voice soft, kind, almost... desperate. "I await your word. A storm comes soon, Lord Gerith. Best prepare." And he was gone.

Darleck couldn't even question him, for he was upon the High Lord's chamber.

He awaits me. He went inside.

The High Lord's chamber was a large, spacious room made of the same black stone as the Black Keep. A door stood to the side, to the king's personal quarters. Cutting through the center like a sword was a large wood table, for the king's more personal gatherings and councils. At the end of the room, far opposite the door, was a balcony overlooking the whole city... and a shadow stood upon it, watching. He knew that shadow, and the man who cast it.

"Lord Darleck Gerith." His voice boomed off the walls. Darleck felt he should kneel, and that he did, on shaking hooves. "Rise." How did he know? Darleck rose. "You are well, I trust? It's been too long."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"I hear you have been knighted. I offer my congratulations."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Stick to your oaths, friend. Too few good, honorable men fight for me. I pray you are one of them."

Darleck righted himself. "You have no other more loyal man, Your Grace."

"Loyalty is for servants. I already have enough of those, gods forbid. What I need is oathkeepers and strong warriors and dutiful men, not some drooling hound who razes a village and puts every man, woman, and child to the sword in the name of his lord. Those are for the Equestrians and the Inquisition. I know for certain you are not that man, Lord Gerith." And then he was silent.

Darleck felt he should speak. "Your Grace, pardons, but... I know you did not summon me to lecture me on the oath I swore."

A shadow grew across the table. "Yes, that is true. Nor have I stayed up here in this accursed tower thinking of what my first words to say to my friend-once-enemy would be. Approach, lord."

That, Darleck did. He did his best to numb his nervousness. The shadow at the balcony was less a shadow now, and more Gerrion. And he was watching him.

The High Lord seemed so much a stranger that for half a moment Darleck swore he was looking at a different griffon. His once tight-kept mane of feathers had fallen to tatters, much like Lord Crestin, only more so. He looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks, skin tight to ribs. His once fierce brown eyes were mere shades of themselves, and bags gathered under them like bannermen to their lord.

This could not be Gerrion. This was a corpse in his garments.

Gerrion saw the shock, but he paid it little heed. "It has been too long," he said. His voice was thin and hoarse.

Darleck dropped to a knee at once. "Your Grace, you are not well! I-"

"Am I a corpse, lord? I did not call you to harry me with concerns about my health. I have servants for that."

Darleck gazed upward, meeting those hollow eyes that chilled him. "Your Grace... why did you summon me?"

"Rise," Gerrion commanded. Darleck did.

Darleck said the words before he could think them. "Your Grace, you have been here for half a year's time! We've desperately been trying to hold this damn realm together, your damn realm together, all because you've locked yourself up in this bloody tower!" He regretted every word, but it felt good. "You've done nothing, nothing, as your people bleed, your armies fall, and your realm burns except brood. So what is it, then? WHAT IS IT?" Darleck panted. Anger swelled within him. There was more we wanted to say, more, so much more... but the iron stare tamed him. His ears fell back on his head, and he shrunk away, bowing. "Y-Your Grace, I beg forgiveness, I don't know when to hold my tongue, I... I...."

"Any other man would have his tongue out for that. Get up."

Darleck did, thankful.

"You wonder what I have been doing? I plan to deliver justice. I've been planning that all these months."

"Justice, Your Grace?"

"Yes, justice, for crimes past, present, and future. Against the Sisters."

The air fell colder. "The... Two Sisters, Your Grace? Forgive me, but... I do not know what you mean." He feared he did.

"I mean to stick both their heads on spikes, Lord Gerith." Gerrion turned to the balcony, looked over it, across the vast valley of Blackwrath.

Darleck knew what it meant. "Your Grace, y-you mean... war?"

"War, Darleck. For the good of the realm."

"S-so soon, Your Grace? The Black One has fallen hardly hours ago, and our armies must be weary of war. I advise that-"

"I'm not going to attack the damn bastards now," Gerrion stated, blunt, "that would be fool's work. Though I would if I could. No, we must wait, and rebuild. Fill our coffers, make allies, subjugate enemies. Threaten where we must, and help others where we can. Our armies will be made great again, and ready to make war once more. Then, and only then, will we march."

He truly means to do this, Darleck realized. "Your Grace, how would you do this without the people's anger? Surely, wives will see fit to shout in the streets of the injustice done to their families, and old men will cry out as their sons and their son's sons are taken away, a sword placed in their hand."

"The people despise the Two as much as you and I. They have not forgotten. We must only stir their anger. The lords will not go easily, either. They must be convinced as well. To them, I will promise lands and incomes, and justices for their ancestors and family names. Lord Nost will not go easily, and Lord Anders not at all. But still, we will conquer."

Darleck could not say a word, for he found none.

"To you, I will give justice. For your family. The Two Sisters will reap what they have sowed."

"Justice...." Darleck muttered. His mouth hung open. His ghosts swirled about him.

"I only ask of you your banner, for when we retake your rightful seat of Cliffscrown."

Darleck suddenly knelt, shaking. "My swords are yours, Your Grace. House Gerith shall now serve the griffon crown."

"Good. Lord Gerith, you are dismissed."

Now he knew why Henri had offered a ship.

Darleck went for his chambers.

It was that very night, just like every night for six years, his ghosts haunted him once more. The same phantom swords flashed and clashed, the same screams....

Darleck! Flee!

Mother! NO!

No! Let go of me! Darleck!

You bastards, let go of her, no... Sylvi, look at me, it'll all be over soon....

Look at me....