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Chapter Text

The Cathedral was silent, its gates closed. A sole knight stood before it, back turned to the great structure as the chilly wind lightly played with the figure’s cape, its colour that of a deep ocean.

The silver armor the knight wore was well maintained, but scratches could be seen on its plate up close, scars of countless battles it surely went through.

There was a large shield on the knight’s left hand, a flowing canal carved deep into its engraved surface, making one wonder why would anyone risk such beauty in combat.

In the right, a slender longsword, a weapon of elegance and strength both, its tip aimed downwards, the blade lightly reflecting moonlight from above.

Most attention, perhaps, drew the helmet, proud silver wings resting atop of it, while the faceguard left parts of the face deliberately open.

Though, rather than face, one would find darkness filling the helm’s openings instead.

The knight was in a seemingly relaxed stance, watching the spires being covered in a thin blanket of argent snow, always falling from the sky.

But the knight’s thoughts were far removed from the wonders of architecture, for the knight had seen it again and again, for ages, every day.

Instead, the knight’s mind drifted back to a distant past, where often it traveled now.

Brighter past.

Past that, like all stories, began with a tale.

***

Shrouded in fog, the surface was a land of gray crags, archtrees, and Everlasting Dragons.

An empty wasteland, unmoving, unchanging. No heat to warm exposed skin, just as no cold to sting it. No life graced the land, thus no death could end it. No light to banish dark, for there was none.

The underground was very much like the surface once. Once, though no one could tell how long ago that was. Likewise, no one remembered how it changed. But one day change it did; one day there was Fire, and with it all the disparity the surface lacked.

That surface was so different from the underground after that; there, most corners were dark, playing tricks on a naked eye until light chased the shadows away. From the smallest rodents to the largest of creatures that inhabited those tunnels and caverns, all were born and none could escape death. And there was cold. Until, at least, it was replaced by warmth… that grew the closer one got to its source.

And closer to it they did. From the Dark, They came and found the Souls of Lords within the Flame.

Nito, the First of the Dead claimed the Death Soul for itself, becoming its warden forevermore.

The Witch of Izalith and Her Daughters of Chaos followed, becoming the stewards of the Life Soul, coveting its heat.

Our Master Gwyn became the Lord of Sunlight and declared to bring the glory of His Light Soul to every corner of the world.

Finally, the Fugitive Pygmy took hold of the last ember and divided the Dark Soul between His kind.

Story old as time itself. Retold countless times. And yet, as he saw the great archtrees for the first time, disappearing in the gray sky, a silver-clad knight couldn’t stop his thoughts from coming back to it. It’s a tale of their beginning, he pondered, as he marched alongside his brothers and sisters. As the sounds of sabatons echoed throughout the land that didn’t know anything akin to it until now.

Perhaps one day, it will be remembered as but a mere first act of the world they wished to create.

Or perhaps it would disappear along with them, reduced to nothingness by their never-aging foe. Be it as may, the surface will know change for the first time. Of this, Silver Knight Carius was sure.

Chapter Text

The sky was red, illuminated by the fires below it. The great archtrees burned as the Witch and Her Daughters channeled their power, rousing the dragons from their meditations one by one. Directing the flying beasts toward the awaiting army of Lord Gwyn.

For creatures capable of no emotion, Knight-Commander Carius thought, the roars coming from the rapidly closing in dragons certainly sounded furious. One in particular, larger than its kin, shook the very ground with it.

Even as its brethren fell to the ground, it still flew with unmatched speed through the air, getting ever closer to their formation. It was far still, but the dragon’s size did not betray its speed, which was far greater than one would expect.

It cried out again, but this time as an answer to a sizeable wound that appeared on its side. Its natural defenses, the nearly impenetrable stony scales, still yielded easily when hit directly by one of their Lord’s Sunlight Spears.

As it drew in, it was met by another salvo of golden lightning. Released from the centre of the army where the casters could be protected... or as one protected could be when faced with beasts such as these. This barrage lacked the great Spear of Lord of Sunlight, though. His attention was already on the other part of the battlefield, seeking the largest Everlasting Dragons to challenge.

“My goodness,” came a deep, deep voice behind him. “This one seems quite determined, does it not, Ordelius?”

Another barrage, the last of the dragons that followed it now felled. They will take care of those later if needed. But the great beast itself didn’t even slow down.

“So it seems, Sir Gough. Shouldn’t we attempt to intercept it?” inquired the Silver Knight Ordelius, a greatbow in hand, as he prepared a greatarrow in the other.

Gough, one of the Four Knights of Gwyn, hummed underneath his helmet in response. “Now that’s a question. What say you, Sir Carius? You are in command here, after all.”

Indeed, Carius had the honour of being the Knight-Commander of this avant-garde, the vanguard. This was his first battle in this position, in fact. And while there were three of them in the Lord Gwyn’s army, his was at the moment the only one present.

It was obvious that minor lightning of the knights was not enough to properly harm the monster, not when it moved with such agility in the air. They needed to put it on land, where it would be vulnerable. Preferably before it flew over his men, spewing fire everywhere, as its kind tends to do.

He turned his winged helmet to the giant, speaking in his most commanding voice, so as to not betray the nervousness he felt. “Wait for another barrage - we won’t be able to fit in another one anyway - and loosen your arrows a moment after it. It should blind the dragon for a moment, long enough for it to not dodge most of your arrows. We need to strand it before it gets too close.”

It was risky. Waiting for another wave of lightning would effectively make it impossible to fit in a second attack from the archers, but he didn’t want to take the chances with the dragon dodging the only weapons capable of bringing it down. Waiting meant no second chance, but not waiting could mean the arrows wouldn’t deal enough damage, as the dragon could react and be prepared for another salvo.

The giant gave a small nod in return, understanding his strategy. He calmly took a stance and lifted his own greatbow, as the Silver Knight archers behind him did the same.

All formations had their own sense of majesty about them, but the archers prepared to loose their arrows was one that never failed to impress Carius with its coordination.

The last barrage of offensive miracles was loosened behind their lines and Carius gave the command. A rumble filled the air, chords releasing the energy and sending its ammunition surging forward. Gough was last to loosen his own greatarrow. And while it wasn’t the first to hit the now descending beast, it was the only one that penetrated one of its two pairs of wings, making the beast spiral towards the ground in the next moment.

“Excellent shot, sir knight,” complimented Ordelius, as Carius let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Gough chuckled in reply.

The beast was down. Now was their chance!

Carius pointed his longsword towards it, as it struggled mere three dozen meters in front of their lines.

“First to the sixth conroi, form loose ranks, swords first, spears behind! Surround the beast!” Carius shouted, already moving forward himself.

It was a fairly standard tactic, even if this was a larger foe than usual. To quickly surround a felled dragon was the best way to magnify the damage the knight’s weapons could deal, spears and swords striking from all sides.

It was also moments such as these when the knights imbued their weaponry with the lightning of their own, a boon of their Greatlord. While the use of this miracle was limited, a better opportunity would hardly present itself.

As the ranks of Silver Knights were closing in on the dragon, Carius among them, he saw it stopped trying to lift itself to the sky, instead opting to rise to its full height. That wasn’t good.

Its jaws opened, and a moment after Carius ordered his men to raise their shields, breathe of fire came out of it, aimed at the advancing knights.

Were it not for those shields, blessed by the radiant Princess of Sunlight, Gwynevere, the knights would burn to ash, but the protective miracle held, for the moment.

It would not be able to resist more flame, however.

He was about to signal to his archers, when another greatarrow flew over their heads, hitting the dragon in its neck, a few more following it. Praise the Greatlord, Gough knew what he was doing indeed.

The beast lowered itself again, momentarily stunned. It was enough, and the knights began surrounding it from the sides, forming a circle.

Waiting a moment for the ranks to fill in the gasps, Carius ordered the attack.

“Kill the beast! For Lord Gwyn!”

Advancing forward, the knight’s sparkling weapons fell upon the dragon.

Unfortunately, the dragon was not content to just lie down and die as it was its right but instead raised its talons, bringing them down upon four men in an instant.

Gripping the sword tighter in anger, Carius stabbed with a growl, lighting helping to penetrate the scales. The other knights did not relent either and slashed and stabbed even as the dragon defended itself with all it had. The knights striking from the side where the dragon was hit by Lord Gwyn’s bolt especially seemed eager to utilize one weakness in its natural armor.

It tried to spew fire again, but its head was still too low, and the moment it tried to open its jaws, spears filled the insides of its mouth. Others found its eyes, while the swords made cuts everywhere where they could reach.

Its tail fared better for a while, constantly moving and throwing those it touched around like ragdolls, but eventually, it too was slowing down, smoking cuts and stabs everywhere.

In the end, the dragon couldn’t sustain its own weight and collapsed.

It was over.

The knights took several steps back when the beast stopped moving, forming a defensive formation instead, as was the norm. It wouldn’t help them against a dragon, not without the archers present, but the retreat would be orderly and without chaos.

Carius looked around, seeing a few of the knights checking the fallen. Most moved, even if the pain was obvious in their movements. There were some that did not rise at all. Less than he had expected, but more than he had hoped for stayed still on the gray ground.

Carius looked to the dragon next. It truly was large, when he could acknowledge its size up close properly. Certainly one of the largest he and his men faced so far. The fact only a few of his men perished in the process was a miracle, really.

It didn’t make him feel better.

He turned his helmet to the illuminated sky, seeing no immediate danger, and spoke to his standing soldiers next.

“Well done, brave knights. Yet one less foe of Lord Gwyn and his future for this world. Be proud, for you performed admirably,” he said, making sure pride was clear in his voice. He can’t tell the dead, as much as he would want to, but he would make sure the alive know they did their duty well. “Now, let us march back to the main line, the battle is not yet over!”

“By your command!” was his answer, in several dozen voices.

Not the first dragon that fell when he was in command, he thought as he gave the felled beast one last glimpse, but never before did he lead so many at once. As much as he wished none would fall under his watch, statistically speaking, this was a triumph.

Once they rejoined the rest of the vanguard, Ordelius was the one to welcome him back, nodding, as he lightly gestured to the spot where Sir Gough was before. “Gough says that I should congratulate you in his stead. Perfectly executed, to use his words. So… consider yourself congratulated.”

Ignoring his friend’s attitude, but still appreciative of Gough’s praise, he instead asked of the giant himself, checking the skies in the meantime. Still clear.

“Once he saw you have the situation well in hand, he repositioned to the rearguard. Apparently, the Pygmy Knights face a decent number of the overgrown lizards there. Not that I would know. I can’t observe the entire battlefield like our tall friend.”

Carius was not surprised to hear the humans had troubles. While their strenght was unquestionable, they never worked quite well together. Not like the Silver Knights.

“Speaking of humans,” Ordelius began again, “seems we have a visitor.”

Turning around, Carius was surprised to see Bishop Havel and six of his clerics, all wearing the armor made from the dragon’s scales, quickly walking towards him. Just like with the rest of Havel’s kind, Carius was never very comfortable around him. But the Bishop proved himself time and time again, and was counted among Lord Gwyn’s closest compatriots. There wasn’t more that could be done to alleviate Carius’ unease, he knew. And yet… they were not their kind. While perhaps not directly tied to the Pygmy as His Knights, they came from Him. Could they be trusted? Was it truly wise of his Lord to accept them into their army?

Dispersing the dark - and heretical - thoughts, Carius instead focused on Havel as he arrived.

“Well met, Knight Carius!” greeted the Bishop, saluting with his hand to this heart, making a heavy thud. Like all humans, he was slightly shorter than Carius and his brethren, but what he lacked in height, he compensated by the giant dragon tooth that served as his weapon, currently resting on his shoulder. “We saw you and your brave men as you felled the beast minutes ago. Very impressive work, sir knight!”

Carius rose an eyebrow underneath his helmet, even though he knew nobody could see it. “I appreciate the praise, and I will gladly relay it to my men, but Bishop Havel, surely you did not come just to congratulate us in the middle of a battle.”

Havel gave a short laugh in return. “Not at all, Sir Knight, not at all. Well, not just because of that, at least. The battle calmed down on our flank - seems most dragons present at the moment are concentrating on the rearguard now - so I figured I would offer the services of some of my healers in the meantime. While you dispatched of it splendidly, I saw that some of your men suffered its wrath. Do my brothers and sisters have your approval to ease their burden?”

The earnest voice of the human made Carius feel shame for a moment for his previous thoughts. Here he was, questioning this man’s loyalty (was it truly loyalty, or something else though?), while he offered to help of his own accord.

“I would be honoured, Bishop. Please, do as you will, my men deserve some respite.”

He couldn’t see Havel’s face behind his own helmet, but he thinks he heard a smile in the other man’s voice. “I knew Lord Gwyn was wise in trusting you with this position.”

Not knowing what to say, Carius remained silent, as Havel gestured to his followers to move.

“Rest assured, Sir Carius, they will take care of them. Now, with that done, I have to return to my own battalion. Good hunting, Silver Knights.”

“You as well Bishop,” was Carius’ answer, and he meant it.

Nodding once more, Havel turned around and left, his clerics already moving from soldier to soldier, casting their holy magic.

“Well, that was nice of the Bishop. I certainly do hope he doesn’t have any ulterior motive,” Ordelius said, sarcasm obvious in his voice.

“Not everyone has to act like they feel physical pain each time they do something noble, Ordelius.”

“Huh,” came the reply, “the more you know.”

The fires that claimed the archtree closest to them were beginning to dim out, Carius noticed. Considering they burned for several days straight, it wasn’t surprising, he supposed. He was sure the Witch or one of Her daughters could cast their fire sorcery again, if needed.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of the horn to his right.

“Foe approaches! Dragons in sight, aiming for us!” someone shouted, as the knights quickly reformed the ranks, ready to battle once more.

Time to see if he and his men can earn praise once again, it seemed.

Chapter Text

While some still called it a war camp, as it initially was, their home away from home resembled a citadel, more than anything else. A castle, with thick walls and tall towers, and sturdy buildings, all constructed from a white stone.

In the underground, everything was gray or black, much like most of the surface. Yes, there were statues, monoliths, sanctums, and other wonders of architecture, but they differed little in colour from their surroundings unless painstakingly painted. Hence, most of its denizens didn’t know different, the muted colours being the norm of the world they lived in.

And so, when the Lord’s grand army stumbled upon a unique rock formation - a mountain, really - of white stone, so different from its surroundings, it was decided that this will be the spot for their stronghold. Or perhaps, as Lord Gwyn himself called it, the first stone of the kingdom they began building. Fitting, then, that this citadel arose from the same material it resided upon, colour of the light itself. A clear contrast to their former dwellings underneath.

It was always planned that after the campaign began, a fortress would be constructed to host the armies of the Lords; that is, of Lord of Sunlight and the Witch of Izalith. As the war progressed, and the walled camp turned into a proper citadel, the children of the Pigmy created their own imitations of the divine structures. Not as grand, of course, but sturdy homes nonetheless, from which they would continue to wage the war, alongside the rest.

And, to the relief of many, Nito’s skeletal forces hardly required such pedestrian things as a roof over their skulls or defensive fortifications to man. They resided elsewhere, though no one but the Lords knew where exactly. But when the time came, they always joined the battle without delay.

It’s been years since his first battle as the Knight-Commander now. Londo was still far from being finished then.

As Carius walked through the halls of the outer keep, now mostly completed, with sounds of constant activity around him, he pondered how easily he came to think of this place as home. Not as a mere replacement or imitation, but as a real place where he felt at ease.

And why shouldn’t he? His brothers and sisters of the Silver Order were here. When out of the field of battle, they trained, meditated, and relaxed together in this place. Their great Lord was here as well, naturally, rarely leaving for the cities of the underground. It was defensible, both against their flying foe or against more traditional enemies alike.

It was, quite frankly, a good place to call home.

That is why it pained him to see it stained with blood, even if this part of it was dedicated to the wounded of war.

The stains weren’t obvious at first, but the deeper he got to the infirmary, the more red decorated the floor of the wide hall. He could already hear pained moans and rugged coughing, likely from inhaling too much smoke from the dragon’s fire.

There were always battles happening, however minor they may be without the presence of the Lords. Ergo, there were always those who required the attention of a healer.

He moved to the large open door and beyond, silently (or as silently as he could, though the noise of the infirmary assisted him) so as not to interrupt the physicians in their work. Clerics and nurses tended to the wounded, casting miracles or more often using less divine, but more practical skills to do their duty. A few of those wounded were Silver Knights of different battalions, that saluted him or attempted to before he gestured for them to continue resting. Others were lower-ranking soldiers of various minor nobles of the underground, and he even saw one or two fire sorcerers of Izalith.

He walked carefully, but with clear intent, through the rows of beds and tables, until the wounded were left behind him. He reached the back of the hall, where the sheets were dirty with blood and other liquids, but empty.

All, except three. Those had unmoving, deformed bodies of his knights upon them.

There was one standing Silver Knight, however, and hearing his footsteps, turned to him.

“Knight-Commander,” Tavia greeted, voice lacking her usual mirth. Her stance was tense, holding her spear tightly in her armored hand. “The cleric just left. He said I’m fit for duty.”

Carius looked her over, his gaze hidden behind his helmet. Once he was sure that indeed Tavia didn’t seem to hide any injury, he nodded and looked towards the beds. He knew Tavia wouldn’t lie to him, none of his knights ever would. Especially not she. But sometimes he felt the need for personal reassurance, and this was one such time.

For the bodies before him were twisted, arms in unnatural positions that screamed pain, legs buckled. The armor was cracked and bent.

His knights, frozen in their last moments by the basilisk’s curse.

“Start from the beginning,” the senior knight commanded, not looking away just yet.

Tavia nodded and began her report. “We were on a patrol as per the schedule, approximately two kilometers from the eastern rampart, near the base of the burned archtree. There were no signs of any foe, dragon or different, so we…,” her voice gave ever so slight tremble before it continued. “So I stopped being as vigilant as I should have been. I and Marius engaged in a conversation, while Ornas and Ilenia were upfront and behind, respectively, both some ten meters away from us.”

Carius’ frowned. Sloppy formation, if one could call it that. While the patrol was not expected to fight a dragon, any other foe could utilize this to attack the knights before they formed a defensive formation. That aside, it was not like Tavia to get distracted by mere words. Even in the heated debate, she remained collected and ever vigilant. But everything is once for the first time, he thought grimly. Of course, to begin needless chatter on a watch was forbidden to begin with, though he was not as naive to believe everyone obeyed such a rule at all times.

Well, perhaps now they will.

“Suddenly we heard that wretched croaking. It seemed to come from the left, where the tips of the archtree roots were. Or, at least I did hear it from that direction. But Ornas shouted and turned right, so I assume he heard it from there himself. Behind us, Ilenia did the same. The shouting, I mean.”

She took a breath and continued. “Marius rushed towards him to cover his back, while I turned to Ilenia. She shouted again, to watch my right, but before I could move a basilisk jumped out of the ground, spewing its black mist on me. That would have been the end of me, if not for Ilenia who pushed me out of the way. She did, but I fell.”

“I managed to get up just in time to pierce the creature as it was jumping on me, killing it. I wanted to pull Ilenia out of the cloud, but it already seeped into her. I couldn’t help her.”

Tavia’s inner turmoil was obvious from how tense she was, even more than before, but to her credit, her voice remained firm.

“I turned around and saw that Marius and Ornas killed two of those things, and were in the process of killing another two. I rushed towards them, but yet another basilisk appeared. I dispatched of it quickly, but it was still enough for the sixth one to appear behind them. I cast a lighting spear, but once again I was too late. It hit the target just a moment after it spewed its poison that enveloped both of them. Once I got there I tried to pull them out with my spear but just like Ilenia…”

“There were no other basilisks in the vicinity. I returned to Londo and wished to report to you immediately, but I was told to see the cleric first by Knight-Commander Arkon who spotted me on the way. He said he will send someone to pick up the bodies and notify you.”

She stopped. Her breathing was ragged now.

Carius looked at her. She was avoiding looking at his helmet directly.

“I failed them. I failed you and I failed our Lord. I’m sorry.”

Carius was silent throughout the report but now spoke.

“Yes. You did fail.”

He could see how slightly her body jerked in reaction.

He didn't continue for a moment, watching her carefully.

“But you still tried your best to remedy the situation by fighting, as any of your brothers would. You still tried to save Ornas and Marius, even if it left you exposed to another attack.”

“I will not tell you it was not your fault. All of you made a critical error by not keeping up the proper formation and being on guard, as per your training. Doubly so when close to remains of an archtree, that often serve as home to these creatures.”

He stepped closer and put a hand on her pauldrons. She seemed surprised but looked to his helmet for the first time all the same, where his eyes were hidden behind the darkness.

“But we all make mistakes. And while yours certainly contributed to this tragedy, the basilisks are cunning creatures. You know, just as well as I do, before the war, outside of rare battlefields, those things often were the primary cause of our fallen brethren.”
“You are not the first who lost to them, nor you will likely be the last. But at the very least, you prevailed and kept your own life. And that is what matters now.”

He took a step back and put his hands behind his back, taking a calming breath himself.

“You live, and as such, you can continue to serve our Lord. Learn from this.”

She seemed stunned momentarily, but once she recovered, she rapidly kneeled and put her right hand to her chestplate.

“I will, Knight-Commander. You have my promise, that I will. I won’t fail you again.”

Carius nodded but said nothing. Instead, he turned around and took several steps towards the still-busy part of the infirmary before he stopped for a moment again.

“Return to the garrison and rest.”

Without waiting for an answer, he took off again.

As he went through the beds once more, he thought about if he made the right decision. Tavia was an accomplished knight with a spotless record… until now. She showed a talent for command and her usually cheery personality earned her many friends within the ranks. She became something of a booster for the more mundane morale of the men. Her spear work also was one of the better ones within his entire vanguard.

And yet, despite her usually dutiful nature, she let her guard down during a patrol, playing her part in the deaths of his men. His knights.

He didn’t lie when he said that the blame lay with all of them, though in different ways. Her and Marcus talking for one, Ornas and Ilenia giving them room by being further away than they should have.

He momentarily wondered what was so important that it took the attention of both knights and made the other two respect their space, and while he had an inkling, he didn’t wish to presume. Not yet, at least.

At any rate, such blatant disregard for the protocol would be more than enough for him to strip her of her rank, let alone put her in the least distinguished parts of his avant-garde as a punishment.

But he did not do such a thing.

Why?

Why indeed.

Perhaps because you understand how she feels right now, a voice in his head said. Perhaps because you were on a similar spot once, years ago, not so long after this war started. Not acting according to the training, letting personal feelings get in the way.

In fact, you may even have been worse! You did so repeatedly, the only difference being your actions did not backfire, unlike Tavia's.

He thought back to the day when that changed. 

Chapter Text

“Break the formation! Draw its attention from the archers and then advance!” were the commands Knight-Chief Carius and his conroi received before Captain Ornstein disappeared behind the left ridge of a large rock formation. Logically, he was attempting to circumvent the stranded dragon and strike from behind. The dragon’s wings still had many greatarrows stuck in them, even as the beast attempted to lift itself to the skies again. A futile effort, fortunately, but it gave Carius some time to give orders to his men before the new dose of flame was surging their way.

Truthfully, this chaos was not exactly a standard situation as far as dragon hunting goes. While this more personal hunt’s strategy differed from large-scale battles against the Everlasting Dragons in many ways, the basics were the same. Fell the dragon from the sky before it gets too close to their lines. Give the knights time to move in from all sides as per usual. Let the archers rain arrows upon the beast from the distance. 

This dragon proved itself to be especially agile in the air, however and managed to get far closer to their lines than would be optimal. In fact, a moment later and it would crash directly into them.

The now retreating archers have found their mark at the last moment, though. So instead of crushing them underneath its weight, it just fell right in front of their shields. 

Hence the need for a more unorthodox and individual approach.

Still, in the end, this was nothing the Silver Knights haven’t faced before. Once the order was given, the armored soldiers moved accordingly with drilled efficiency. Captain Ornstein’s own forces were in the reserve in case more dragons arrived at the scene, as was the standard practice for all dragon hunting. As such, all Carius and his men had to do was to keep the beast’s attention trained on them long enough for the Dragonslayer to add another notch under his belt. 

Giving command to form five groups of three - one swordsman and two spearmen - Carius and his knights kept the dragon off balance. Always drawing in from the right and centre, trying to stab the dragon’s talons with their spears or slash at its tail if in proximity. While the actual damage they could inflict in their limited number was not great, the dragon still felt pain. And, naturally, reacted to it as any other creature would. 

Although, to consider it a mere beast would be a grave mistake. The Everlasting Dragons were far more than just animals; though their minds were alien, unfeeling, their intelligence was frightening nonetheless. As dangerous as it may be, constantly attacking the dragon and not giving it a moment of respite until a deadly blow is struck proved to be the optimal strategy when Lord Gwyn or his Firstborn weren’t involved. For if given time, the dragon would strategize and plot. 

The Silver Knights have learned that firsthand, more than once. 

The dragon did seem determined to remind him of its own ability to plan, and now a particularly strong fire breath forced two groups of his knights to cover themselves with their shields, separated from the others. Their blessed shields kept them safe, for a moment... But alas, it was not the flame only the dragon wished to use to dispatch its foes.

With their sight limited, massive, and deceivingly nimble tail swept from the side, the moment fire dispersed and crushed them below its weight, sounds of bending metal noticeable even through the noise of the battlefield. 

Coldness spread through his vein as he saw the broken bodies. Carius cursed and advanced with two of his brothers forward, trying to utilize the moment and elevate the pressure on his remaining knights, but the beast seemed to predict this as well. 

While its wings were no longer capable of flight, useable for other things they remained. The dragon demonstrated such by waving them close to the ground, rapidly sending a cloud of wind and dust onto Carius, forcing him to raise his shield. Realizing its intention, Carius shouted to the men following him to get down, as he rolled forward. A second later the tail indeed flew over their heads and the beast growled. In frustration perhaps, if it could feel such a thing. As his companions were rising to their feet, Carius, not wanting to lose the momentum, advanced forward. He saw the dragon poised to strike and jumped to the left, as the beast smashed its claw next to him. Taking a few more rapid steps, Carius was nearly underneath its jaw, its tiny eyes watching him for a moment with… something. It couldn’t be hatred, for the dragons felt nothing, did they not?

Other Silver Knights tried to get closer themselves in the meantime, but the claws and tail slashing rapidly in the air forced them to retreat momentarily once more. At the same time, the beast opened its jaw, revealing rows of sharp teeth. Taking a low stance, Carius grappled his longsword in two hands. If he would time this right, the blade would meet the dragon’s jaw as it comes crashing down, hopefully harming it in one of its few weak spots. Quickly whispering a prayer to the Greatlord, the blade came to life with golden lightning, giving him one advantage over the dragon. The beast lunged forward, intending to snap the soldier below in half. Carius deftly moved to the side, narrowly avoiding the attacking head, and in retaliation stroke the dragon near its lower teeth, just in time as it started to raise. Golden sparks flew off the scales as they clashed with metal, an odd smell of burn that Carius never quite got used to filling the air. Its head flew upwards in reaction even faster, as the lightning burned its jaw, and the dragon let out a nigh deafening roar.

Carius immediately took a guard stance and prepared for a relation of its own, likely in form of a claw smashing into his raised shield. That was the less refined part of his plan, and he will be lucky to survive such a hit. 

But no such counterattack came. 

The dragon’s roar went unnaturally silent.

Carius watched as the dragon stumbled backward, collapsing as its front legs could no longer carry its massive body. 

As it fell, a figure in golden armor stood proud on its back, spear deep within the prey’s spine. Golden sparks moved around it, spreading lightly across the stony scales around.

The helmet made in a visage of a lion turned to him. “By ordering you to draw its attention,” came the voice within it, “I didn’t mean for you to rush at it like a blind giant.”

Ah, he should have known the risky maneuver wouldn't earn him any favors. 

“It seemed like a necessary course of action, Captain,” responded Carius. The beast seemed to understand their diversion tactics and six of his knights paid for that in a matter of seconds. He tightened gripple on the handle of his sword at the thought.

The plan was to keep the dragon's attention directed at them, while another force or powerful champion, such as Ornstein, moved from the dead angle for the kill. The dragon saw through it. Ornstein himself was out of sight so it couldn't focus on him, but even then it still acted accordingly and ignored attacks from one side, to deal with the knights on the other first. If Carius wouldn't act and draw its full attention to himself, more of his men would likely be motionless bodies laying on the ground. 

Ornstein jumped off the dragon’s corpse in the meantime, landing gracefully next to the knight.

“'Necessary', he says,” murmured Ornstein to himself, and then continued in a clearer, but still subdued, voice. “Running straight at the dragon, while your men are not able to support you, slashing dragon's jaw as it tries to snap you in half instead of moving further to its hind legs, as is the common sense," he commented, with an undertone that vaguely reminded Carius of a father speaking to a disobedient child. "While I understand why you did so, you know as well as I do that was reckless. Heroism and recklessness are two sides of the same coin, but a true warrior must know how to balance those two qualities.” 

He was silent for another moment, pondering, then spoke again. "You can't always protect everyone. Throwing yourself in the harm's way, hoping the danger will seek you and not your men is… shortsighted."

He knew what the Captain meant. It seems somebody did notice his habit after all. 

Though it wasn't often, this wasn't the first time situation like this had occurred. Sometimes, in a middle of a battle, he saw his men fall and simply had to act. To save the rest of them. Reckless and unwise, yes, but it had yet to result in a defeat. As such, only a few, and only his own knights, ever called him out for it. But the Firstborn's right hand had a keen sight and keener mind. It wasn't surprising he would notice, even if he fought alongside Carius only occasionally. 

“You care for your men, and that's an admirable quality, Carius. But never forget you are a knight of Lord Gwyn, as are they. It is your duty to lead them, not to protect them.”

“We all misstep sometimes, make mistakes. But our path remains unchanged. Service is our life, Sir Carius. They know this, just like you do. Lead them accordingly.”

“I… I understand, Captain. I utilize my men to the best of my - and theirs - ability. I simply prefer to lead by the example, as you do,” responded the Silver Knight as his own winged helmet turned to face the plumed one. Not exactly a straight answer, but truthful nonetheless. He did wish to inspire, to be a leader his knights could look up to. Although, obviously, he certainly wouldn’t appreciate it if any of his men would try this kind of heroics themselves. 

The Dragonslayer knew this as well, so as to not give him time to misunderstand, Carius continued.

“And I believe our results speak for themselves… But I understand what you say. I will do my best to not act in such a manner in the future.” Or at least he will try. 

Ornstein nodded. “That is all I am asking of you.”

They returned to their knights, who already reformed the ranks and were waiting for them.

Stepping before the gathered silver armors, he declared in loud voice: “The dragon is dead. You all make Lord Gwyn proud. And you do so with skill and bravery unequaled by others. Be proud.”

Carius rejoined his conroi, including the adjutant archers, just as Ornstein turned to them. “You have my thanks for the assistance in this hunt, brother knights. I will make certain to mention your skill to our Lord, personally.” 

Fists hitting breastplates in salute were his answer. 

“Now, with the foe felled, let us return and rest. You earned it.”

As they formed a marching formation, joined by the Ornstein's men from the rearguard, Carius glimpsed at the broken bodies of his brothers. Crushed by the dragon’s tail, their armor dirty and ruined. They shall remain here. On the surface, where dexterity and speed were essential, none could afford to be encumbered with more than their own armor and armaments. 

Ornstein’s words are true. Carius knew this and yet never admitted it as such to himself. He knew he was unnecessarily reckless at times in his desire to avoid scenes such as these. So far he was lucky. But he should have known better than to jeopardize Lord Gwyn’s war, even in such a small way. He has his role on the battlefield, as do his knights. 

He can't risk failing his Lord.

Chapter Text

Carius fought alongside Ornstein a few more times since then, but the Captain of the Silver Knights was a busy man; if not found at the side of the Firstborn, he was out in the field hunting. More often then than not, talks with him were limited to strategy and morale, rather than anything else.

But never again did the Dragonslayer bring up the topic of the conversation Carius just thought about. A good thing, he hopes, as he neared his personal quarters.

Except for Captain Ornstein himself, only the other knight-commanders had the luxury of their own personal room. Small as it were, it provided privacy the other Silver Knights could only dream of. It never was a serious issue, however, as the knights rarely were off-duty. And if they were, personal training or meditations often filled the free hours well.

Though he did spot some of his brothers and sisters spending their time differently not a long ago. Playing some sort of game, he assumed. It reminded him of the dice Havel’s men played.

He never understood the point of such activity, but until it does not start affecting their duties he was content to let his knights do whatever they wished in their free time. Again, not that there was much of it anyway.

Nodding to the guard patrolling the hall, he was about to open door to his office, when another Silver Knight appeared. Greatbow in hand and nonchalant stroll betrayed the soldier’s identity.

Carius let out a tiny sight escape his helmet and gestured towards the door, as he entered. The other knight followed him and closed it after entering.

His office was a small thing. There were no windows, as it was deep within the castle wall, light instead created by candles that never burned out, courtesy of the archives of the Pale Drake, that resided on the highest peak of Londo.

There were several bookshelves, mostly filled with administrative work. Some personal texts could also be found among them as well, often detailing swordsmanship and leadership. The walls between those were sparsely decorated, with only several small white banners that proudly displayed a golden circle, the emblem of their Lord Gwyn and his family.

The most dominant feature was a large dark wooden table, made from the roots of the archtrees found deep within the underground.

“You are hard to find today,” started Ordelius, as he leaned against his bow. “I already tried to run into you in the barracks and then in the medical wing, but you just keep moving.”

As he sat down behind his desk, filled with reports and other bureaucratic papers, Carius couldn’t help himself but snap lightly. “Some of us have actual duties to attend to, Ordelius.”

“So I’ve heard,” came the reply. Suddenly, his stance became ever so slightly more pointed, as he spoke again. “I also heard that Tavia’s conroi has suffered casualties.”

Carius had a desire to curse suddenly. If there is one thing he dislikes about this place, it’s how rapidly news and rumors travel. He had wanted to tell his knights personally of their loss before opinions formed. He didn’t believe any of his knights would act wrongly towards Tavia even if they would think she was to blame, but better to control the situation himself… or that was the case anyway. Damn gossip.

He didn’t let his thoughts show, however, as he answered. “You have heard correctly. Tavia’s conroi fell to the basilisk ambush. I just returned from the infirmary where I debriefed her.”

Feeling his friend’s tension, he added. “Tavia herself is fine. A cleric cleared her for duty.”

Ordelius relaxed, but remained silent for a while, collecting his thoughts. “That doesn’t sound like her, to get ambushed in open terrain by those big-eyed bastards.”

Carius thought about how much he should reveal. He knew Ordelius cared for Tavia, but that didn’t mean he should know more than she herself would wish to reveal… on the other hand, perhaps he might fill in a part Carius himself was missing. After some delibaration, he gave the basic retelling of the events.

“So, they didn’t hold a proper patrol formation and Marius distracted Tavia with his nonsense again.” He gave a huff. “Of course he would. Typical.”

“So it seems. Though Tavia herself seemed was significantly more critical of herself than anyone else. I was hoping perhaps you could fill in the blanks why they felt the need to converse on duty in the first place.”

Ordelius gave him a pointed look, which was impressive all considering Carius couldn’t see his eyes at all. “She is always critical of herself. She caught that from you.”

“Hmm.”

“As for Marius, and may his soul rest easy within the Flame, you also know the man could be obsessive at times.”

Carius did know that. It’s why he never elevated him in the rank. As skillful Sir Marius was, his personality left a great deal to be desired.

“Last time I heard him, he kept bothering Tavia with senseless talk about how humans seem to trade rings or some such nonsense.”

Humans. Why is it always humans or something connected to them?

“I am not surprised he wouldn’t relent even during active duty. What I do not understand is why would Tavia let him,” said Ordelius, voice uncharacteristically emotional. Somewhat.

“Why indeed,” pondered Carius in response. “I believe that’s a question you have to ask her yourself.”

Ordelius tilted his head in confusion. “Shouldn’t that be something you should worry about as well?”

Carius, now looking at the amassed paperwork before him, waved his hand. “She assured me this was a lapse in judgment that shan’t repeat. As tragic as this situation is, I trust her she will not fail again.”

Sighing, Ordelius took a step towards the door. “I suppose that’s fair enough. Sounds like something you would say, at least.”

As Ordelius left, Carius dimly wondered: personal relationships aren’t forbidden among the servants of Gwyn, but if they have the possibility of distracting anyone from their duties in such a way, is it truly wise to keep it that way?

Ornstein’s words came back to him and he couldn’t help but chuckle coldly at the irony.

Carius shook his head to clear and took the first report into his gloved hands. With rank comes responsibility, respect, prestige, and an undivine amount of paperwork. The already mentioned reports, be it of military or logistical nature, were not all that he had to focus on, however. There were also notes from his own knights, asking various questions they didn’t wish to give directly, for whatever reason. It was his own idea to come up with this when he became a knight-commander. He can’t spend all of his time helping those under his command, but paperwork offers him unique time room to do so. And he always was happy to help his knights.

All in all, unlike his fellow commanders, he didn’t mind the administrative part of his schedule that much. It was a nice contrast to the rest of his duties. Arkon especially tends to go on and on about his hatred for the activity.

And so, several hours had passed since his conversation with Ordelius, when a sound of knocking made him look up from his desk.

“Enter.”

The tall knight that came through the door - he had to bow slightly to fit through - made Carius rapidly stand up, hitting his table in the process. Cringing slightly, he still saluted with vigor.

“Sir Artorias! What an honour!”

The Wolf Knight, the Second Knight of Gwyn, was a legend. One man to match Captain Ornstein’s martial skill. A force of nature, a knight with an unbreakable will. Loyal through all.

And a Silver Knight, though nobody considered him as such anymore, of course. His armor was proof of that: only his gauntlets remained identical to that of Carius. The rest of his plate reflected his unique status within the Lord’s Gwyn army. His hood, always covering his face, was part of an embroidered blue scarf around his shoulders.
“The honour is mine, Knight-Commander Carius,” responded Artorias, as he saluted in return. “Would you mind if I would take a seat for a moment?”

It’s not every day one of the Four comes to his office, so Carius hoped his momentary surprised silence was excused. He composed himself quickly, however, and nodded.

“Of course, brother knight, make yourself comfortable,” he said as he sat down again.

Artorias gave a small laugh. It surprised Carius. He never heard the Wolf Knight laugh before. It was actually quite a pleasant sound.

“Not many call me like that anymore. Out of reverence, Lord Gwyn had said, though I admit I miss it. I appreciate you still see me as one of the Order, Sir Carius.”

Carius wasn’t surprised. Artorias had an imposing presence, often silent, letting his actions speak instead. It made him separated from the rank-and-file in more ways than just one.

“I never had reason not to, Sir Artorias. You are the greatest of us, and inspiration for all Silver Knights.”

Artorias made a noncommittal sound and looked upon the paper-filled desk.

“Hard at work, I see. Ornstein always loved relaying the paperwork down the line.”

“I do not mind it. It is relaxing, not to mention needed.”

That earned him another laugh. “You are probably the only knight within these walls I heard to say such a thing. But that’s good, I think skills such as these will be needed in the new world far more than blade and bow.”

Carius nodded, “Yes, so I always hoped myself.”

“Do you still read those texts about architecture? I recall hearing you do so in your spare time,” asked Artorias, surprising Carius for the second time. He never knew anybody knew, let alone that Knight Artorias himself would hear of it.

Carius hesitated for a moment, then said truthfully, “Not as much as I would like to, but I do not wish to complain. My duties take priority.”

Artorias nodded, “As do for all of us.”

They both remained silent for the next moment, as Carius couldn’t help but ask what brought the Wolf Knight into his office.

Suddenly the mood changed, and Artorias' tone of voice grew stoic and serious, far more akin to what he came to expect from the tall man.

“I came to ask you if you have heard of any unusual reports in the past several weeks. Primarily coming from the base of the mountain on which Londo stands. Your battalion was tasked with protecting the walls this month.”

Carius frowned. Could he mean the most recent basilisk attack? No, while unfortunate, it wasn’t anything drastically out of the norm. There was that one incident involving the Slave Knights and Bishop Havel in their drinking match a few days ago in one of the human settlements surrounding the mountain, but that certainly wasn’t it either.

“I do not recall anything truly significant to warrant any serious action. Why do you ask? Should we be on the lookout for something?”

“I am uncertain, truthfully, which is why I came to see you first. We have been hearing rumors of odd things happening in the area. Humans fighting odd creatures, though no one seems to know anything about it.”

“With all due respect, it might be just that, Sir Artorias. Rumors. Humans are sometimes a bit… unpredictable, to say the least. Perhaps it was just some minor skirmishes between them and someone mistook their foes for something else.”

Artorias remained silent for a while until he spoke again. “Perhaps you are right, Knight-Commander. But I would still ask you to be wary of any odd reports coming from that area. If anything unusual occurs...”

“You will be the first to know,” assured Carius.

He could hear some of the positive mood returning to Artorias, as he spoke again.

“That’s all I ask, brother knight.”

Chapter Text

The training hall was busy with the sounds of drills and tutored combat. Despite the room’s singular purpose, its white walls and columns were elegantly decorated with etchings and other engravings, just like the rest of the divine stronghold.

As Carius stepped into an elevated platform to take a break from his own drills, his eyes observing a relief on the ceiling, sounds of heated combat reached his ears. He turned towards the source, though he knew what he would see.

To say Ledo was eccentric would be an understatement. If he would be any other soldier, Carius would already make certain Ledo remained within the citadel at all times to not get in the way.

The man was silent to a fault; Carius never heard him utter more than a singular sentence at once. He was a loner too, rarely found in the presence of others unless duty called for it. Most mind-boggling, however, was his fighting style. Ledo took a liking to wielding his sword with both hands, swinging it like some kind of club at all times, rather than an elegant blade it was.

Not qualities that made a Silver Knight of Lord Gwyn.

In hindsight though, it wasn’t surprising Bishop Havel took a liking to him instead.

Havel, with a highly irregular request in mind, came to Carius one day. He wanted Ledo to accompany his battalion in battles, arguing that the knight’s martial skill coaligned better with that of the stone-clad humans.

“He is very good at what he does, isn’t he?” the cleric in question said, stepping onto the platform as well.

As Carius watched Ledo demolish his training partners with brute strength and unusual strategizing, he was reminded why he had granted that request. And convinced Ornstein to do so as well.

“So it seems,” responded the Silver Knight, just as Ledo smacked his opponent so hard it sent the poor man flying.

“You already are aware we gave him a nice hefty mace to wield, but I’m thinking it still doesn’t quite yet complement his fighting style.”

Arms behind his back, Carius half-glanced at the Bishop. “I actually half-expected you will direct him to the nearest dragon and tell him to pull a tooth out of that one,” he joked.

“Believe it or not, I did consider doing that at first, yes,” admitted Havel.

Another of Ledo’s opponents went to chart the air, landing into wooden barrels in the corner of the room. The healer watching over the match ran towards the gal, cursing under his breath no doubt.

“Hmm. I thought not even your men have the honour of wielding one of those.”

Havel waved his hand as he said, “Nothing so chivalrous. They just prefer different weaponry. It just happens we all have a slight preference towards sticks that have a blunt end.”

Carius thought to the myriad of maces, warhammers, and warpicks the Bishop’s clerics wield. A slight preference towards blunt weaponry indeed.

“As for Ledo, despite his… unique quirks, he is still a Silver Knight. He possesses and uses agility that is natural to your kind. There is certainly a weapon that could combine both his strength and dexterity into a devastating whole. It’s just a matter of finding what he feels comfortable with.”

Carius nodded in agreement. He thought so as well, though admittedly he came up short when he thought of ways that would fit Ledo’s style the best. Not exactly his area of expertise. Fortunately, Havel was obviously up to the task.

Ledo’s opponents finally seemed to figure out a personal duel wouldn’t do them any favors and the remaining three warriors descended upon him at once. To his honour, Ledo deftly dodged and counterattacked, but in the end, was overwhelmed nonetheless.

Seeing the fight was nearing its end, the Bishop raised his hand and shouted: “Enough!”

The combatants obeyed immediately and created a line as Havel descended towards them from the platform. Carius watched as he arrived before them, gesturing calmly as he pointed out the mistakes he had observed, trying to improve their future performance. Ledo especially seemed to hang onto every word.

The sounds of sabatons hitting the tiled floor made Carius turn around. He could hear the urgency in them.

“Commander Carius, sir! Your presence is needed at the northern lower palisade!”

“What seems to be the problem, Ademar?” asked Carius as he began walking through the halls, leaving the training area behind.

“I am uncertain, I understand there is some kind of commotion before the wall, but I was sent for you before I could see more.”

“No dragons then?” Not that he expected to be any. There were not many of them left anywhere near Londo. On the other hand, not many things required his direct attention. The walk alone could take more than ten minutes, so it had to be something unusual.

“Not as far as I know, sir,” answered the Silver Knight.

***

This lower wall of Londo - one of the many - was not as bright as those above it. The stone here was darker, rougher. It got only darker so the further one descended from the top of the mountain.

Stone more akin to what they all knew from the underground.

As he and Adamar neared the rampart, Carius could see not only four of his Silver Knights present, but surprisingly he also spotted a smaller figure among them as well. What is she doing here?

It had to be her. None of her shadowy sisters resided within Londo.

But then again, even if they did, he wouldn’t know, would he, thought Carius bitterly.

Seeing him approach, one of the knights separated from the group and marched with determined steps towards him. If he remembered the schedule right - and he always did - this segment of the wall was under Tavia’s protection this week.

“Dame Tavia. You were the one that called for me?” asked Carius, once she was near enough.

“I did so, Commander Carius, though Blade Ciaran was the one to suggest it before I gave the command. She also insisted on sending for Sir Artorias as well,” Tavia said, as she looked towards the Lord’s Blade. “One of my soldiers witnessed the ground’s collapse. It formed a small ravine, as you will see yourself. After I got here, I was about to send some of my knights to check it for possible danger - just the ridges, of course - but lady Ciaran arrived soon after I did and stopped me from doing so. She specifically requested both yours and Sir Artorias’ presence.”

Carius nodded in acknowledgment and gestured for the knights to follow him. He hasn't talked with the Wolf Knight since their conversation several weeks ago. There was nothing since then there was important enough to report. That changed now, it seems.

Walking forward towards the rampart, Tavia and Adamar behind him, the Silver Knight grappled the cold stone as he gazed downwards, seeing the cause for the first time; indeed, a deformity was formed within the gray ground on the small plateau below the wall.

It wasn’t a canyon, by any means. Not more than four knights could fit through it in width, though in length it did spread some twenty meters towards the ledge of the natural platform.

As far as Knight-Commander Carius could tell, it was a fairly ordinary hole in the ground.

Odd that it would form out of seemingly nothing though, and as such exploration was in order.

He could understand summoning him for this matter, but why Sir Artorias? And why was Ciaran here?

As he gazed into the blackness of the chasm, however, unease settled over him.

“You can feel it too, yes?” said the Fourth Knight of Gwyn, Ciaran of the Lord’s Blades, as she stood next to him.

Carius turned his winged helmet to her, trying to understand the intent behind the question. But as capable as he was in reading the body language of others, the assassin was an enigma to him.

In the end, the truth would serve him the best here, he thought.

“I admit I feel somewhat anxious, now that I looked at it. I presume you know why that is? Is this feeling the reason why you sent for me and Knight Artorias?”

“In a part, Knight-Commander. Even so, I believe Artorias will be more suited to explaining this to you. Before he arrives, I request you ready the best out of your present knights and be prepared to move out.”

“Move out?” echoed Carius. “With all due respect, Dame Ciaran, on whose authority do you give such command? I, or any of my knights, are not allowed to depart from our posts without the approval of Captain Ornstein. Not even you or Sir Artorias can command us.”

The woman didn’t even turn to him, but her voice, mired with cold amusement, was enough to give a hint of her feelings on the matter. But it was her next words that surprised Carius the most.

“By authority of none other than the Lord of Sunlight himself.”

Chapter Text

“How’s Sif, Sir Artorias?” asked Ademar, as their group descended the many slippery stairs.

Artorias answered without hesitation, obviously happy to talk about his trusted animal companion, no matter the time or place. “I believe quite well at the moment, sir knight. She recently delivered so I let her rest as much as she needs.”

“Ah, I see. Congratulations,” said the Silver Knight in response, and Wolf Knight thanked in return.

Ciaran’s and Tavia’s silence spoke volumes.

“What exactly did Ciaran tell you?” asked the Wolf Knight, as got slightly ahead of their small group.

“Just that the Greatlord gave the command. I admit I do not understand entirely how, but I presume this is connected to your request about keeping an eye out during our watch duties?”

“Yes,” said Artorias, silencing for a moment before continuing. “How much do you know of the Pygmy Knights, Sir Carius?”

Frowning behind his helmet at the out-of-dark question, Carius answered by listing all things he knew about them, which is to say, not much. The dark-armored knights were an enigma, but their power could not be underestimated. Some would even say that they were the best human warriors within the Lords’ army. One of the first to make a name for themselves. The Silver Knight never even met one of them personally, however, so all he knew was just second-hand knowledge.

Artorias hummed in answer, as he and Carius opened a large reinforced door that led into the plateau.

They were followed by Tavia and Ademar - both wielding their trusty spears and shields - and, of course, Ciaran. The rest of the knights remained atop the wall, not ceasing in their patrol.

Artorias gestured at their companions to move slightly ahead, then turned to Carius, taking him slightly aside.

“Several weeks ago, we have received a report from Ciaran’s sisters that some of the Pygmy Knights have not returned to their garrison after a minor skirmish with a dragon. The beast survived, as did the knights, but they were lost in the fog. Nobody heard of them since.”

So there are more Lord’s Blades within the citadel and beyond, watching all. Not surprising, but still somewhat unnerving. That aside, Carius thought back to the plans and maps of Londo he had seen. “Their garrison is close to this place, is it not? Near the South Burg, though I’ve heard the humans there don’t interact with them much.”

Artorias nodded. “They have a reputation even among the other humans. They are an isolated group, all considered, as they are the representatives of the Pygmy Kings. As you well know, many humans do not bow to them. The relations can be… tense, sometimes.”

“But back to the lost knights: normally, this wouldn’t be such a cause for concern. I don’t have to explain to you that sometimes even the most competent soldiers simply disappear, ambushed by the dragons or other creatures.”

Carius looked behind the Wolf Knight’s shoulder, momentarily glimpsing at Tavia. “You do not.”

“But accidentally, I accompanied the Pygmy Knights in the last great battle, as they assisted me in dispatching our winged foe. Their performance was flawless, and yet, I noticed something odd. Their armor was cracked at some places and some of them acted strangely; they were erratic, jittery even. On our march back they didn’t talk, instead of marching silently. But I could see the tension in their shoulders.”

“I’ve heard they are stoic individuals,” Carius chimed in.

“They are. Not in the same way as you or I, though. They are… detached, at times. Cold, though obviously, they care a great deal about fulfilling their duty… At any rate, I mentioned this to Ornstein, who in turn reported this to our Lord,” said Artorias.

The Knight of Gwyn took a deep breath and looked Carius straight into the blackness of his helmet.

“The Greatlord believes their unusual behavior is caused by the Dark Soul.”

Carius gripped the hilt of his sword tight at the last two words but forced nonchalant calmness into his voice.

“I do not wish to doubt the words of our Lord, but is that even possible? Each human carries only a tiny piece. Though the Pygmy Knights are closer to Him than any other.”

“Indeed, it sounds unlikely to me as well. I suspect there is more to that than just them possessing the Dark Soul, but our Lord did not disclose any other knowledge. And in the end, it does not matter, our orders remain the same.”

“And what are the orders, exactly, if you do not mind me asking, brother knight. The Lord's Blade didn’t mention the details, as I have said. And how do the Pygmy Knights play into this?”

Artorias, still in thought, shook his head to clear it. “The Pygmy Knights lost in the fog are alive and are currently beneath us. Our command is to find them within the cavern and bring them before Lord Gwyn.”

“You could have started with that, sir knight,” said the Silver Knight.

“I could have. But I wanted to know how much you know.”

“Hmm. How do you know they are here, at this spot where the ravine formed?”

Artorias looked towards Ciaran, who was conversing with Tavia and Ademar, who both stood at attention before her.

“I don’t know much, but this isn’t the first time something like this had happened, at least according to Ciaran. The Pygmy Knights have been under her own watchful gaze for a while, it seems. Small deformations in terrain such as these happened before and she seems to believe it’s connected to our mission. She refused to say more. She is secretive like that.”

“So, to summarize, we have to enter the ravine, find the Pygmy Knights that are likely there and apprehend them,” Carius stated. “Do you believe they will resist?”

“I hope not,” admitted Artorias, “but we cannot dismiss the possibility. As I have said, they acted oddly weeks ago. The Fire knows in what state of mind they are now.”

Carius still didn’t understand everything. Nor did Sir Artorias, apparently. But then again, did they have to? Knight’s duty is to obey, that is all. If Lord Gwyn wished for the Pygmy Knights to be brought before him, they shall make it so.

There was still one thing bothering him though.

“Why tell me all of this? Why not simply give me a watered-down version like Blade Ciaran is doing now to my knights, no doubt.”

The Second Knight of Gwyn looked at him and then gave a small laugh. “This is exactly why, brother knight. Your inquisitive nature would distract you otherwise.”

Before he started walking toward their waiting companions, he also added.

“And because Lord Gwyn himself wished for you to know, naturally.”

***

The entrance into the ravine was small, but once it was clear that Sir Artorias could fit, the descent was surprisingly simple. The pale light from above slowly disappeared, however, and the knights were left in darkness, only the blades of the blessed silver weapons dimly shining in the darkness.

It is a good thing all of them were used to it though. While the visibility was obviously decreased, their eyes adjusted well enough ahead to respond to any possible threat.

Sir Artorias was walking first, his greatshield in one hand, the legendary greatsword in the other. Carius was beside him, his own straight sword and shield at the ready. Tavia and Ademar walked behind, spears and shields in a prepared position. The Fourth Knight of Gwyn was walking last, her footsteps silent and perfect hearing ideal for any possible attack from behind.

Bar the Hornet Knight, who wore her light black cuirass over the blue robe, the knights wore metal armor and chainmail; the sounds of metal, while not loud, echoed through the tunnel.

Nonetheless, none uttered a word.

The cold feeling Carius had at the palisade was growing only stronger the deeper they went. There were no signs his companions felt the same, but judging the Blade’s words earlier, it was likely.

Suddenly, the stone around them shook.

Steadying themselves, the knights waited, but no other tremor, nor anything else, came.

Artorias gestured lightly with his weapons and forward they went again.

They walked for several more minutes, the tunnel widening, but it did not branch out.

Then again the ground trembled, this time far stronger than before, forcing the group to steady themselves by leaning against the wall.

It suddenly occurred to Carius that the stone wall was smooth, too much for it to be a recent deformity in the rock. He voiced his thought.

“The lower parts of the mountain on which Londo and the Burgs stand are riddled with natural tunnels and caverns, all connected,” spoke Ciaran. “It wasn’t created recently. But with these tremors, it was merely a matter of time before one of its ceilings caved in.”

The next voice belonged to Tavia. “You seem to know much about this place. Why do we need to explore this particular path then?”

“Knowing is my duty, Silver Knight. But to answer your question, it provides us with secrecy. The Pygmy Knights are careful and I do not believe we would find them here unless we took a route they are not yet aware of.”

They walked for yet more before Artorias stopped once again.

“Light ahead. Be ready,” he ordered.

Then they entered a massive cave. There were a few holes within the ceiling, dim light of the unformed world shining down upon the massive empty space.

Or mostly empty. Roughly in the middle of the cavern, a small rough stone structure stood, and orange light of fire could be seen coming from it.

And while it was difficult to say from the distance, Carius was certain there were several black figures moving around it.

Crouching behind a small stone, Artorias calmly took a deep breath, exhaled, and looked at Ciaran. She nodded.

“I will leave the details to you and the Knight-Commander. Just distract them.”

“You know that’s what I do best,” responded the Wolf Knight, smirk clear in his voice.

A seemingly exasperated tiny sigh escaped the porcelain mask as she took a step back. “That I do, Artorias.”

And suddenly she was gone like she never stood there in the first place.

“Distract them?” echoed Ademar.

Artorias nodded. “She works best alone, not to mention the frontline isn’t exactly her forté. Us, on the other hand…” He stood up. “Carius, take your knights down that small gorge, they won’t see you until you enter the open space. The moment you do so, rush forward and draw a confrontation. Tell them to surrender their weapons, that you act by the orders of the Lord of Sunlight, the usual. I will move from the left in the meantime. If they won’t be willing to listen just engage, I will attempt to flank them.”

“So you remove their direct route for retreat,” added Carius.

“Exactly. And remember, preferably we want them alive. But do not hesitate to defend with all your skill if it comes to that.”

Tavia hummed in thought. “Which it may, given their reputation.”

“Yes,” agreed the Wolf Knight. “May the Fire be with you, brothers and sister.”

“And you, brother knight,” wished Carius in return.

The Silver Knights moved, carefully moving down the small natural path. It took some maneuvers, but none of them fell and soon they touched the uneven mossy floor.

“What is our approach, sir?” asked Tavia as she checked the straps on her equipment.

“You have remarked so yourself; if it comes to fight, the Pygmy Knights are fearsome opponents. Don't allow them to flank you, which means don't advance too far ahead. Cover each other's flank, I will cover yours right. The left side has those rocks so those can cover your left, if you don't move too far. Other than that, remember your training and we will prevail.”

“As you command!”

The cavern was large, but there were enough rocks and deformations within the terrain in the way for them to cover their approach until they were some one hundred meters away from the stone structure. From up close it still looked rather unremarkable with no specific purpose, but he could now see that it had a chimney, placed on a small tower that rose from the structure. A small trail of smoke was coming out of it.

The uneasiness was significant now, a presence within his body and mind. He never felt anything like it before.

He was about to move forward, but an unnatural scream came from his right.

He looked that way, to see one of the Pygmy Knights pointing at them with his spear, still screaming loudly. No point in hiding now, Carius thought, and his knights moved out of the cover a bit, and he was about to state their intentions despite the unnerving welcome. But then he noticed a rapid movement. Acting on reaction, he raised his shield, just in time to deflect a bolt that hit his shield with a clank.

So that resolved the question of hostility.

Tavia, her shield raised as well, shouted “an arbalist, on the tower!”

Looking that way, Carius's eyesight confirmed her words. He wasn’t there before, curse it.

Fortunately, it seemed they had only one crossbow and it took some time to reload. Unfortunately, two Pygmy Knights were rushing towards them, both wielding a spear.

They couldn’t wait among the rocks, those would limit their agility too much. And in brute strength, the Pygmy Knights undoubtedly would prevail.

“Advance in loose formation! Focus on the opponent on the left, I will take on the other one!”

The moment they left the cover of the stone, another bolt hit a shield, this time that of Ademar. The arbalist didn’t take his time to aim, thank the Flame.

It was Ademar that engaged first, parrying the spear of his opponent and counter attacking with his own, though the slash was blocked by the Pygmy Knight’s black armor.

Tavia attempted to use the moment to pierce the foe’s leg to immobilize him, but the stone shield blocked the attack.

Carius’ opponent attacked with vigor, rapidly attempting to stab the Silver Knight. The attacks had great physical force in them, forcing the Knight-Commander to take a step back. But the Pygmy Knight was sloppy, not once changing his pattern. Once he tried to stab once more, Carius parried the strike with his shield and stabbed in return, hitting the enemy’s arm. Dark blood poured out of it, but the Pygmy Knight didn’t seem to mind. He growled and continued his offensive, this time beginning with a shield bash.

The Silver Knight rolled to the side, avoiding the shield made in an image of a dragon’s head, but the Pygmy Knight did not relent and smashed his shield in his direction once more, this time hitting Carius to the chest.

Stumbling back, he saw the Pygmy Knight grappling his spear with both hands, its sharp top glowing orange and red. He rushed forward, meaning to skewer his opponent through and through.

Carius stood his ground, raising his shield. But a moment before the spear made contact he deftly slashed at it upside down with his sword, changing its course and making it miss his body by a small margin. He then put his own strength into a shield bash of his own and collided with his opponent.

The Pygmy Knight growled, an unnatural sound just like the scream, and was momentarily stunned. That was all the Silver Knight needed. He advanced forward and stabbed his opponent through his neck, piercing the chainmail and the flesh beneath it.

Blood flew downwards as Carius pulled his sword out. The human fell to his knees, struggling momentarily, before going silent and unmoving.

Now that there wasn’t one of his brethren in the way, he saw the crossbow wieldier taking aim. Carius raised his shield but knew he would be a moment late.

But he wasn’t. No bolt came.

Looking at the tower, he saw the arbalist falling down, blood spilling from his throat as Ciaran already moved onto her next target, her curved blades stained with red. Two black-armored knights rose to the challenge and moved to intercept the small woman.

Carius didn’t think they would last long.

He looked to his right, just in time to see Tavia’s lightning-imbued spear pierce her foe’s chestplate. Unfortunately, Ademar was on his knees, a bolt in his arm and a burning slash in his abdomen.

More Pygmy Knights appeared out of the stone house, this time five of them.

He hoped those are the last ones, Carius pondered as he rushed toward Ademar.

“How bad is it?” he asked, but he knew the moment he looked at it.

“Nothing serious sir, but I’m afraid I won’t be of much use anymore,” came the strained answer from the kneeling knight, as he held his bleeding wound.

Tavia glanced at him with worry but took a defensive stance. “Foe approach,” she announced.

Carius joined his shield to hers, about to command to move forward, to take the fight from Adamar, but then one of the Pygmy Knights rushing towards them was suddenly smashed beneath a greatsword of the Wolf Knight as he jumped from a near rock.

The other three slowed down, realizing they now faced a foe from two sides. And not just any foe. The Second Knight of Gwyn himself.

Two of them looked at each other, taking a defensive stance themselves, slowly and deliberately moving towards Artorias. They knew their foe.

The other two kept rapidly advancing onto the Silver Knights, one with a spear and the other with a sword.

Metal clashed as silver and black iron met. Both pairs fought together, attacking one opponent for one moment, and switching to the other enemy in an instant.

Carius parried a strike from the opposing swordsman with his own blade, but his counterattack was interrupted by a spear hitting the side of his helmet.

The same situation happened again, but this time reversed as Carius slashed upon the enemy spearman as he aimed for Tavia’s leg.

The Pygmy Knights knew the Silver Knights needed room to properly use their preferred fighting style and were adamant about not granting them any such opportunity.

It was then a lighting spear hit the human with a spear, burning his side just as he was about to strike. Tavia used the moment and bashed his spear away with her shield and stabbed the enemy to the same spot where the golden miracle made an impact.

The other hooded warrior, right after parrying Carius, used this moment to horizontally slash Tavia in turn. A black sword came to life for a moment with flames and bit into her upper arm, making her scream.

But this move cost the Pygmy Knight dearly. Carius used the edge of his shield to strike into the Pygmy Knight’s skull mask, once, twice, cracking it. Pieces fell from it. A dark blood-shot eye looked at him back, its pupil large and full of madness.

He kicked his opponent, making the traitor fall down. Then, for a moment, he could see fear in that eye.

Gripping his sword with both hands, Carius let it fall upon the exposed part of the face.

Quickly moving into a guard stance, he observed his surroundings. But there were no other foes to fight. Those who foolishly fought Sir Artorias lay dead, both of their heads separated from their shoulders.

He couldn’t see Blade Ciaran, but he doubted she was in danger. Not to mention, Artorias was already entering the building.

The battle was over.

Carius kneeled in front of Tavia, eyeing up the slash on her arm. “That was reckless. You shouldn’t have exposed yourself.”

Tavia groaned. “I know. But the opportunity was too good to pass up. Couldn’t let Adamars spear come to waste,” she said with a louder voice, looking toward him.

She froze.

“Ademar…?”

The Silver Knight was unmoving, laying on the ground, the blessed spear still in his hand, a pool of blood staining the ground beneath him.

She took a deep breath and then exhaled.

Carius put a hand on her shoulder, for a few moments. He could say Adamar did his duty, that his last ounce of energy was used to help his comrades to win their fight.

But those weren’t words Tavia wanted nor needed to hear right now.

After all, he would know.

Instead, Carius rose, and went towards the building, eyeing the bodies of the Pygmy Knights.

All of their armor looked unkept, and cracked, though still obviously effective in its purpose.

He entered the building. It was barren, with no decorations or furnishing anywhere.

Except for something that looked like a smithing station in the middle. There was fire, now dying, next to it. But it seemed the main part of the contraption was an apparatus joined to it.

A small opening into this part of the forge revealed utter and complete blackness.

At that moment, Carius knew, that this was the source of the biting feeling that was nigh overwhelming now.

“Do not stare into it for too long, or you might lose yourself,” came a warning from behind him. Quickly turning around, sword at the ready, he saw the Lord’s Blade. She was calmly cleaning her blades with a purple handkerchief. But now, for the first time, he could see tension in her body as well.

“What is this?” he asked, moving towards her, away from the forge.

“The source of the tremors and something that made us distrust the Pygmy Knights from the very beginning,” was the answer. “But I cannot tell more. Only our Lord can. And the decision is His. Though I suspect the Pygmy Knights will soon face consequences for this.” The last part was said with small, but clear, satisfaction. 

The knight exhaled and was silent for a moment. Then he voiced his other worry.

“We did not manage to take any of them alive, Dame Ciaran. You have my apologies.”

Both of them moved outside now. As they crossed the threshold, Ciaran spoke. “Truthfully, I did not expect you to, though more prisoners would of course be welcome. But you and your knights did well nonetheless, Knight-Commander. This ordeal would be a great deal more complicated without your presence. You have my thanks.”

Slightly moving her head in the direction of Tavia and Adamar, she then added. “And I will mourn for your lost comrade.”

Carius nodded in thanks, though he said nothing to that.

“As for the prisoners, I managed to defeat one of the humans without killing her, as difficult as the heretic made it. Artorias is currently tying her up. She will be taken into the citadel before our Lord, as ordered.”

So the mission wasn’t a failure. That's something.

She turned to him now, giving him a slightest of bows. “As for you, Sir Carius, take Dame Tavia and Sir Ademar and go. We will handle the rest.”

And so he did.

Chapter Text

Rays of gold shone from the crystal-clear sky, bathing the green land of Lordran below in colours many yet had to grow used to.

Since its founding, Londo was a mighty stronghold. Formidable, stalwart, but only now does it truly start to resemble a city. It was only logical after all, now that so many of the former denizens of the underground, their kin, dwelled within its walls.

Londo, once home only to those who knew war, became Anor Londo, the divine city of the Gods.

It was still far from being finished, many buildings under construction serving as a reminder, but even now it appeared far grander than any city the underground had to offer.

To Carius, it already looked magnificent.

I could never tire of watching these tall spires, thought the Silver Knight. The tower’s peaks touch the sky, reaching ever upwards towards the magnificent Sun. The arches below spoke of precision and construction knowledge unrivaled by any other. The stained glass that decorated the windows told tales of eternal victories and glories.

Simply magnificent.

And yet, he still turned his sight elsewhere after a moment. Standing on one of the many balconies decorating the Citadel, the heart of this new city, and the Temple dedicated to the Gods, he could see rows of his knights standing on guard below.

The parade was still several hours away, but the promenade leading towards the Cathedral of Sunlight was already flanked by the Silver Knights, acting as a ceremonial guard for this grand occasion.

While the number of present knights was significant, greater than he had a chance to see in a long while, a biting thought had occurred to Carius then, not for the first time.

They were a legion once, numbering in thousands, the might of Lord Gwyn. Now… there were fewer of them. Much fewer.

He remembered the great march at the beginning of the war; an army of silver marching from the caves to change the world, winged helmets facing onward and white capes flowing behind them.

He didn’t like thinking back to the war.

Though, the term ‘back ’ wouldn’t be accurate quite yet, would it? The war still wasn’t over. Or at least, not officially. Not yet.

He heard someone join him on the balcony, interrupting his short moment of respite on this hectic day. Not surprisingly, as he turned around, one of the knights saluted.

“Knight-Commander Carius, apologies for the intrusion. Lord Gwyn requests your presence in the war room immediately.”

No horn rumbling through the air, so it wasn't an attack, was Carius’ first reaction, followed by berating himself. Anor Londo hasn’t faced an attack in years. Perhaps some planning towards the next campaign, then? After all, there were still dragons roaming the untouched parts of the world… No, this wasn’t time for that. But it had to be urgent if his Lord required his presence right now.

No matter. It’s not like the reasons mattered. One does not ignore the Lord of Sunlight, even if Carius would wish to.

Saluting back, Carius nodded and moved through the decorated hallways, towards his destination.

Servants and guardsmen were ever-present, but never enough for the Cathedral’s private wing to feel overcrowded. Still, some maneuvers were needed to avoid the bustling maids and retainers as they went from room to room.

Normally, they would respectfully avoid him. Now, judging from their hectic movements, that was the furthest thing from their mind.

Considering the coming festivities, he couldn’t blame them.

Finally, he arrived in the hall leading towards the war room. It was flanked by immense columns that bore detailed mosaics; all of them depicting a dragon hunt by phases. First dragons flying, then dragons felled, ending with victorious armies of the Lords towering atop the carcasses.

And next to those columns stood the Imperial Guard, Silver Knights of unmatched martial skill and unwavering loyalty, all hand-picked by Lord Gwyn himself. Where the Greatlord went, so did they.

And there was one more Silver Knight, standing before the engraved door at the end of the hallway. His crimson cape lightly fluttered behind him, displaying his unique status within the Silver Order as a dragonslayer, and the first of the Imperial Guard.

“Arkon, it has been some time,” greeted Carius. “You seem well.”

Knight-Commander Arkon tipped his helmet in return. “As do you, Carius. I assume you are here to answer our Lord’s summons?”

Straight to the point, as always. He appreciated that in Arkon, even though he was one of the few.

“Yes.”

Arkon nodded again and opened the door, allowing Carius to enter the war room.

The moment he crossed the doorframe, a golden gauntlet touched his shoulder from the side.

“A moment, Carius. Unexpectedly, Lord Gwyn received a visitor, as you can see. Give them a bit,” said Captain Ornstein, as he lightly motioned towards the back of the room. There, Carius could see Lord Gwyn upon an ornamented throne, reminiscent of the main one within the Imperial Throne Room. A servant stood in the right corner, close to the said throne, a wooden case in his hands.

The Lord of Sunlight talked in a quiet voice with a tall man before him, his white wild hair barely contained by the crown, so similar to that of his father.

He couldn’t hear their words, but the Firstborn’s hands were clenched at first. More telling, perhaps, were Lord Gwyn’s eyes, which spoke volumes of his displeasure.

It sent a cold shrill down the knight’s spine.

He had heard rumors of the God of War’s dark mood. As the war progressed, it supposedly grew, though the cause, none knew. Safe, maybe, for the man next to Carius. Suddenly, he felt a desire to ask the Dragonslayer the reason behind it, but in the end, thought better of it. Not the place, nor the time.

And considering the loyalty of the First Knight towards the Firstborn, the time likely will never come at all.

Instead, the Silver Knight took several steps forward. The center of the chamber, as always, was dominated by a great circular table, an intricate map carved into its otherwise smooth surface. It was also then when he noticed Sir Artorias, who was sitting in the corner of the room, unmoving except for the hand that lazily stroked back and forth the gray wolf lying at his feet.

Carius put a hand on the table and let his eyes roll over its surface.

He always liked this map.

The land of the Lords, Lordran, was at its center. The fledgling human kingdoms of Astora and Balder; lands of noble knights that assisted the Lords in the war. Those were to the west and north. Between them also laid duchy of Catarina, a land already known for its festivals and drink. Further north, the city-state of Berenike. There, next to it in the icy mountains, the mysterious Vinheim. To the south, the Holy Kingdom of Thorolund. To the far west, the massive jungle of Fivefinger Delta, its outskirts marking the uninhabited Great Swamp. And to the east, behind the ocean, an island of Zena. Only the uncharted far east lay behind, though mankind and others touched those lands as well if tales were to be believed.

A map of a world the Lords have created. And while there were still some parts of it left untouched, still shrouded in fog, it was but a matter of time before those were a thing of the past too.

Carius's eyes moved towards a small dot to the east of Lordran, a place in the middle of an ocean.

Place in which Princess Filianore slept, keeping her eternal watch. The home of the Pygmy Kings. Home of the Kings, and their Knights upon which a seal of fire was cast, to contain the cold darkness within them.

Carius inhaled sharply and looked away from the map, just in time to see the Firstborn turn around, face neutral, but his golden eyes burning with emotion. He walked towards the door, first nodding to Carius, who bowed in response, and then shortly looking at Ornstein. Then, the God of War left.

The moment the door was shut, as in on cue, the First and Second Knights moved as one, both moving behind Lord Gwyn. Sif gave the tiniest whine as her master departed but otherwise remained at the spot.

Carius moved as well and knelt before the throne.

His Lord and Master was seated upon it still, the molten gold eyes deep in thought, no doubt from the recent conversion with His son. White hair and beard covered the sharp face, as it did for as long as anyone could remember. He wore his golden breastplate and embroidered blue robes, the tall crown forged in the image of the Sun sitting upon his head.

Lord Gwyn wore the mantle of a god well.

On his left side was Ornstein, ever stoic, but now without his iconic lion helmet, which he held in his left hand. As always, his goatee and mustache were neatly trimmed, the red mane cascading just above his shoulders and deep brown eyes aimed at him.

On his right, Artorias, had his arms folded on his chest. Surprisingly, he too lacked his usual armored hood, allowing Carius to see the knight's face for the first time.

His hair was black and short, face thin but with laugh lines adorning it. Most striking, however, were his kind blue eyes, which were likewise trained on the kneeling knight.

Carius felt adrenaline in his blood. He could handle the presence of Captain Ornstein or Sir Artorias most of the time without issue now, but to see them both watching him kneel before their Lord made the Silver Knight feel… on edge, so to say.

“Sir Carius, my loyal knight,” voice full of power, authority, and all that made leaders great, filled the chamber. He heard his Lord many times, both during inspiring speeches and at those more rare times when he was part of his war councils. It never failed to fill him with purpose.

“Rise,” came the command. “One who fought and bled for me as much as you needs not to kneel,” said Gwyn, beckoning slightly with one hand for him to stand up.

Carius did as he was ordered.

No doubt the tension within the knight’s body was obvious. “You have no need to be so stiff either, sir knight. You are in presence of friends,” came the reassurance from his Lord, with a small smile on his bearded face.

Carius took in a small breath, nodded, and visibly tried to relax his posture. His Lord’s smile widened ever so slightly at the nervous knight, just as a chuckle came from Sir Artorias behind him.

“Sir Carius,” the Greatlord began, “you were with me from the very beginning, fought in every battle, commanding your fellow knights with bravery and skill unseen in others. Knights of your kind are difficult to find.” Lord Gwyn looked towards Artorias for a moment. “I made the mistake of being blind to such talent once before, for a time. I shan’t repeat such an error.”

Oddly, the praise made Carius uncomfortable. Shouldn’t this fill him with joy? What greater achievement there is than to be recognized by your own Lord and Master?

As for the words themselves, the silver-armored warrior knew he was capable, yes. Or always hoped so, at the very least. But be it as may, he was simply doing his duty, like everyone else. He wished to say so, but one does not interrupt their Lord…

“After careful consideration of both your achievements on and outside of the field of battle, as well as after consulting Sir Ornstein and Sir Artorias, I have decided that recognition of your service is in order. As well as time to use your skills to their full extent.”

Once more, Carius wished to say that no recognition was necessary, he was simply a part of a great whole, and that Lord Gwyn already had his full devotion no matter the task, but the Lord of Sunlight was not finished quite yet.

“As such, I give you a choice, Sir Knight. As your Lord and Master of the Silver Order, I offer you to become an example of knighthood for all those who would serve under me, to all those born into the new world we are making." Gwyn's ancient eyes looked where his own were, hidden beneath the darkness of his helmet.

"I offer you the rank of the Captain of the Silver Knights.”

The Greatlord’s gaze was penetrating.

“What say you?”

Of all things, this Carius did not expect.

The first thoughts were: Him? The Captain of the Silver Knights? Commanding all of his brothers and sisters? To lead all of the Order?

The second thought was: What of Captain Ornstein?

He realized he was silent for longer than he should have, and immediately bowed.

“My Lord, I am honoured by the trust you have in me. I will continue serving you gladly and to the best of my ability… but, and please forgive my rudeness for questioning you so, the Order already has a Captain. At a time like this, is it truly in need of another one?”

Lord Gwyn slowly raised an eyebrow and looked at the golden dragonslayer at his side. Ornstein nodded and explained. “After consulting with Lord Gwyn at length about the future nature of my service to him, we arrived at the conclusion that it would be best for me to step down from the position of the Captain. With Artorias lacking any leadership skills whatsoever…”

Another chuckle from the Wolf Knight.

“You were an obvious choice. As Lord Gwyn has said, you led your men and fought alongside them from the very start. And you did so well. Very well, in fact. While not all fought under you, all saw or heard of your leadership.”

“Frankly, that speaks for itself,” he finished.

It was Sir Artorias who spoke next. “To add to what the Lion has said; I fought alongside you, once, and I believe that was enough for me to see that you possess what is needed.”

“Perhaps more importantly, however, I did spend a lot of time with our brothers and sisters. Again, even those who never found themselves under your direct command know of you. In fact, the entire Order respects you, let alone those who do serve under you. Those would follow you anywhere without a question.”

“I know I would,” he added, with a small smile.

To say that Carius was overwhelmed would be an understatement. He never heard Ornstein compliment anyone so directly, let alone in front of more than one person. And Artorias’ words were genuinely touching.

He knew he was fairly popular within the ranks, of course, but it’s one thing to have a vague notion and another to hear it directly from such esteemed figures…

“As you can see, Sir Knight, the decision was not a difficult one,” said Lord Gwyn, as he beckoned the servant closer - Carius nearly forgot he was in the room - who knelt in front of Carius, presenting the wooden case reverently.

He opened it, revealing a cape, its colour of the deepest sapphire.

“With your question answered, I ask once more, Sir Knight. Do you accept your new responsibility?”

Carius looked at the cape. In the beginning, before the war, he dreamed of becoming the Captain, of leading them all towards a greater future. Then, despite his best efforts, his knights died. Again, and again, as much as he tried, he never could save everyone. He knew it was impossible to do so in war and still, he had tried. He tried to protect his men directly, oft escaping death himself only by luck. Some praised him for his heroism, and others, rarely, like Ornstein so long ago, saw the conflict within him and told him that, again, he simply can’t protect all of them.

He stopped hoping for the position of Captain afterward, fearing he wouldn’t be enough. That one day, he would make a grievous error in an attempt to limit the losses. That winning a battle would cease to be a priority. That he would become too focused on a small picture, giving to the recklessness the Dragonslayer warned him against. Something no commander ever should fall victim to.

He eventually overcame this weakness - was it a weakness? - but the confidence never quite returned.

Now, his former desires lay at the tip of his armored fingertips. All he had to do was reach.

Artorias said the Silver Knights looked up to him and trusted him. That he himself would follow him.

Ornstein claimed he was an obvious choice, despite so many other talented individuals within their ranks. He wasn’t the only commanding officer within the Order to pick from, after all. More importantly, despite some of his more questionable actions on the battlefield in the past that Ornstein personally witnessed.

The essential part was that Lord Gwyn believed this is where he should be.

He looked up from the cape, directly to the patient eyes of his Lord.

He still had doubts. He would be a fool not to have any.

He reached for the piece of cloth nonetheless.

Chapter Text

The Sun was above their heads, shining down upon the procession.

The great column of people entered the city a while ago, but it would still take them several more minutes before reaching the plaza that decorated the space before the Citadel.

At its end, where the steps towards the keep began, stood Lord Gwyn, austere and patient. On his right, the Firstborn, also stoic. Captain - former Captain, Carius reminded himself - Ornstein, his helmet back on, stood behind them.

Carius and Arkon were next to him, their swords’ tips touching the ground as both of their hands gripped the hilt, the usual short capes switched for the ceremonial long ones. Further back still stood the Imperial Guard, spears and shields at the ready.

The sides of the square were packed with people, both tall and short, kin to the Lords and otherwise. More Silver Knights stood between them and the central road itself, serving as a barrier. The excitement of the crowd was obvious, countless conversations blending together.

At the end, before the great gate that separated the inner city from the rest, kept watch the giant Sentinels. Their golden armor was shining, massive halberds and greatshields in attention, and plumed helmets facing onwards.

If the Silver Knights were the sword of Anor Londo, the Sentinels were undoubtedly its shield.

Finally, the metal door began to open, silencing the mass of civilians.

And for that moment only, there was complete quiet.

But once the gate opened fully and a figure stepped through it, a long white dress trailing behind, a cheer erupted throughout the walls of the divine city.

The Princess of Sunlight, the radiant Gwynevere, beloved by all, has finally arrived.

Long light-brown hair rimmed her beautiful face, one that inspired entire armies of poets.

In movement, she shared her father’s grace and austerity, but whereas His eyes were piercing, her gaze was kind and full of love. Right now, that gaze was aimed forward, at her father and brother, as she walked toward them.

Behind her came her maidens, each covered in intricate dress and holding hands together, as one would in prayer.

Some already were in Anor Londo, as Carius saw himself earlier this day, but those that walked here now, behind their Queen, were the most skilled in healing arts, her closest companions.

Indeed, some of those maidens wore metal breastplates and wielded spears, marking them as the Knights of Gwynevere.

Carius used to know a Knight of Filianore once, a long time ago. But she chose to remain with her Princess. So similar to those that now marched behind their Queen, proud and beautiful, with martial skills to match.

The people cheered and cheered as the procession moved towards the keep, but once again went silent, although not as drastically as before, when Gwynevere stood before her Lord father.

Carius couldn’t see the Lord’s face, or that of His son, be he could hear the smile upon their face as they welcomed the Radiant Queen into her new home.

But he could see the Princess's face, which bore a refined, but wide, smile as well. “I thank you, father, and you, brother, for greeting me with welcoming arms. Words cannot express the joy I feel at seeing you both again; and at that I will be able to stand by your side from this day evermore,” came her voice, gentle but loud. “But before I take my place next to you, please allow me to say this.”

She turned to the crowd, and put her hands together, mimicking her maidens.

“My people! Long have we waited for the dawn; so many years we have watched as our Lords and their brave knights fight for our future! As they pour their entire being into forming this land.”

The Silver Knights remained stoic, but an alien, but warm feeling spread through Carius at those words. How peculiar. It’s not often someone addresses them so directly in public.

But then again, what else to expect from Princess Gwynevere but utmost care for all?

The people watched, all of their attention focused on the radiant daughter. She spread her arms, soothing energy of her miracles bathing them in warm gold. “As the warm rays of Sun touch my skin, so I swear: together, side by side, we will fill this new bright world with wonder and beauty! In this, we will never waver!”

The people, naturally, responded in great cheer once more.

The Princess then joined them on the platform, surprising her father and sibling by hugging them first. The crowd responded to this as well, Carius noted. He couldn’t help but think that was exactly the reaction the Queen was attempting to raise.

Only then did she take a spot next to her father. The maidens did not stop, however, and continued towards the Cathedral, where they would rest or focus on their new duties in their new home.

The three great gods stood, once separated by war to forge a new world, now together once more. It was a sight, the new Captain believed, none of the crowd below them would ever forget.

Lord Gwyn raised his arms, demanding that all lower their voice, and spoke.

“My daughter already said many words I wished to say, and as such forgive me for keeping this brief.”

As Gwynevere gave a charming smile as a response to her father's words, a peal of laughter filled the plaza in response.

“But there still remain some that need to be said.”

“We have indeed fought long and hard, reshaped all we have encountered to fit our image. The dragons, our everlasting foes, were driven to the far corners of the world. Anor Londo, this great city, teems with life, as do countless others and all around them.”

“This war cost us much; brave warriors from all parts of our former domains fell under the might of our enemy. Now, I ask of you, my people; never forget them. Even with our might as Lords, this world would never come to be without their brave sacrifice.”

Once again, Carius was impressed by how easily the Royal Family could command the emotions of others. Many of the citizens wore somber expressions now, their eyes never leaving the Greatlord.

“But I also always believed that most praise should be reserved for the living. It is no secret that without you, all of you, we would not find the will necessary to carry on. And so, celebrate not only our brave knights and their victories but also your own. For without you, my people, this world would never come to be.”

Joy filled the plaza again. Lord Gwyn knew how to harvest adoration like an experienced farmer did wheat. Beloved by all, indeed.

The procession went on. Now it focused on nobles and gods of various titles and standings that came to pay respect to the Royal Family. Cleverly, this ordeal also served as their introduction to those who already inhabited Anor Londo, for those aristocrats would now join them in calling the divine city their home.

The first was Flame God Flann, his crimson armor gleaming. Maybe too much, thought Carius. He was certain Flann never actually stood on the field of battle in the Dragon War. But respects he paid to the great gods all the same, and Lord Gwyn gracefully accepted it, even though the Flame God’s eyes stayed at the Queen of Sunlight slightly longer than would be appropriate.

Many more came, each trying to come up with unique ways how to complicate Lord Gwyn and his children. The Silver Knight held a small sigh that was about to escape. Aristocracy never changes, it seems. No point in expecting different.

The last of the god’s kin to come before Lord Gwyn was a tall woman, her skin pale as moonlight, robbed in a dark dress decorated with black feathers, which covered her equally black hair.

Velka, Goddess of Sin.

Unease settled over the square. Hushed voices were still present, but it was a far cry from the previously loud citizenry. Likewise, Carius gripped his sword ever so slightly tighter. He could also feel Ornstein tense next to him as he did the same with his cross spear.

But the goddess merely came before Lord Gwyn, bowed without uttering a word, and then slowly followed the rest of the column.

To say that Velka was not popular would be an understatement. Never was she convicted of anything, and yet all knew that all manner of plots followed her as naturally as predator did pray. After all, plots and schemes were things she presided over, among other things.

Naturally, that made her decidedly unliked by all guardsmen, everywhere.

But nonetheless, with her gone, the mood that came over the crowd disappeared as suddenly as it came. The same could not be said about the knights, however, who remained tense within their armor.

With final words from Lord Gwyn, the crowd has begun to dissipate, as the festivities began all over the city.

***

“I’m not saying your aim isn’t sufficient on the battlefield, but the accuracy can always be improved, you know?” said Tavia, looking elsewhere as in deep thought, though it was obvious the nonchalance was faked.

Carius could physically feel how Ordelius raised his eyebrow in response. “Oh, really now? And what would you know about this, I wonder? The last time I saw you handling a greatbow you hit Ledo and the man was standing on the wall several meters above the target!”

“That was an accident! And I didn’t hit him!”

“True. He did dodge at the last moment.”

“Anyway, that is all beside the point. I am not an archer, but you are! Why, just recently I’ve heard that Sir Gough had to berate you…”

By the First Flame, they have been at it for nearly an hour now, Carius thought as he held his helmeted head in his hands, sitting at the long table with the other Silver Knights.

It started with all of them observing the archer tournament - or just competition, really, no matter how Gough called it - and witnessing the peerless accuracy of one of Gwynevere’s Knights. She cast her Lightning Arrow, a miracle that forms a bow out of the divine lightning, and repeatedly dead-eyed the center of the moving targets.

It was certainly an impressive display, to be sure, but it especially affected Tavia. Since then she has been constantly poking Ordelius about him not matching the knight’s skill with a bow.

And Ordelius, despite his usual detached attitude, just kept being baited.

Frankly, it already caused Carius a headache. Now it was a question of how much it will worsen before the end of this day.

“Captain! You certainly agree with me! You always say that skill is a thing never complete, and that constant training is the key to progress. In the light of the recent competition, surely you see that there is room for Ordelius to improve!”

Apparently, it will worsen by quite a great deal still.

Before he could deflect the question he had answered in some manner many times tonight, Ordelius was already at it.

“Of course there is room to improve. I, unlike some, am willing to admit that…”

“Excuse me?”

“But I also explained to you that our styles of archery differ greatly. I am but a piece of a greater whole, whereas the Knights of Gwynevere like to fight more individually. They can afford to train alone, I do not unless I wish to reinforce habits that could prove impractical in combat. Not to mention that my bow actually weighs something.”

Tavia scoffed in response. “I might give you the weight argument, but that’s ultimately a detail. The fact you are a Silver Knight doesn’t mean you can’t develop your individual strengths aside from the other training. The only issue here is that you will rather go watching clouds pass or sit and play dice than train above what your duties require!”

“And obviously you are completely different,” Ordelius said as he waved his hand.

“Yes!” declared the dame, though the moment the word left her helmet she moved her hands forward, as to silence the Silver Knight sitting opposite of her.

Alas, it was too late.

“Naturally. ‘Tis true that the book I caught you reading a while ago involved some spearwork.”

One of Havel’s clerics sitting next to them spewed out his bear, as he choked momentarily on his brew, which in turn drew the attention of other knights. The beverage had to be made by a Catarian, occurred to Carius, judging by the smell. For the first time in his life, he lamented he couldn’t get drunk. Would beat the desire to bang his helmet against the stony table.

On second thought, that would mean the other Silver Knights could get drunk too, which would mean…

Looking at the duo before him, he came to the conclusion that Lord Gwyn made the right choice of not giving them the option to consume alcohol. Or anything, really.

It was not that they weren’t able to. But there were certain things that came with becoming a Silver Knight. Most obviously the fact that they never removed their helmets. Less obviously, that food and drink weren’t a necessity for them like for the humans. They could still consume it, but that would require removing one’s helmet. And unless one came to possess a greater soul and become a champion, like Sir Artorias, no Silver Knight simply would do so.

Once again, the alcohol part was especially fortunate, considering that if not for the Silver Knight next to Tavia that tried to console her by putting a hand on her shoulder, she would be probably already reaching for her own spear.

The discussion, if one could call it that, devolved into a series of uncomfortable (for Tavia) and amusing (for Ordelius) questions.

But the Greatlord was surely watching over Carius, for then a hand tapped at his shoulder pad, making him switch attention at the figure behind him. It was a short man, deep purple clothes betraying him as one of the royal servants.

“Captain Carius, apologies for the intrusion, but Dragonslayer Ornstein requested your presence, though you do not have to go right away.”

But Carius was already rising, repositioning his sword that was at his side. “It is no trouble at all. Truly. Please, lead the way.”

The servant led him to the opposite part of the room, though he didn’t go directly for the door that led to the rest of the garrison.

As they walked, Carius saw two Silver Knights quietly talking to each other near the entrance. The two remaining Knight-Commanders. Arkon and Siefer, judging by the latter’s arms folded on the chest. He generally took this stance when not wearing armaments. And of course, when out of duty, the two friends could be seen often together.

The short man led him behind a corner, to a small adjacent room separated only by a white curtain. Behind, Ornstein was sitting on a simple wooden chair, still in armor, but once again without his helmet. That rested on the table next to him, along with a bottle of wine. The goblet was in his hands.

Despite the fact that their arrival was obvious, the servant still followed the protocol and announced them. Ornstein nodded in return and dismissed the man.

He gestured to the free chair opposite of him, on the other side of the table.

Carius went to sit down but noticed a greatshield that rested against a wall first.

“Sir Artorias will be joining us?” he asked.

“Doubtful. The Wolf Knight has different business to attend to at the moment.”

“I see. Something serious?”

“Depends on who you ask,” said Ornstein with a chuckle.

Carius didn’t comment further, simply waiting for the former Captain to tell him why he is here.

He took a sip and put the goblet down. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. I told Vokris that he should wait if he saw you having fun.”

Now it was Carius's turn to give a small laugh. “I do not mind. I enjoy the presence of my knights, but today they proved to me quite… handful.”

“I can believe so. Rarely do they receive respite so significant such as this.” Ornstein said, as stroked his goatee in thought. He glimpsed at the Silver Knight opposite of him. “You might try to ease a bit yourself, I think. It would do you good.”

“Easier said than done, sir.”

Ornstein nodded. “Truthfully, I can relate. This isn’t what we were made for, after all,” he said, as he watched the bottle of wine.

Shaking his head, he directed his gaze at Carius.

“I already mostly know the reaction of other battalions, but how did you conroi and other men under your command react to your promotion?”

Carius predicted that this question would come, but still had difficulties coming up with a proper answer.

Ordelius accepted the news with his typical attitude at first, but then congratulated him with a proper handshake. Carius knew his friend well enough to know that this took a great deal of effort for him, and he appreciated it.

Tavia was obviously happy, and reaffirmed her faith in him as her leader, but admitted she expected something like this to happen for a while now. While he found that odd, he didn’t question further.

As for the other Silver Knights, they generally accepted the news with a positive attitude as well.

Just as Sir Artorias said they would.

“Well enough,” he finally responded.

“Knowing you, that means they were above the clouds,” said the Dragonslayer with a smile, before continuing. “I trust I do not have to say this, but I meant what I said earlier today. I believe you are the right choice for this. As does Artorias and our Lord.”

Carius bowed his head in response. “I believe you, Captain. It’s just, well, it will take some time to get used to the fact I no longer have to answer to you.”

“Former Captain,” Ornstein corrected. “but I understand. It’s a lot to take in. But again: I believe you are up for the task. You will get used to it.”

For a moment he was silent, then asked. “You remember the hunt in which you accompanied me, yes?”

Of course, he did. One does not forget words that were essential in changing how one views warcraft and servitude.

He nodded.

“I took you that day with me to see for myself how you fight and how you lead. What I saw was enough for me to know that you had potential.”

“Even despite charging straight at an Everlasting Dragon?”

“Quite. After all, I addressed that, did I not? And you, I believe, took those words to heart.”

Carius nodded again, firmly. “I did.”

“Since then you proved yourself time and time again. Not just in battle, but also when outside of it. Which is one of the reasons why I chose you, Carius.”

The Silver Knight remained silent, waiting for the golden-armored knight to continue.

“I freely admit I never enjoyed administration. Logistics, paperwork, relations between different parts of our army, organizing training regiments. But you took those tasks head-on as well. And those tickets you made your knights to write their ideas and complaints on? Ingenious. That’s how you breed loyalty.”

“While I am aware of that, that wasn’t why I did it,” said Carius, with a slight edge in his voice.

“Exactly,” responded Ornstein, with a small smile.

“There are better fighters than you in the Silver Order. Make no mistake, you are skilled, but Sir Arkon still remains unchallenged in his swordsmanship, others closely following him. In leadership too, there are some who equals you. The one under your command, Dame Tavia? She shows promise, despite some of her setbacks. Sir Siefer too, his sickening adoration for paperwork excluded.”

Carius understood. They were all highly competent individuals and he was proud to call them his brothers and sisters. But he also believed he knew what Ornstein would say next.

“And yet none of them possess all of those combined to such degree as you do. And that’s what I saw in you even back then.”

Carius put his right hand on his chest, bowing his head slightly. “I won’t fail you, Captain.”

“Former Captain,” he repeated as he rolled his eyes. “But I know you won’t.”

He then finished his drink and rose to his feet.

“I simply wished for you to know this before I leave, to not doubt yourself and possibly do something stupid because of that.”

Carius chuckled, as he rose himself, but then stopped in confusion. “You are leaving, sir?”

“I am afraid so. Despite Lord Gwyn’s insistence on us staying here, for the time being, the Firstborn remains determined to hunt the rest of the dragons down. He was quite adamant about it for a while now, in truth.”

So that was the discussion Carius saw in the war room between two gods. It seems he didn’t even need to ask Ornstein about it after all.

“So we are leaving for the northern mountains tomorrow. Me, my men and our Lord of War, that is.”

“No support from other avant-garde?” asked Carius, with a furrowed brow, as he followed Ornstein out of the room. A campaign should never be waged with so few, let alone so far from the base of operation. Even if they had a god on their side.

“No. But I have no doubts we will emerge victorious nonetheless.”

Holding his objections - they would fall on the deaf ground anyway - Carius instead saluted his superior.

“I have no doubt. Good hunting, Captain Ornstein.”

He wasn’t far, so he could still hear Ornstein’s ugh quite clearly. Carius chuckled to himself in return and went to join his knights once more.

Chapter Text

As any sorcerer knows, sorcery is a talent, and as such, it was refined to nurture that very special talent. But a sorcerer should never make the mistake of believing the power comes only from themselves. Our sorceries are a logical discipline and as such only exist as an extension of the caster, of their knowledge, of their intelligence.

The Witches and Fire Sorcerers of Izalith may scoff at this, their own knowledge and skill inherited from the First Flame, but we of the Dragon School of Vinheim reject their narrow-mindedness, bound by traditions and ancient oaths. Unlike their stagnation, our work is focused on mastering the arcane, on bringing it to ever greater hights…

“I didn’t know you had an interest in reading, Captain,” said a gentle voice behind him, though Carius knew better than to think its wielder was some mere timid maiden. He didn’t hear her approach, though that was no surprise. She was a stealthy one, and the carpet in the Royal Library would eat up any sound she would make by accident.

“I do, although in this instance I may have picked the wrong book.”

“I say. This particular literature made many of our own citizens feel quite insulted, unsurprisingly,” said Quelana of Izalith, as she bent over slightly to see the text over the Silver Knight’s shoulder.

“I can’t imagine why,” deadpanned Carius, as he closed the book and put it on a pile of those he had no interest in. Some part of him was wondering how it even got here. Texts judged as heretical or radical in their contents were often burned. Or sent to the Duke’s Regal Archives. Of course, the Captain wouldn’t know if the Pale Drake actually kept those works. Carius was never there, nor did he have any desire to change that.

Then again, there weren’t many within Anor Londo that would read a book about some obscure form of magic. A book that came from human lands, no less.

The Chaos Witch, clothed in clean plain dark robe, roused him out of his thoughts by pulling out a chair opposite of him. She sat on it and then put a finger underneath her chin, as her gaze went to the book. “I must admit that while I do not share some sentiments within it, I do think it got one thing right.”

Carius looked at her. Her black hair was in a bun, face with balanced features not all that remarkable - or so he overheard, he himself never was a very good judge of that. Her violet eyes, however, were an entirely different matter. Even now, they burned with intensity few could match.

She didn’t continue voicing her thoughts on her own, waiting for the Silver Knight to express his interest. He obliged.

“Such as?”

She gestured to the wooden staff that rested next to her. “The opening statement says it the best. The fires we cast come from our very being. When our fingers lit or our catalysts direct their energies, we do so not through some theoretical knowledge. We don’t think about the act itself, nor how it functions. We simply act.”

Carius nodded. “We have it similar. When we imbue our weapons with our Lord’s lightning, or when clerics cast their miracles, it’s through reciting prayers. Obviously, our souls play a role in it, but we don’t understand how it functions either. Our Lords do, undoubtedly, and perhaps some scholars as well. But most never bother questioning it. They simply channel the power.”

“Indeed. It is why traditions and faith matter a great deal for our peoples,” she continued the thought. “The belief, no matter its form, is what amplifies our abilities. But the sorcerers of Vinheim? They desire knowledge. They thirst for understanding how magic functions at a fundamental level.”

“It’s why they dwell so far from others, I think,” Quelana said after a moment of silence, as she tapped her fingers against the wooden table. “To be physically as far from any boundaries and limits as possible.”

“And what represents those concepts more than us, the loyal servants of the Lords and oaths that bind us to them? Those that could, and would, likely interfere with the lives they lead.”

The Witch gave him a thin smile. “Very good. But the point I find myself agreeing with was different; they seek to understand sorcery not only to know how to wield it but how to improve it. We remain static, thinking our current powers will always remain unchallenged. They do not.”

“Our powers were enough to claim the surface. There aren’t foes more dangerous than the Everlasting Dragons,” countered the Silver Knight, though he could in part understand Quelana’s reasoning.

“Hmph. You sound like Quelaag,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “‘Tis true, of course. The dragons fell under our might. But who knows what the future holds? And even besides that, shouldn’t we always strive for perfection in our skills, even if we can’t reach it? I recall hearing you say that to your men.”

He never saw Quealana anywhere near the garrison or the training halls. But she was right. He did like saying that.

Carius tipped his head. “I concede that. But still, as you have just said, our peoples don’t seek to improve our sorceries or miracles. I presume your sister is of that opinion as well?”

Pursing her mouth into a line, she waved her hand. “You could say that. She never was one for things of, well, scholarly nature. I don’t think she necessarily disagrees with me, but her opinion is often limited to what practical results something would yield and little else.”

“Or, you know, how to smash something with her sword,” she then added. Though her voice was monotone, there was a small fond smile there for a moment.

Carius nodded sagely at that. “I can understand that.”

“I thought you would, sir knight.”

Silence filled the library once again. There were monks straddling about, taking and returning texts as they needed, but they didn’t talk, too focused on their duties.

After a while, Quelana looked at the two columns of books in front of the Silver Knight. “If you do not mind me asking, why are you cataloging these tomes? As far as I know, Lord Gwyn’s Knights haven’t fallen on such hard times yet to spend their time categorizing books.”

Carius knew it was a joke, and yet something about it did hit a sore spot. He took a deep breath and swallowed the biting response he would only regret later.

“Not yet. But I and my Silver Knight do have more free time on our hands since Lord Gwyn’s declaration several weeks ago. So, after discovering that those few texts I possess myself I remember word for word, I have decided to venture here and find some new material.”

He closed the book he was holding and put it on a pile he wished to take with him.

“The Greatlord personally oversaw the reconstruction of our schedule and organization. This way it will complement the duties and other activities of the Sentinels and Princess Guard. To be more efficient.”

Alas, the fire sorceress was observant and didn’t miss the tone underlying his words. “You don’t approve of it.”

“My personal thoughts on the matter are irrelevant.”

“Tsk. I wish to hear them nonetheless.”

Sighting, Carius put his head onto his raised hand, supporting it. How to explain it so she would understand?

“During the war, many things were simple. We were commanded to fight, and so we did. Once the battle was done, we would return to the citadel and rest before our next confrontation with the dragons.”

“You think that now, with the fighting done, you lack purpose,” guessed Quelana.

“Not entirely. That would imply I do not have faith in our Lord and that I am not loyal to his realm.”

“I wouldn’t dare to say otherwise,” she assured him. “But you are a Silver Knight, a warrior of Lord of Sunlight. You took an oath; one that shaped you into the man I see before me now. Why, your kind doesn’t even take those helmets off. And yet, one of your main duties is now gone. Or at the very least, highly subdued.”

Huh. So maybe she did understand.

“The Silver Order was formed to serve as an army. The knighthood that came with one joining its ranks only elevated our purpose as soldiers and dragonslayers. But now, without the dragons… Well, to quote Sir Gough, ‘what good is a dog, with no hares to hunt?‘“

Deciding those several texts he found interesting are enough, he put the remaining copies of the books and scrolls on the other pile, so he can return them to their respective places later.

“So, to satisfy your curiosity, lady Quelana, suffice to say that the peace we have fought for is proving to be somewhat difficult for us knights.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And yet you still drill your men without mercy, even if you acknowledge you are now less of a soldier and more of a guardsman. Even though there are no longer great beasts and massive battles to be fought.”

The Silver Knight shrugged, or as much as he could within his armor. “That may be so, but once again, our loyalty remains unshaken. If it's guardsmen that the Royal Family needs, we will be guardsmen.”

The eyebrow was still up, so he added. “Do not think us incapable of doing so. We always knew this would be the case. It is just knowing and feeling is two different things. But we will get used to our new duties in this new world quickly enough. Anor Londo deserves only the best, after all, and in this regard, we won’t fail either.”

“I have no doubt about that, Captain. I was simply curious, that is all. I hope you do not harbor any ill will towards me for questioning you so,” she questioned.

Carius smiled under his helmet. “Not at all, my lady. In truth, it was nice to mention this in front of somebody else. Though I trust this will remain between us. Can’t let the people of Anor Londo know their stoic guardians are all tense because they are no overgrown lizards to kill.”

Quelana couldn’t see his smile, but he hoped she could hear it. Perhaps she did, as she smiled in return. “I would be a poor excuse for an ambassador if I couldn’t keep my mouth shut and locked when it comes to secrets, sir knight.”

***

Within the Silver Order, each knight’s strengths were what judged their role on the battlefield. If one wielded a spear more efficiently than a straight sword, they would take a role of a spearman. If one’s accuracy with a greatbow was clear, they would be an archer.

But at the same time, each Silver Knight was expected to wield all three iconic weapons of their order with skill, no matter their preference.

Much to the chagrin of Ordelius, who was currently trying to block the strikes of his superior officer with rising sluggishness. The Sun shining into his eyes didn’t help either, Carius wagered.

The yard in front of the garrison was often used for unit training, but there was none scheduled at the moment. And the light breeze was positive the indoors wouldn’t provide, so the two knights have decided this spot would serve as well as any other.

The duel began evenly matched, both knights trading blows for several moments. But then Ordelius went on the defensive, waiting for the moment to strike. Unfortunately for him, that’s exactly what the Captain expected him to do.

Carius was relentless, not giving his opponent a moment of respite, as his attacks chained along with the great advancing steps he took towards him. It was the traditional Silver Knight swordsmanship style; aggressive, always pushing the foe backward, not giving time for a counterattack. And if it did come, the knight would raise their shield, creating a distance between them and the foe until attacking once again.

The last part now Carius omitted, trying to rouse a proper reaction from his opponent.

He knew he couldn’t keep this up for long, but Ordelius’ passiveness was exactly why he picked him for this training round. His friend always preferred the bow, falling to melee only in the direst circumstances. And even then his strategy was to simply defend himself, counting on the brothers and sisters around him to provide offensive instead. In theory, if that assistance wouldn’t come, Ordelius would struggle.

Wishing to test his theory, Carius challenged his friend to a training duel.

And now, despite being trained in the very same sword technique, Ordelius struggled indeed.

Once the Captain saw that his opponent finally was attempting to parry one of his strikes to give himself an opening, he changed the direction of the upcoming strike, slashing vertically with the training sword instead. Ordelius just in time raised his shield in response.

Realizing he left himself exposed, he tried to simultaneously stab forward with his own wooden blade to catch Carius off-guard into his exposed chest.

The Knight-Captain smirked in satisfaction. Just as expected. He brought his shield upon his foe extended arm, bashing it away with a force that made Ordelius lose grip on his weapon.

Distracting himself by trying to reaffirm his hold on it, he gave Carius the weakness in his defenses. Just for a moment.

But a moment was enough.

He slid his blade against his opponent’s shield, making Ordelius turn it aside slightly and as such expose his body.

The first kick was aimed for the knee, making the archer unstable in his footing. The second one went straight for his chest, sending Ordelius on his back. To give him some credit, he realized what was Carius about to do, and attempted to slash horizontally, nearly hitting the Captain’s side. But it was a second late, and now the Silver Knight was laying on the ground, the tip of the Captain’s training blade aimed against his neck.

Of course, this was Ordelius, so it didn’t phase him at all.

“That was dirty. I thought we were here to train our sword skill, not to demonstrate who would make a better bouncer.”

Carius put the blade aside, replacing it with his hand. The other Silver Knight accepted it and rose to his feet.

“You left yourself exposed. I wanted to illustrate a point more forcefully.”

They both walked towards the weapon racks, to put the training weapons in their place and take their own that rested there. “Hm. Certainly. Or maybe you just wanted to kick me.”

“That might be a possibility as well, yes.”

A burst of laughter came from the rampart to the right, where a certain giant sat comfortably, carving knife in his right hand, and a piece of wood now resembling a small figurine in the other.

“You must admit, sir Ordelius, that you aren’t surprised some occasionally feel such an urge,” said Gough, still chuckling.

The Silver Knight threw a glimpse his way. “Hilarious. Truly. But do remind me Sir Gough, who was it that said I need to ‘start talking with my fellow knights, to open up to them‘?”

The giant put the hand with a knife on his helmeted chin, pretending to ponder the question. “Why, that would be me, if I recall so. I am glad you listened to that advice.”

“And yet, now you say my words cause these most unsavory and aggressive feelings. Perhaps you should take some responsibility?” Ordelius asked, hand on his heart in mock sincerity.

“It is not Gough’s fault you lack the ability to weight your words better, sir knight,” came a woman’s voice. Ciaran, sitting on Gough’s shoulder, a small book bound in black leather in hand, didn’t bother raising her head. “The fact you didn’t learn so even after those words came back to bite you speaks volumes of your own responsibility.”

“Well, excuse me for providing honest feedback, my lady,” responded Ordelius, once again not intimidated at all. “But I see my words have a small effect on you lot. So, I shall take my leave. I actually have duties to attend to.”

“That would be a first,” chimed the Captain in. The archer seemed to wish to say something, but then simply shook his head, turned around, and walked out of the courtyard.

“As for you Captain, well fought,” said the giant as he started carving the wood in his hands. “It is always nice to watch you as you try to improve your men’s less refined abilities.”

Carius nodded in thanks. “I try. Training is essential for both body and mind, after all. And my knights need to stay fit for duty even in times of peace.”

The Lord’s Blade spoke as she turned a page. “While you were at it, you should have kicked his backside instead of chestplate though.”

“Not to fear, I am certain he will get me to that point one of these days.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

The Silver Knight was about to respond that he realized that Ordelius would probably force Tavia to do it for him if their latest interaction was any indication, but he noticed the assassin suddenly stiffened. It was subtle, but he was getting better at reading her body movements.

“Something the matter, lady?”

She put her book down, as Gough slightly tilted his head to show his own interest.

“Ornstein has returned.”

Carius immediately tensed as well. After more than a year and barely any news from the campaign, the arrival of the Dragonslayers was expected with halted breath by many. But there were no horns to be heard that announced the return of the Firstborn. No parade planned to welcome the great warriors home. And perhaps most importantly, Carius himself hasn't received any reports of Ornstein’s battalion returning.

The two Knights of Gwyn obviously had similar thoughts, for they both rose up, their relaxed mood gone.

“He is walking towards the Cathedral,” Gough confirmed.

The next words that Dame Ciaran said shook and confused Carius to his core.

“And he is alone.”

Chapter Text

The air was cool within the throne room. The marble floor was covered in orange rays of dusk that shone through the great windows. Usually, it was a sign of a day well-lived. Now, it brought little such warmth with it.

Though, that feeling was less about the temperature of the throne room, and more about the tension within it.

The Greatlord sat upon his marble throne, with the Princess sitting on a smaller one to his right. The one to the left was empty.

“You lie.”

The absolute coldness of the statement left no room to argue otherwise.

Before the throne knelt the Lion Knight, his spear resting in front of him. His armor was scorched, the helmet forgotten Flame knows where. Standing on the side with Ciaran and Gough, Carius could see the former Captain’s pained face. It wasn’t obvious, but anyone who knew the otherwise stoic First Knight could see it plainly. Though if it came from physical wounds or less visible ones, he could not tell.

Despite the finality of Lord Gwyn’s words, Ornstein spoke. What other choice did he have?

“Sire,” he began, looking up towards his liege. “I have served you faithfully since the very beginning. Not once I have wavered. Not once did I give you a reason to question my loyalty. What would I gain by not speaking the truth now?”

Lord Gwyn’s face remained as if set in stone, betraying no emotion. “Your long service is why you still breathe despite uttering such heretical claim, my knight.”

Ornstein’s fist kept tightening and releasing, but otherwise, the knight remained collected.

“My words are true, my lord. As much as I would like to believe otherwise… and please, trust me that I would desire nothing more… my armor is the proof. No fire, even from the dragons, would not damage it so. But golden lightning of Sunlight? Even my plate would yield under such power.”

“And it did.”

Silence stretched. The Silver Knight could feel Gough next to him to be uncharismatically stiff.

It was Lady Gwynevere that broke the quiet.

“Did he tell you something? Any explanation at all?”

“He told me, Princess, that he is sorry,” the First Knight said, looking at her. He then exhaled and slowly took a deep breath. “He said that he knows you will understand.”

That roused a reaction from the Lord of Sunlight. His head rapidly turned to his daughter, thunder in his eyes. “What does he mean by that?” he asked.

The Princess of Sunlight's gaze was frozen on Ornstein. She provided no answer.

Her father hit the handle of his throne with a force that made it crack.

“Speak!” he shouted, raising his voice for the first time and breaking the spell Ornstein’s words left on the hall.

She didn’t flinch. On the contrary, Lady Gwynevere turned to her father slowly, as if still processing the First Knight’s words.

“Everything he told me you already know, father.”

“And yet,” the Greatlord responded with barely restrained fury, “nothing Sir Ornstein said until now makes sense to me. I am unable to find a reason that would force my son to-”

It was the Princess who raised her voice now, albeit in a far more restrained manner.

“‘Force‘?” she mocked, with fury in eyes that matched her father's. “Do you still refuse to acknowledge what my brother thought? What he said to you, time and time again, only for you to ignore him?”

Lord Gwyn was about to refute, but Lady Gwynevere didn’t give him a chance to voice his defenses.

“You well know why he chose this path, what drove him to do this. How many times have you argued about this war? About how it should end? You know how troubled he was, how much it pained him to continue to fight a conflict he no longer truly believed in.”

She took a breath, and in a cold voice finished her speech. “You do not believe your son was incapable of betrayal after all that. You only refuse to believe that something wouldn’t align with your designs for once!”

The room was plunged into another silence after that. Everyone within it; Carius, Ciaran, Gough, Ornstein, and even the two Imperial Guardsmen that stood before the closed door, were left agape.

None of them ever heard someone, anyone, speak to their Lord like that.

For the tiniest moment, the Lord of Sunlight tensed, and was about to rise from his seat. His eyes were wide in anger Carius have never seen in them before. His fists were clenched. Energy hummed in the air.

The Captain of the Silver Knights put a hand on the hilt of his sword. Why, he didn’t know.

But then it was over, and Lord Gwyn collapsed back into his throne, suddenly drained. His face, often so calm and lively with energy, now resembled that of a truly old man. He closed his eyes and put his head into his hands.

Gwynevere didn’t hesitate and reached out for his shoulder, putting her hand on it.

“I will not pretend that this tragedy comes as a surprise to me. But I would never imagine he would do so in this manner. That he would attack even his own friend for it.”

“He didn’t wish to kill me. That much I know,” the gold-armored warrior said in a strained voice. “I watched my mentor in countless battles. If he wished to kill something, it would die.”

“He wanted to make certain that we know of his intentions,” agreed Gwynevere.

She returned her look upon the Dragonslayer then, observing him. “I believe this was all you had to say, Sir Ornstein?”

He nodded.

The Princess brought her hand back to her lap and rose from her throne. “So, considering that I can see you barely breathe, please, allow me to tend to your wounds. It pains me to see you reduced to this state.”

Hesitation was clear on the Lion Knight’s face, but he nodded again. He attempted to rise, but his knee buckled.

That moved Gough into action. “Allow me, my friend.” It was a testament to how truly weakened and tired Ornstein had to be, for he just waited for the giant to gently raise him into his arms, carrying him.

Gwynever put a hand on the giant archer’s arm, silently thanking him for his kindness. She then bowed and took the Dragonslayer’s spear with ease so it wouldn’t be left behind.

She once more turned to Lord Gwyn. “May we leave, father? I will return once I am certain Sir Ornstein’s wounds are healed and that he is resting.”

The Greatlord raised his head. “Go. Captain Carius, Dame Ciaran, you remain here… and as for you, Sir Ornstein: not a word of what occurred here will escape these walls. That affects everyone.” His voice returned mostly to normal, authority clear in it, even though he still looked greatly tired.

As the door closed behind the Princess and the giant, Lord Gwyn addressed them.

“My Firstborn, the God of War, has sided against his own family, his people, and his duty. He now stands with the last of the dragons.”

Despite hearing the story from Ornstein just moments ago, the absurdity of the statement still hit the Silver Knight. The fact it came from the Lord of Sunlight himself, however, served only to confirm this terrible truth.

“As it stands, I will think through the implications of this betrayal more thoroughly later. Your duty, Sir Carius, will be to make certain that his treason does not reach the ears of the people. That includes riding forward to the remains of Sir Ornstein’s battalion and making certain they are aware of my order. As you have heard, he left them behind so he could inform us as soon as possible, but they shouldn’t be far from Anor Londo now.”

Carius bowed in response. “It will be done, my lord,” he said.

“What of Sir Artorias?” asked Ciaran.

“Him you can notify. He would start to suspect something otherwise.”

Ciaran eased her stance ever so slightly next to him at those words. He could understand that. Lying to the Wolf Knight wouldn’t sit well with him either.

“As for you, My Blade Ciaran, your priority will be observing our city for any signs of unrest. Anything that could seemingly be tied to this ordeal. In doing so, you will assist the Captain in suppressing any information. Should he ask you for any specific assistance, you will provide it.”

The Lord’s Blade bowed in confirmation.

He silenced himself for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “But your priority will be Velka. While I do not suspect she is involved, I want to know any of her movements nonetheless. If somehow she would discover this, I have no doubt grave actions would follow. But you will watch her alone. Your remaining sisters currently present Anor Londo will have a different task.”

“As you say, my lord. I will not let her out of my sight,” she said with devotion and purpose. She also asked if she should notify her sisters.

“I will give them commands myself,” responded Lord Gwyn. “But I desire to know what my son actually has in mind. It won’t be war… Unless, of course, all of his talk was empty,” the Lord of Sunlight explained, the last part mainly to himself.

As he refocused, he asked with a clear but tired voice. “Do you have any questions, my knights?”

Neither said yes.

“Good. Good…”

Lord Gwyn then nodded, telling them they are free to leave. As they did so, Carius looked at his Lord one more time.

The Greatlord was looking out of the window towards the setting Sun, eyes cloudy and sad.

END OF ACT I

Chapter Text

The sewers, also known as the Depths by the human inhabitants of the Burgs, were not an overly popular place.

Understandably, most disliked the smell of this place before anything else. The tunnels were kept in serviceable conditions, but the stench was something one could never truly remove. But to Carius, the narrow round walls were that which unnerved him the most. They were dark and wet, with green moss sticking to the upper bricks. The surface was mostly smooth, but there were cracks and small holes here and there. Within those, maggots, insects, and other detestable creatures resided until they were either consumed by their kin or drowned when the water surface rose far enough for it to reach them.

And, of course, the hallway in which they walked would be completely shrouded in darkness, if not for both the rays of light descending from the manholes above and the dim light of the Silver Knight’s weapons.

This part of the maze-like complex was drained currently, as the summer was in full swing upside. Only a relatively small stream of murky water flowed through the central canal.

The closed nature of it reminded Carius too much of the old underground. Their original home, which was still far below. Memories of that place were old, mostly forgotten. But now, as his conroi walked through the tunnels of the drain system, the Captain struggled to not think back to that ancient past.

Like most Silver Knights, he didn’t remember much from the time before Lord Gwyn found him. Nothing truly coherent. No faces or specific places. Nor any experiences of note beyond mundane survival. Not even the name he was born with if there was any at all.

But he did remember the cold and the dark.

It was everywhere. Water itself was rare, but there was ever-present coolness in the heavy air. It made the stone-cold to touch and sleeping a dangerous endeavor. It weakened body and spirit both and often was the primary cause for the demise within the tunnels.

The dark posed an obvious danger in concealing a potential predator. A cragspider in its lair. A slime waiting for one wrong step. A herd of rats ready to pounce on anything that moved. Or one of the cursed basilisks hiding amongst the cracks.

It was a miserable existence.

It was no surprise, then, like so many others that were drawn by the heat of the First Flame, he found himself in the great cavern that would one day become the Kiln. He braved the soaring fires and the ashen wasteland that surrounded them. But unlike most, he never found more than scraps and pieces that remained of the souls. No essence that would give him the strength needed to become something more, something worth living for.

There begins one and only memory he can recall with true clarity. It begins with an emotion that nearly ended him right then and there; despair. Utter and complete, envolving his entire being. The resigned acceptance that, indeed, he would remain nothing followed soon after.

What was the point of it all, if even the Flame refused him?

But then, as he lay on the burning ground, about to fade into nothing, there was Light. Not the oppressive orange of the fires, but gentle brilliant golden. Suddenly, before him stood a creature bathed in power he never knew could exist. Fear took him. He wished to rise, to run, to hide from its scorching gaze, but his legs wouldn’t obey. His body was unresponsive.

So he lay there, frightened eyes watching the power towering above him. He thought then that it will surely step on him. Why should it bother itself with something so insignificant as him? It likely wasn’t even aware he was there, just like he wouldn’t notice a worm underneath his own foot.

He closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate. He came here because of the Flame, to feel its warmth and to claim some of its power for himself. He had failed miserably, and now, fittingly, he will join the ash beneath him.

But no pain came, no weight crushed his body. Instead, arms took hold of his weak form, raising it from the ground.

Confused, he overcame the weakness and opened his eyes once again. A face was watching him. It was clean, calm, heavy white beard giving it a visage of wisdom.

No words came from it, but instead, he could feel the until now cool hands that held him heat up. The sensation was odd. It was like a thousand tiny needless probed his skin. But there was no pain. On the contrary; his scorched skin stopped burning and he could breathe freely once again.

His eyelids became heavy once again, and this time he couldn’t resist dropping them. As his consciousness drifted far away from his body, he was still sure it would be for the last time.

Today, Carius knew that this memory was of the moment when the First Lord found him. He granted him a soul of his own, a tiny part of the great Light Soul.

Through that, Lord Gwyn not only saved his life but gave it meaning. A purpose. One that led Carius into the fledgling Silver Order, gladly bounding himself in service to the Lord of Sunlight forevermore.

It was a story not dissimilar to many others. While details differed, all ended in the same way: Lord Gwyn raising them from the nothingness, giving them the world.

Which leads back to the present day. The purpose of the Silver Knights’ presence here is something that not only threatens Anor Londo and its people but personally offends Carius. They are here, wading through this filth because those that needed to be punished hide here. Traitors that not only spit into the face of everything the Greatlord stands for but dare to betray the man that made them into what they are today.

Tavia and the other two knights walked ahead, their spears and shields in a small phalanx formation. Behind them, Carius and three other Silver Knights were in the middle, and the column was closed by three archers. Understandably, their greatbows were left in the citadel, switched for smaller, but still formidable longbows with more portable ammunition, which hang from their waists.

And now, finally, they have reached their destination. Though one wouldn’t think so, for the hallway was identical to everything around it. That is, except for a small mark, resembling two crossed daggers, above a tiny alcove.

Tavia looked at him and made room for him to walk forward. Carius nodded and pulled out a dagger that hung at his waist. It was a small, ugly thing. Blade from some kind of black metal, hilt curved and uncomfortable to wield. Fortunately, the Captain didn’t have to wait long before parting with it.

Within the small alcove, there was a gap. But before he put the dagger into it, he turned slightly to his men. There were no words said, for they all knew their orders. As unlikely as it was, speaking now posed a danger of revealing their presence. So he simply looked over his men, making sure the Silver Knights are ready and sheathed the dagger into the gap.

No reaction, though none was expected.

Instead, Carius tapped the wall before him lightly with his sword. Or would tap, if the blade wouldn't pass through the now quickly disappearing surface. The illusionary wall was gone, revealing a hallway in its place. Unlike the one they were currently in, this one was dry.

Tavia and the spearmen went first, the archers behind them, then the rest. After a moment of walking, the path turned left, and light could be seen ahead. Before the knights turned, they also started hearing voices. Two of those were noticeably in a heated discussion.

“-act like he doesn’t try to cheat every single time we play.”

“Oi, that ain’t fair at all! Is this how ye repay for me friendship? When was the last time I tried to cross ya, mate?”

“An hour ago, when you allowed me to win so your winnings would be larger next game.”

“Bollocks, show me some proof!”

A third voice joined, sounding tired. “You marked the cards Jaune, we ain’t blind. Do you take us for idiots like yer other friends? You had all the right cards last time, but Martine still won, doubling the stakes for the next game.”

“Right. Come to think of it, you pulled the same trick on that chef two days ago, haven’t you? That’s why he kicked your arse,” the voice belonging to Martine questioned with a mocking glee.

“The bloody hell was I supposed to do? The cheeky bastard had a cleaver!”

Carius looked behind the corner, seeing them seated around a small table, their bodies illuminated by a candle. They were inside of a room, or something that could be classified as such. One of the open spaces where floodgate could be found. Indeed, he could see it right past them, closed. That meant they needed to get past the gate, to the cistern behind.

The conversation continued as the three men kept arguing. They weren’t shouting per se, but their voices were loud.

Good. They are focused on each other. He gestured at the archers.

They stepped into the hallway with bows at the ready.

“Loose,” commanded Carius.

The moment the arrows were underway, the Captain and the rest followed, rushing forward. Heavy steps echoed through the narrow pathway now, but the three men that were too busy with their cards a moment ago weren’t able to care.

One was unmoving. He had an arrow sticking from his eye socket, its tip buried deep beneath the man’s skull. The other was desperately trying to stop the stream of blood that flew from his pierced neck. Gurgling noises could be heard when he did spot the Silver Knights eventually, but soon after that, his limp arms fell alongside the body.

The third one likely saw the servants of Lord Gwyn a moment before they released their arrows, and tried to rise from his chair. As such, the arrow aimed at this man was in the middle of his chest, where his heart resided. He was now splashed on the cold ground.

Unlucky, really, thought Carius. The archer couldn’t react to the change of position of his target, as he released the arrows at the same time as his brothers. So the fact the arrow pierced the heart of his foe was a mere coincidence. Fortunate or unfortunate, depending on the perspective.

All of them wore unassuming plain brown tunics and dark pants. What was eye-catching were the weapons. One had a mace, the other two both had two sheathed daggers.

Unsurprising. Velka’s servants often were thieves or even assassins. She always attracted the downtrodden and the wretched. And more oft than not, humans.

Carius looked the room over. Other than a table, four chairs, and now three dead bodies, the room was empty. Or, nearly empty, with a large bell next to the table. It was black, reminiscent of the metal the dagger was made from, Carius noted, and there were runes carved into its surface. Purely physically speaking, the swordsman doubted its sound would reach through the other side through the metal gate or thick stone walls. But those carvings were an obvious clue that magic would be involved.

Either way, it wasn’t rung, its keepers killed before they had a chance to do so.

The only other thing present was a wheel next to the flood gate. One of the archers already stood before it.

The Silver Knights formed a shield wall in front of the gate, this time all four spearmen standing first, the Captain and two sword-wielders behind them.

Once again, there was no need for words, and so Carius merely nodded at the archer at the wheel. They all knew what to do.

The gate rose with a screeching noise. Just as well. The need for secrecy has passed and anyone who would wish to escape would have to go through them first. Before, if they would be noticed too soon, their foes could disappear easily within the labyrinth that was the drain complex. Now, they were cornered within the cistern.

The high noise was enough to wake up a giant, so it was no surprise the moment they marched into the large open space the chaos began.

There was a small crowd of people inside, around twenty individuals.

Of those, several men and women screamed, pointing first their fingers, then their weapons at the approaching knights.

The cistern was massive at first sight, but about half of it lacked a floor, creating a cliff from which the dirty water would fall into the basin below. The dome had a circular opening at its peak, letting the light of the day to illuminate the inside. There were braziers at the sides as well, providing more light.

In the middle of the cistern, there was a slab of back stone, with bronze monoliths at its corners. A shrine. Or an altar.

And before it a woman stood, clothed in completely black robes, brass helmet covering her upper face, a rapier at her side. Unlike everyone else, she remained collected, merely gesturing for those around her to move.

And move they did, to meet the Silver Knights in combat who formed a line of spears and swords.

Discounting the robed woman and a tall man that seemed like her bodyguard, four traitors remained behind. Two of them had light crossbows in their arms, two wielded a longbow.

The first projectiles were released in haste and easily blocked by the shields and the plate armor. In response, the Silver Knight archers that stayed at the gate released their own arrows, killing one of them and wounding the other two.

In the meantime, the other servants of Velka ran forward, clashing with the knights of Lord Gwyn.

To call it a battle would be an embellishment, however. Slaughter would be more fitting.

The heretics were disorganized, obviously untrained, and inexperienced in facing a heavily armored foe. While some wielded short swords or maces, most had knives.

The Silver Knights advanced forward, slashing and stabbing their foes as they tried to challenge them. But the knights were in an advantage, from weaponry to reach and strength.

Their foes realized that a direct attack was a suicide, and stead attempted to circle around their formation. The archers tried to stop this by shooting at them, but the rogues utilized one thing that was going for them, and deftly dodged the projectiles.

Carius smirked underneath his helmet. If the traitors thought the Silver Knights could fight only in a formation, they were gravely mistaken.

He raised his sword. “Break ranks!”

The knights did so, and each rushed towards the foe they chose, though each still remained close enough to their brethren to not be isolated entirely. Tavia was first in the thick of it, bashing her shield into one of the enemies, sending the man to the ground, and crushing his neck underneath her sabaton. At the same time, she skewered a woman that tried to her with a club, making her scream in pain.

The Captain chose two large heretics. Judging by their height, they weren’t humans, but Carius could feel the small pieces of Light Soul inside of them, only confirming his suspicion that those were of his kin.

The first one wielded a hammer and swung it horizontally with enough strength to break all bones within Carius’ body. The Silver Knight jumped back and as his opponent tried to swing it back, he quickly stabbed the foe in the belly that was covered merely by cloth. The man growled, but released the hold on his weapon, making it fall to the ground.

Before he could pull it deep though, he had to put his shield up to block the coming strike from the second man, who wore leather armor and wielded a blunt two-handed sword. The strike sent tremors through the Captain’s arm, but he didn’t hesitate and tried to slash at the opponent the moment his sword was freed. Alas, the traitor showed some skill of his own and blocked the attack with his own blade. It was accompanied by a mocking smile, which soon turned to a pained scowl as the tip of Carius’ sabaton found his shin, leaving a blood mark behind on the unprotected flesh.

He tried to react by swinging his own sword low at the knight’s own feet, but it lacked proper vigor and the blow was deflected by the Silver Knight’s grieves.

That small trick left the adversary’s face exposed, and Carius slammed it with his shield, making him stumble back. As Carius prepared to finish the fight, two arms embraced him from behind. The other man from before, still bleeding but alive, tried to hold the Silver Knight long for his partner, but Carius was having none of it. He banged his helmet backward with enough force to break the man’s nose. That made him release his hold on the knight and without turning around, the Knight-Captain used the hilt of his sword to hit the man’s face once again, for good measure.

Just in time too, as the first opponent was about to strike him down with his sword, swinging it vertically. The moment before it landed, Carius crouched, raised his shield to block the attack, and lunged forward with his blade, stabbing the man below his waist, where the armor ended. The man’s momentum only helped the silver sword to slide through the flesh, paining the metal and hand it held crimson.

Not wasting time, the knight rose and turned around to see his remaining opponent struggling to rise. Calmly, Carius took three steps towards him and slashed his throat.

Looking ahead, he saw most of the enemy combatants were already dead, a few trying to escape, but were hit by arrows before they reached the gate.

He took a single step before a weight landed on his back. Dirty legs held tightly around his armor, as a hand appeared in his line of sight with a dagger pointed towards the Silver Knight’s helmet. It was so close he could see the thin layer of violet poison that graced the inelegant blade.

Carius tried to hit the assailant, but the disadvantage of heavy armor was that he couldn’t raise his arms far enough, so he opted to drop his sword instead, quickly grabbing the hand with the knife before it stabbed his face.

The assassin didn’t relent and still tried to get the dagger closer, but the Silver Knight tightened his own grip on the foe’s arm, making the man - no, woman, judging by the pained yelp - release some of the strength for a moment. Using the moment, Carius rapidly pushed his elbow back, hitting the clingy thief.

She released the dagger in surprise, and the Captain finally utilized his full strength to throw her body over him. The heretic didn’t even have time to vocally respond as he dropped her with a crash and an ugly crack on the stony ground.

Not surprisingly, she didn’t move after that. A close one, Carius thought as he took rapid breaths.

He then looked around to check for any more danger, but no other surprises seemed to wait for him.

The other knights have finished their own fights just now as well. He noted with contentment that none of his men were amidst the many bodies that littered the floor. One did receive an injury on their arm, and another knight was applying a bandage soaked in a purification concoction atop of it. One can never be too careful, after all.

But other than that, no losses. Though that came as no surprise. To fall to such filth as these heretics would be a disgrace.

Speaking of the traitors, four of them were still alive, cowering in a group, begging for mercy. Very good. While their orders didn’t mention taking prisoners, he knew the Lord’s Blades were always ever so happy to receive them.

Poor fools will probably wish they died here soon enough.

And, of course, there were still two other people standing tall. The robed woman and her protector.

The Silver Knights reformed the ranks, creating a circle around the altar. Carius took a step forward. The man, clothed in black leather armor, pointed his shotel at him.

“That’s far enough!” he shouted, rage clear in his voice.

“Come now, Louis,” said Carius in a way of greeting. “You know as well as I do that this is over. You won’t escape us this time. Surrender, and you will be treated fairly.”

Louis laughed, a forlorn sound without humor. “Fairly? When was the last time your wretched kind have treated anyone fairly? Was it when your fair judges deemed a dozen hungry and desperate as heretics? When your fair Greatlord exiled a hundred innocents for simply being affiliated with deities no longer comfortable to his tyranny? Your justice was always delivered by the blade of the executioner’s axe.”

“Or a hammer, if Smough would have his way,” responded the Captain with humor lacing his words. The next words lacked any of it, however. “Safe your populist speeches, traitor. It won’t work on anyone who doesn’t lack roof over their head. Anor Londo had always acted within the boundaries of its law. It simply punished those who attempted to poison its prosperity. You alone are responsible for at the very least fifteen murders, and we both know there were far more.”

The heretic raised his voice at that, fury dripping from it. “Sinners! One and all, judged by our shrouded lady as filth only to be punished for their crimes!”

Carius's mind drifted for a moment to a scene he was a witness to mere days ago. A man and a woman, both high-ranking priests of Caitha, the goddess of tears, were found by their children vivisected in their bed. It was an image that made the Silver Knight glad he didn’t sleep, and thus couldn’t experience nightmares. For that image would surely haunt them for a long time.

It was an iconic style of the man who stood before him, Louis of the Glass.

There was no redemption left for this monster.

“I say this for the last time, traitor. Yield.”

Louis growled, his body tense and strained. But then suddenly he relaxed, and his head tilted to the side. Something had to occur to him.

“How? How did you find us this time, Carius? Who dared to betray the Goddess of Sin?”

At that, satisfaction was roused within the Captain. He smiled.

“You direct your question at the wrong person. Ask the one behind you. She was the one that gave us the dagger, after all.”

That finally roused a reaction from the one in question. The robbed woman, until now stoic, let a small sigh escape her delicate lips.

Confusion was on the murderer’s face first, then followed by dawning understanding, as he was about to turn around. “No,” he whispered.

“I am sorry, Louis.”

With those words, Pardoner Ariamis pulled out her rapier, piercing Louis's heart with unmatched speed.

Chapter Text

Paperwork. 

Often, many of his subordinates asked him why he puts so much effort into his reports. A knight ought to wield a sword, not a pen. Leave that to the clercs and Channelers, they said.

What many of them fail to realize is that information is half of the battle. Knowledge is victory. 

Doubly so if the war waged is against one such as secretive Velka and her loyalists. Not massive beasts that spew fire from above, but ilk that moves in darkness and strikes from shadows. A seemingly upstanding citizen and a faithful of a loyal god could easily reveal themselves as a heretic at any time, as proven time and time again. 

No man, however sharp or competent, can remember every detail. And therein lies the importance of written records. No man can remember all. But paper and stone can. Something that could be considered unimportant today could easily become essential tomorrow. The tiniest of those details, no matter how obscure, can be a difference between quite literally life and death. 

That is why Carius takes half a day to write a report of an engagement that all in all lasted less than three minutes, planning and journey there and back notwithstanding.

And as the Captain puts a blue-feathered quill to paper, again and again, he looks back to every important piece of information he can think of. 

They planned the entire ordeal painstakingly for days. Every possible scenario was considered and every course of action was weighted. They knew perfectly where the gathering would take place and how to reach the secret sanctum without rousing alarm. 

Ariamis made sure of that. 

The Pardoner made an offer. One of her servants entered the Royal Manor two weeks ago. He put forward the location of Louis, as well as the identities of other high-ranking servants of Velka, to the Royal Family. He told them where to find several of their sanctuaries, in which the heretics gather to scheme and plot, and how to enter them. And he promised more.

All in exchange for a pardon for Ariamis herself as well as ensuring her safety following her retrieval, though her instructions made clear she hoped to escape Velka’s wrath by orchestrating her defection as a mere lost battle and imprisonment. 

The offer itself was shocking, to say the least. Be it through bribery or torture, the servants of Velka very rarely disclosed any information about their brethren or their shrouded lady. Both loyalty and fear of their mistress’ wrath kept any information they possessed at bay. And yet, here was someone who gave them more information about their enemy than they gathered during the last several years. 

What was even more surprising, however, was the fact it came from Ariamis herself. Who, until that fateful day, was known as a noble lady, devoted to Anor Londo and its people. Compassionate and caring, she was famous for her various projects to assist the less fortunate, people who either lost everything or never had anything in the first place. A woman who rose from misery herself, and as such was uniquely suited to understand the woes that plagued the poor and the sick. 

She was an epitome of a model citizen. 

And yet, even Ariamis was in league with Velka’s dark plots. What’s more, she was her Pardoner! Their kind were high-ranking priests of the Goddess of Sin, known to occasionally appear in some rogue’s den in the Burgs and elsewhere, offering absolution for coins. 

Carius scoffed at the thought. Redemption for currency. As if anyone needed another proof of Velka’s lack of character and values…

But, as surprising as all of this was, it made sense, on a logical level. Ariamis gave them the dagger, the information, everything necessary for the Silver Knights to ambush the gathering she was heading and to make it seem like she was taken captive. For reasons undisclosed to him, the Pardoner wished to stop serving Velka. Fair enough.

The skirmish itself went smoothly. The dagger that revealed the illusionary wall worked, they perfectly ambushed the traitors, and murderer Louis, unwilling to leave Ariamis’ side, died by her blade. 

Afterward, Ariamis, who uttered no word, and the few prisoners were escorted back to Anor Londo. Some of the Silver Knights remained there, to wait for another group that was sent to the Depths whose purpose was to destroy the shrine and burn the bodies. 

A victory by all standards. 

So why can’t he help but think he had missed something?

A sound roused him from his thoughts, a knock on the door.

Before responding, the Silver Knight glimpsed at the hourglass on his table. Still, an hour before he has to respond to the summons from the Citadel.

“Enter.”

The door opened, revealing none other than the Emissary of Izalith, whose appraising gaze immediately fell upon the knight’s workplace.

“Still hard at work, I see,” she said, as she entered the room.

Carius put the quill down, gesturing to the mass of paper next to him. “Someone has to,” he said. “You know well how I dislike leaving matters unattended. The report is due for the Royal Library this evening, so it ought to be finished by then.” 

Quelana nodded sagely. “I’m certain the clercs quiver in anticipation for it, so they can file it into a shelf and never take it out again.”

The Silver Knight groaned and leaned against the chair’s back. “Don't tell me you wish to pester me about this too. Today alone I already tried to explain to three different people why I bother myself with it.”

She waved her hand. “Just don’t try it on me. I don’t think I could endure another session on the topic of ‘why is bureaucracy important‘ from you.”

“It is not my fault none of you appreciate its value and results it brings,” mumbled the Captain tiredly.

“Again, I’m not getting into that conversation with you,” the Witch said. “Rather, would you be willing to accompany me?”

“To where?” asked the Silver Knight. 

“Just on a relaxed walk through the Ruby Gardens. I’ve heard they are quite a sight this time of year.”

Carius felt his eyebrow rise all on its own at that. “Since when have you cared for horticulture? I can’t imagine it is overly popular in Izalith.”

“Since when I have cared what is popular in Izalith?” she scoffed. “But other than that, you are mistaken. While my people do prefer stone, there are many gardens within Izalith as well… though your soft kind might find them somewhat oppressive, I admit.”

How could gardens be oppressive, the Silver Knight wondered. Better to not know, he eventually decided.

He didn’t get the chance to ask though, as Qualana waved her hand. “Enough of that. Will you accompany me or will you keep sulking over paperwork?”

Carius looked at his report. It was finished, all things considered. The only thing that kept the knight from taking it to the library was the itch at the back of his head that told him that he had missed something. Something… but what?

Well, he won’t obviously find the answer now. Still, he had many other things to attend to here…

“I am busy, Quelana. I can not afford to waste time when there is work to be done.”

“Not an excuse. There is always work to be done. A friend’s patience, or time, however, is something you might find yourself lacking soon.”

Fair point, he supposes. 

“I have to report to the Cathedral in an hour, but until then I will walk with you, my lady.”

Quelana gave him a small smile. 

“That’s all I ask, sir knight.”

***

The Ruby Garden was quite a sight indeed. A sea of crimson within the divine city’s walls. Red maples, great trees that honoured their name by having leaves colour of blood, decorated the dirt paths below. Among them were flowers, all red as well. Carius recognized roses and poppies, though the names of the rest eluded him. 

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, but eventually, Quelana mentioned she ran into Smough a while ago. Carius offered his condolences and mentioned the Executioner isn’t generally liked, especially by a certain Knight of Gwyn who often has to rein him in. 

“To say he merely dislikes Smough would be an understatement.”

His companion nodded. “I’m not surprised. They are like heat and cold. From my limited experience with them both, the Executioner is nothing like the Dragonslayer. Sir Ornstein is known for being a refined gentleman. Well-spoken, thoughtful, and known as a peerless warrior. More than one lady of higher upbringing was caught dead swooning over him. Sir Smough certainly has no such problem.”

“Would you count yourself among the ladies who swoon over the Lion Knight?” asked Carius, putting mild disinterest into his tone. 

She gave him a smirk in return. “And here I thought our dear Captain cares nothing for the personal lives of those around him. How mistaken I was!”

“I do not. I simply think it logical that you would find him attractive. As you have stated yourself, he is a charming man.”

“Ah, so not only interested in if he caught my eye, but already making presentations? Tsk tsk, Carius. Have your romance novels taught you nothing? This line of thinking never ends well.”

By the Greatlord, not this again. The knight wished to put his hand on his helmet in frustration but held himself back. “I told you not to speak of that in public. What would people think if they knew... ugh. Forget it.”

She laughed, rousing some birds above their heads from the emerald canopies. “Sometimes I am amazed how easy it is to rouse a reaction from you, my dear,” she said. 

What a troublesome woman.

After a few minutes of silence as they walked through the garden, she spoke again. “Sir Ornstein is a great man. But I always got a sense of… sadness? No, not quite... melancholy is the word. It radiates off of him if you care to look.”

Hmm. Quelana was a sharp woman, so it was not a surprise she noticed. Still, Carius was certain not many knew. Ornstein didn’t appear at public events often, after all.

He wondered if he could share his thoughts on the matter. As it was the middle of the day, the Ruby Garden was deserted, and the tall hedges would make any bystanders unlikely to eavesdrop anyway.

“It has been many years since the war,” the silver-clad knight began. The Fire Witch looked at him, confused at how this connected to her previous words, but let him continue.

“And they say time heals all wounds. But no matter how many centuries will pass, I don’t think the Dragonslayer will ever fully come to terms with how it ended.”

Understanding dawned on Quelana and she nodded slowly. “So there might be something to the rumors after all…”

Now it was Carius’ turn to be confused. He didn’t partake in any balls or ventured into any inns, after all, so the local rumor mill was something he didn’t come into contact with often.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I overheard some talks that before… the Banishment, he and Ornstein were close.”

“That is one way to put it,” spoke the knight grimly after a moment in thought. “Though I am surprised it isn’t common knowledge. Ornstein wasn’t just the First Knight to Lord Gwyn, but also to him…” He then added. “Some would say he was First Knight to him, and to Lord Gwyn second.”

Quelana shrugged. “People forget easily when something exits their lives and doesn’t make itself known for a long time. We are all focused on our lives, and he wasn’t part of those since the Age of Fire was declared.” 

Law that forbids to mention the Firstborn by name, or at all, thought Carius to himself, doesn’t help either. Not to mention that all icons that could remind anyone of the God of War were destroyed and gradually replaced by different symbols. 

All except the one, that is. The alcove next to the statue of Lord Gwyn in the Cathedral remains empty to this day. Why, Carius didn’t know.

A new topic was in order. “How is Salaman?” he asked.

“Don’t speak of him to me,” responded Quelana, anger suddenly tilting her voice.

Carius hummed in response, knowing she will not waste the opportunity to complain about her pupil.

Unsurprisingly, she didn’t disappoint. 

“The fool of an apprentice nearly blew up our class last time!” she exclaimed, waving her hands to release the obviously pumped-up energy.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes! Supposedly he improved a typical fireball to be bigger, but when he started casting it, his staff nearly snapped in two! I told him time and time again that our catalysts aren’t durable enough to withstand this kind of concentrated power, but he insists he knows better!”

“How irritating.” 

“You don’t have to tell me! And the day before he strolled into my house - when the moon was highest - hands full of various schematics and texts that explained in great detail how we could create a whip of fire. A whip! To give fire a shape and form and wield it as such. Ludicrous!” 

Carius rose an eyebrow at her theatrics. “He sounds like a creative and ambitious person.”

“You don’t know the half of it…” sighed the Witch. They were about to reach the center of the park now. The Temple of Fina, the Goddess of Beauty, could be seen ahead, its gold columns supporting an arc depicting a rather bold scene.

“Reminds me of someone else I know.”

Quelana pursed her pale lips in response. “If this is what my Mother had to deal with, I’m starting to understand why she sent me here as a liaison. I was likely insufferable.”

“Hmm, yes. Was.”

“Do not push your luck, sir knight. We people of Izalith aren’t known for our patience,” she said, but good-natured humor could be heard in her words.

The Knight-Captain chuckled. Perhaps taking a walk now and then wasn’t so bad. 

***

“They are expecting you, sir knight,” said the servant. Vokris, was his name, Carius believed. 

He entered the great hall, with a great map in its center. In times of conflict, the war council gathered here to strategize. In times of peace, trade treaties and other various deals of political nature were conducted here. 

It was also the room in which Carius was made a Knight-Captain of the Silver Order, so long ago…

Beyond Vokris, who followed him, the large room was occupied by Arkon, who stood silent next to the throne. Several others of the Imperial Guard were present as well, ever vigilant. 

Of course, on the throne sat the Greatlord, who was currently reading through a scroll, his left hand idly stroking his beard. 

More unusually, his son, Prince Gwyndolin, stood (flew? The snakes were touching the ground, but could they truly carry his weight?) next to him, his face inscrutable underneath his golden crown, clothed in a long snow-white dress.

To see Gwyndolin was… unusual, to say the least. The reclusive God of Moon rarely left the Cathedral, and even within its confines, he moved often unseen and unheard. 

While guarding him in his younger years on an occasion, Carius never said more than a few words of respect to him. Out of all the Royal Family, Gwyndolin was the greatest enigma, be it his origins or his nature as a person. 

The Silver Knight kneeled before the throne, waiting for his liege to speak. 

Speak he did. “Sir Carius, rise. There are matters we must discuss.”

Carius did so, as Lord Gwyn put aside the scroll, his eyes fixated on the knight in front of him. 

“What is your bidding, my master?”  

“First, I wish to congratulate you, sir knight. You performed yourself admirably rescuing the fair Ariamis from the clutches of heretics and traitors.”

Rescued? That is not a word Carius would use.

“She spoke highly of your skill and she wishes for you to know she is deeply indebted to you.”

Carius didn’t know the former Pardoner well enough to know if this claim was sincere but considering who she served, Carius will remain skeptical. But he won’t voice that aloud, of course. 

“As for myself, I know your capability, my Captain, which is why I gave you command over the Silver Knights. But I must admit that in truth, I am pleasantly surprised all went well and according to our plans. In the current absence of My Four Knights, a failure could cost us deeply.”

Carius nodded. Maybe he could share his doubts with his liege? “I understand, my lord. I thought the same and I thank you for your trust in me and my knights. Our foe is slippery and deceitful. Often our victories were paid in blood through their trickery. To not be the case now is fortunate, if somewhat unnerving. I… did not expect that Velka would let go of two of her important servants so easily.”

Lord Gwyn looked at Gwyndolin after hearing Carius, nodding. 

“I have expected you will harbor doubts, my knight. For now, however, secrecy is our most effective tool against Velka, and as such, I cannot disclose any details. Not even to you, not yet. But do know it is all part of our plan.” 

Carius put his right hand over his heart. “I have full faith in you, my lord. I wished to voice my concerns, but I see there is no need. Until you give me the command, I shall not inquire further.”

“Very good, sir knight,” said the Lord of Sunlight. He rose from his throne then. 

“Let us move to the map now. My son, if you will?”

The Prince gave a low bow and moved ahead to stand on the other side of the large circular table. As before, a map of the world was carved into its surface, though some small kingdoms, duchies, and principalities were added into the patchwork of nations that surrounded Lordran.   

“We have a task for you, Captain Carius,” spoke Gwyndolin. His voice was gentle, but there was power in it. Not the same kind as that in his father’s or sister’s voice. Certainly not like his brother’s either. But it was there, of that there was no doubt. 

The Silver Knight bowed his head. “I live to serve, sire.”

“Lady Ariamis revealed much to us. Some of it you already know, such as information detailing her servants and where to find them. But she also told us Velka seeks something. An item of supposedly immense power. Coincidentally, only Ariamis herself knows how to put it to use, giving us an advantage.”

How convenient, he wished to say. Instead, he spoke “I see. Any weapon we take from the traitor goddess is a victory in my book. What is my role in this, sire?”

A small smile appeared on Gwyndolin’s delicate face.

“You will fetch it for us, of course.”

A retrieval? That doesn’t sound all too complicated, though it obviously depends upon this item’s location…

“What my son meant,” spoke Lord Gwyn, throwing a furrowed glance at the Prince, “is that we are giving you a task of utmost importance. One that will likely take several weeks, if not months, to finish. With Sir Artorias and Dame Ciaran in New Londo and Sir Gough and Sir Ornstein in Dragontail Mountains, I cannot put this task into anyone else’s hands.” 

Carius knit his brows. Months?

“Apologies, my lord, but I do not understand.”

It was Gwyndolin who spoke next yet again, pointing to a spot on the map casually. “I suggest you go prepare yourself for a long journey, sir knight. For with the coming of tomorrow's dawn, you will set on your journey to the Kingdom of Astora.”

Chapter Text

“It will be strange not having you around,” mused Havel as they walked towards the outer gate. The promenade was mostly devoid of any people, bar two Sentinels who were patrolling the wide street. Otherwise, it was too early for most denizens of Anor Londo to stroll around.

“Only for less than two months,” replied Carius. “Twenty days there, twenty back, plus a week within Astora itself, according to the Caravan Master.”

“I do still find it odd you won’t travel there on a horse by yourself. Would be much faster, I wager.”

“So I believe as well. But Prince Gwyndolin was clear. Secrecy will serve us better than speed, or so he claimed.”

The Bishop gave a pointed look at the Caravan that now stood before them. A Carriage with two roofed wagons, made from birch wood, carted by four white stallions. Six Silver Knights stood on its sides, an escort. But what captured the attention the most was the individual sitting in the coach box of the carriage, behind the horse’s yokes. Clothed in green garments and golden jewelry, the man had shoulder-length fiery hair and a short beard, both obviously carefully tended after.

And at the moment, he was barking orders at the various servants that were checking the convoy for any defects with increasing loudness. (‘Are the wheels in perfect condition? Did you oil them? What about the chassis, did you check it for cracks? Well, check it again then!‘)

“Secrecy, you say…” remarked Havel, watching the Caravan Master boss others around in their last-minute check-ups with growing amusement.

Carius cleared his throat. “Ahern of Zena oversaw the delivery of tributes from Astora and surrounding human kingdoms for the past thirty years. He is trustworthy, I was told. More importantly, his schedule is a routine, so the presence of Lordran servants won’t cause such a commotion.”

“I see. If that’s Prince Gwyndolin’s plan, who are we to oppose it?” remarked the Bishop with a certain distaste in his words. The Captain pretended not to notice. Havel’s dislike for non-holy magic was well-known. And while Carius suspected it started with the Pale Drake and Havel’s hatred for him, Gwyndolin himself - a powerful sorcerer in his own right - did little to ease this distrust.

Carius couldn’t say he didn’t share some of these doubts, even if he would never voice them. He also suspected the Dark Moon enjoyed being enigmatic.

“Knight-Commanders Arkon and Siefer will take over my duties in my absence,” he reminded the Bishop instead. “If anything concerning the security of Anor Londo comes to your attention, seek them.”

Havel chuckled and waved his hand in mock dismissal. “Yes, yes. I am well aware, Sir Carius. The divine city won’t turn into a pile of bricks in two months just because it won’t have its stalwart Captain for a bit. But to ease your worry, we will remain vigilant, as always.”

“I certainly hope so. This place wasn’t easy to build.”

Havel wanted to respond, but the Caravan Master was faster. And louder.

“Sir Captain! If you are done chit-chatting, we are on a tight schedule here! I would rather cross Balder sooner than later.”

“That is my cue,” nodded Carius. “Be well, Bishop.”

“You as well, sir knight. May the Flames guide thee on your journey.”

***

“Rats? Are you certain, Severa? That sounds like an odd custom.”

Skepticism was obvious in the question, but before the female Silver Knight could answer, another one joined the conversation.

“Why, of course,” he said in an all too serious tone. “Humans tend to keep giant rats as pets. You didn’t know? I’ve heard tales that even kings of distant lands treat them like family.”

A scoff was his answer. “While I wouldn’t put it past some of them, you are an idiot if you think I will trust you in anything when it comes to humans and their odd habits. Certainly not again.”

“Well, someone has a sharp tongue today. You are still angry about that accident with the healer, aren’t you? Look, it’s not my fault you misinterpreted my advice.”

“Misinterpreted? You told me that humans appreciate useful things, like me. That gift should demonstrate my gratitude. Something symbolic, but still practical. You also said that it couldn’t be cheap, as that could insult him.”

“Hmm. I vaguely recall saying those words, yes, though I would point out I didn’t specify this applies only to humans. It's basic sense.”

“Oh, so it is a basic sense now! It sure didn’t look like it when you struggled to give me even this excuse of advice. But never mind that. I trusted you, and like a fool, I followed your so-called advice. A grievous mistake! I haven't been able to encounter him ever since. Not even in his clinic! Clearly, he is avoiding me!”

Ordelius turned his helmet to her, giving her a prolonged look.

“Tavia, you gave the man a goose.”

Silver Knight Severa, who until now watched the conversation with growing confusion, hesitantly asked. “You gave a man you fancied a… goose, Chief Tavia?”

Ordelius nodded, obviously enjoying that they had an audience and weren’t limited by the public etiquette of Anor Londo. “Oh, she did. And now she tries to blame me for that! Can you imagine the audac- oof.”

His words were interrupted by the woman in question, who lowered her hand on his helmet, silencing him abruptly. Then she turned to Severa.

“First, I do not fancy him. That would be unbecoming of a knight and kin to Lord Gwyn. I was simply trying to repay his kindness,” she said with finality in her words. She then continued with her explanation.

“Goose is a useful animal. Its feathers can be used to fill a pillow or a blanket, decorations and other things notwithstanding. Its meat is tasty and healthy, especially if prepared right, according to the merchant who sold it to me. More importantly, the goose itself is the symbol of Old Man McLoyf. Any healer worth his red robes would surely appreciate a gift that was tied to their patron deity, no? Not to mention he seemed grateful initially!”

“You should have given him a bottle of booze like I originally suggested. McLoyf would agree with me.”

“Shut up, Ordelius.”

Severa listened carefully but still seemed somewhat unconvinced. “Those are solid reasons, I think, and I see you thought about this carefully, but… a goose?”

Tavia, defeated and seeing she didn’t convince even her battle sister, sighted and Ordelius chuckled. This was just the last of the petty wars those two constantly waged, but it seemed Tavia couldn’t spin this as Ordelius’ fault no matter how she tried.

In retrospect, taking those two along was maybe not his smartest decision, thought the Captain.

Of course, they are both some of his most competent knights, not to mention his truest friends. Having them accompany him was objectively a good choice.

Subjectively, if their neverending arguing will continue, he will repeatedly bang his helmet against the nearest tree. Some days were just worse than others.

As on cue, their bickering began anew, this time by an innocent question by Severa. He tried to ignore this debate and instead look over the open field, where the horses grazed first, and then to the rest of their small group.

The other three Silver Knights, who formed the traditional guard for the tribute convoy, were in contrast mostly a silent bunch. That was not unusual. Carius never considered himself a man of many words, and nor were many of his knights. Many, though not at all, obviously.

The other three Silver Knights that usually formed the rest of the convoy guard remained in Anor Londo, their places taken by Tavia, Ordelius, and Severa, who was suggested by Tavia to take along, as she was a skilled swordswoman under her command.

Speaking of Severa, she clearly wasn’t caught between her superior officer and the archer ever before, judging by her perplexed reaction. Poor woman.

Of course, because none of them, Ahern and the Silver Knights alike, required to sleep, the breaks where this bickering was possible were few and far between. Only the horses required rest, even though they were bred for this very purpose within the walls of the Divine City. As such, every several hours they needed a break.

As for the human, Ahern of Zena didn’t utter a word since they left Anor Londo this morning. Whereas he was commanding and impatient when it came to the servants earlier, he was stoic and silent now and was for the entire day. He stood calmly next to the cart, checking the horse’s bridles with experienced hands.

Now it was evening, and Carius had his head full of questions. The man was mysterious. He was doing this job for the past three decades - at least - and yet he didn’t show any signs of age his kind so often had after growing old. He looked reasonably young if scuffed, tired wrinkles marking his face.

He was obviously blessed by some powerful denizen of Lordran, which was not surprising given his position. He took full responsibility for delivering tribute from foreign lands. Like all humans that served Anor Londo in some important way, long life - or even complete resistance to aging for those such as Havel and his men - was one of the rewards for this service.

His responsibility was not only after the tributes, which were important enough by themselves but also other things. The tribute was an official gift, given to Lordran by the kingdoms and other realms that were created after the Dragon War. In turn, Lordran promised protection, peace, and prosperity to those greatest of human domains. Naturally, not all paid it, such as Vinheim or the tribes of the Great Swamp, for political or simply practical reasons. But most did.

But the caches also contained many letters and trinkets intended only for the eyes of that god to which it was addressed for. In this way, tributes also served as another kind of communication between various deities and their worshippers.

After all, no matter the land, many wished to earn the favor of Anor Londo and its people.

The Silver Knight decided to use this moment and walked towards the Caravan Master, preparing some questions that would hopefully sate his curiosity.

“Do you always take this route to Astora?” Carius asked. As good a start to a conversation as any. He rarely talked to people who often traveled outside of Lordran, so he wouldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

“No,” responded Ahern.

The Silver Knight waited for any details, but the man didn’t seem too keen on elaborating.

Alright, so maybe not as good a start to a conversation as any. Carius didn’t let that discourage him though.

“I thought as much. Under normal circumstances you go through the south of the Duchy of Catarina, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Do the knights there truly wear onion-shaped armor? I never saw one for myself, but those few individuals from Catarina I met were quite proud of their defenders.”

“Yes, they do.”

“I see. At any rate, if you travel through Catarina, you have to cross the Daneb river, yes? I admit I always wished to see the Great Bridge of Henneberg. I heard descriptions of it, as well as some drawings, but those only fueled that desire. A marvel of durable architecture, one book said. They say it will last for centuries, if not millennia. No small feat, considering it leads over the Daneb river.”

“It is a nice bridge.”

Gwynevere help him, this man gave him nothing. Carius wouldn’t say he is a social person himself, but this would be just considered rude by everyone.

Fine. If Ahern wouldn’t satisfy his personal inquisitiveness, then they will discuss professional matters.

“Before we left Anor Londo, you said you would like to cross Balder as soon as possible. Why is that?”

Finally, the former citizen of Zena let out a small sigh and spoke more than a few words.

“I understand that news of worldly matters rarely reaches the city within the clouds, so I shall paint you the basic picture. The Kingdom of Balder is in a state of disarray. The late royal family tragically died out right after an outbreak of a plague, though the pandemic was since then averted through some draconian measures.”

He spoke the last part with distaste in his words but didn’t elaborate. Before continuing, he walked around the carriage, pulling out a bag made out of gray leather.

“That was some, oh I don’t know, three years ago? Since then most of the realm is divided between the House of Ricard and the remaining royal loyalists led by Regent Rendal, a descendant of General Rendal who fought in the Dragon War.”

“I remember Rendal,” spoke Carius after thinking back to the days of the war. “He was known for his great martial skill and tactical mind alike. It is why Lord Gwyn eventually granted him the right to form his own kingdom. If I recall, his bloodline lost the throne in a civil war, seemingly much like this one…”

He shook his head to shoo away distracting thoughts.

“But that is beside the point. Might I ask why we will travel through apparently war-torn land instead of a peaceful dukedom?”

In the meantime, Ahern took a pipe out of his bag, along with small green leaves, which then he put inside the pipe.

“Secrecy, sir knight. Secrecy,” he said, as he reached with his other hand for the lamp that hung beside him. Using the fire within, he lit his pipe and let out several small clouds of smoke.

“I thought the entire point of me accompanying you, Master Ahern, was the fact you do not break the routine,” said the Silver Knight in a neutral tone, so as to not betray his growing frustration. “That alone should have served as the veil which will hide our other objective.”

The human looked at him for the first time, giving him a lazy look. “Consider this, sir knight. Everything that leaves Anor Londo is watched, both by those loyal to Gwyn…”

Carius interrupted him. “Lord Gwyn, Master Ahern.”

“...loyal to Lord Gwyn and by those that are not. Such as a certain goddess and her servants. Do you see what I mean?”

The Knight-Captain was silent for a little while, mulling over the words, thinking.

Eventually, he spoke.

“So you say that in case we are being watched, we will travel through an unstable land in order to shake any possible observers by making them believe our final destination is different. Considering Balder itself hasn't had friendly relations with Lordran for years now, you travel through it only when you or another caravan is about to collect tribute from Berenike, yes? As such, your intention is to make this hypothetical spy think we are heading for the Land of Steel.”

The Zena gave a short nod. “See? It isn’t that difficult. It may be a small detour, but the benefits outweigh the loss of time, at least according to the Dark Sun.”

“Very well. But wouldn’t the spy realize this caravan wasn’t originally en route to Berenike but to Astora? All of this would suddenly be for nothing and we would simply waste time.”

“You speak the truth, sir knight,” he said, before inhaling through his pipe and exhaling a gray cloud. “‘Tis fortunate we were originally going for Berenike then.”

Well now. It is a real pity nobody bothered to inform him of this scheme beforehand.

“Are all Prince Gwyndolin plans this convoluted, Master Ahern?”

“How would I know? I am but a simple carriage driver,” answered the man, with no emotion in his voice whatsoever.

“Hmm. Perhaps,” agreed Carius. “On the other hand you seem to clearly have a sharp mind, years of experience traveling these roads, decent knowledge of surrounding human realms, and your livelihood is composed of constant travel around the world. In short, someone who would most likely be of interest to our Prince as an ideal candidate to gather information outside of Lordran’s borders.”

The redheaded man stroked his beard in doubt. “Quite a claim, considering your reasons behind it aren’t really something discriminating or uncommon.”

Carius smiled.

“There were also the details that you called Prince Gwyndolin ‘Dark Moon‘. Not many people do that. In fact, dare I say, only a selected few are aware of that title.”

There was silence, as the driver lowered his pipe down until it rested against his knee.

“Curses. This is why I don’t like to chit-chat. By Allfather, Prince Gwyndolin did say you are a sharp one.”

“I wouldn’t suspect otherwise, sir,” said Carius, but still nodded in thanks to the compliment, even if it was unintentional. “You just need to keep that title in check next time.”

“Still, a rookie mistake,” lamented Ahern. “But in that case,” he said, a tiny bit of something that likely passed for humor lacing his words now, “I can assure you that if you ever find yourself serving the Prince directly…”

“Yes?” asked the Silver Knight, urging the man to go on by slightly waving his shield.

“That this doesn’t even scratch the surface of how byzantine some of his plots are.”

Somehow, Captain Carius wasn’t surprised to hear that.

“The scary thing is,” he added, “that even then they always work.”

***

Around noon of the following day, the caravan was reaching the borders of Lordran. If one would turn, they could see that the great white mountain on which Anor Londo and the Burgs resided was but a part of background scenery now, a small speck in the distance.

There was something charming about how the landscape gradually changed.

The colorful townships and villages were replaced by forests, lakes, and fields, which in turn were sometimes dotted by small houses in which farmers lived. They avoided the larger cities and settlements, instead going around them to not slow down in their journey, but they could still see the great walls and monuments, erected by the humans and kin to the gods.

On the road, occasionally they met a patrol, on horse or foot, generally composed of Lordran soldiers. Their sturdy iron armor was clean, swords and shields shining. Each time, they respectfully kneeled before the knights of Lord Gwyn, with some of them giving them looks full of awe.

The stone roads were well kept and each several kilometers there was an inn and a courier station, all part of a larger network of roads that ultimately spanned much of the inner parts of the continent and converged in central Lordran.

All of this was a sight of civilization. A scenery that portrayed the glory of Fire and something Carius and all the Silver Knights fought for. Fought for and now defended.

But that idyllic picture eventually did give a way to a more bleak reality. They stood before the Brass Bridge now. Below it flew the Aven river, which served as a border between Lordran and Balder. A fortified gate towered over the Lordran’s part of the bridge, with soldiers and people - refugees, judging by their appearance - amassed before it.

While the situation seemed far from being orderly, all of the refugees gave away to the tall Stone Knights, who guarded the gate with unwavering vigilance. Artificial creations they may be, their impenetrable stone armor and weaponry earned them respect by everyone near, it seemed.

According to Ahern, the local magistrate was allowed by Anor Londo’s council to take in some of the people that were fleeing the civil conflict on the other side of the river bank, but not all. As per agreement with Regent Rendal, soldiers or other warriors were not allowed to pass. Hence the chaotic situation at the gates, where various clerks and officials tried to sort through the refugees, roughly extracting those who seemed able-bodied for war, sending them back to the ravaged kingdom.

Even before reaching the river, for a few hours now, Carius could see the land wasn’t as densely inhabited, the forest covering a part of the horizon like a blanket. The road, while still being in good condition, wasn’t obviously as maintained. And in the distance, into the Balder territory, his gaze found at least two columns of black smoke. Their inner conflict reached the Lodran’s borders, it seemed.

“You haven’t traveled outside of Lordran before, have you, Captain?” asked Severa, as they waited for Ahern to register their passage with the officials. Clogs of the bureaucracy had to keep spinning, even when the servants of the Gods were in question, it seemed. Just as well.

“Not since the war, no,” Carius said truthfully. “And back then it still truly wasn’t Lordran. This is the first time my duties required me to leave its borders proper. What about you? If I recall correctly, you were part of the Dragonslayer Ornstein’s battalion.”

The dame nodded. “I served alongside the former Captain, yes. Our campaigns took us far and wide, even after Lord Gwyn declared the Age of Fire. But ever so slowly those became more and more sporadic until it was clear no true large specimens remained. As you know, with that all of the Silver Order fell under your stewardship, and there were no longer reasons to journey outside of our home.”

“Have you interacted with the humans a lot?” Carius asked. He knew bits and pieces concerning the last dragon campaigns, but details were known only to its participants and the Royal Family.

She tilted her helmet. “A fair deal. Despite Captain Ornstein’s best efforts, there were times when their knights and kings alike accompanied us, thirsty for the glory of dragon slaying.”

“Dragon slaying is the knighthood’s highest calling, no matter the kingdom. Were they any good?”

“Some were, some less so. I must say the knights of Carim impressed me more than once. They were elegant but still deadly. The battle clerics of Thorolund were less impressive, though their healing arts were welcome, as were their force miracles.”

Carius nodded. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Only combined we were able to bring the dragons down.”

“That is what our former Master often said as well,” Severa remarked, though there was hesitation in her voice.

The Captain glimpsed at her, then looked back towards the gate. Carius knew well that Ornstein wasn’t the only one who took the betrayal of the Firstborn hard. The rest of the Dragonslayer’s vanguard were also commanded by the God of War from the first day, and as such formed an attachment to him.

He understood that even now, it has to be difficult for them, but that was no excuse for breaking a decree of the Lord of Sunlight.

“You know we ought to not speak of him, no matter where we are,” he spoke without harshness, but still firm.

“Apologies, Captain.”

They stood in silence then, watching the crowd slowly move. After a longer while, the Caravan Master exited the guard tower, one Silver Knight escorting him. Alone, he would probably have difficulties moving through the mass of bodies, but with the Silver Knight behind him, the people formed a clear path. Many bowed or kneeled, some whispered prayers.

It was odd seeing what effect they could have on the people outside of the Divine City.

Ahern returned, brows furrowed. As he was climbing into the first carriage he glanced at Carius, nodding to the side. Taking the hint, the Silver Knight took several steps forward, his blue cape dancing in the rising wind.

“We have to hurry. Their idiotic war is moving towards Fort Castilla, which is in our direct way. I would rather not be caught in the middle.”

The Silver Knight internally sighted. Of course something like this would happen. Nothing is ever simple, is it?

“Shouldn’t we turn to Catarina?” he asked, hoping to use this complication to convince the morose man.

The Zena shook his head, not even considering the suggestion. “No. We have our orders, sir knight. And this could still play into our hands.”

He seemed oddly determined to go through with this. But the convoy was about to move, so he swallowed his objections and took his place in the formation.

As they passed through a raised iron gate, the Captain prayed to the Lords that the Kingdom of Balder doesn’t hold any unpleasant surprises for them.

He had a bad feeling they wouldn't listen.

Chapter Text

The Land of Balder knights had seen better days, that much was certain.

They managed to avoid the truly scarred parts of the kingdom during the first day. The land itself was obviously not tended after, but the farmsteads were in decent shape, as was the occasional inn or a hamlet. But at the dawn of the second day, they reached what had to be nothing else but a former battlefield.

Even before reaching the plain, the Captain could smell the smoke and ash in the air. Be it against dragons or something else, war will always keep its iconic aroma of death and destruction, he thought. It was at times like these he was glad his body didn’t need food, for the smell alone caused even many experienced warriors to feel unwell from their stomach.

The road didn’t take them directly through it, thank the Flame, but close enough to still see its morbid sights. The ground was scorched black at many places, remains of pyres upon which bodies were thrown. Broken pieces of armor and weaponry littered the space between, and at the distance shattered pieces of what had to be a watch tower stood, with a single banner flying upon its stony carcass, its red and black colors faded. In its center was a lion baring its fangs, crown atop of its mane.

“Sigil of House Rendal,” noted Tavia. “I recall seeing it a long time ago. To think descendants of the noble General Rendal would have to turn their blades against their own people.”

“The Regent had no choice,” said another Silver Knight. Cyrus, the oldest knight present, as well as a senior guard of these Tribute caravans. He was older than even Carius himself, if the Captain recalled correctly. Despite that, he never became more than a knight-brother, just like the majority of the knights within the order. Seniority itself mattered little to a kind that did not age.

“The Ricards demanded the throne,” Cyrus explained. “Citing their blood connections to the late royal family as a sufficient reason for them to claim it. The royal council, or what was left of it after the plague, refused, wishing to hold an election among their elector counts. After hearing that, Lady Clarencia de Ricard, the matriarch of their House, marched her soldiers into the capital to 'restore order', starting with mass arrests of those not supporting her coup. The council turned to Regent Rendal for help, who was already amassing his knights.”

Tavia listened intently, always interested in the outer world, Carius knew. “Taking up arms immediately once something doesn't go their way is how tyrants act. If she didn't even give diplomacy a chance, too greedy for the throne, I hope the Regent will show the error of her ways,” she said. “Still, it is tragic that a kingdom dating back to the end of the Dragon War found itself in a conflict with their own. So much death between a one people...”

“This land is used to it, I assure you, as are its inhabitants” Cyrus responded pessimistically. To that, Tavia said nothing, unsurprisingly. She never liked cynics.

The rest of the Pigmy’s kind is used to conflict with each other indeed, mused Carius, finishing Cyrus’ thought. Then again, the current political climate in Anor Londo did not paint the Gods in a better light either, did it?

After an hour they were reaching the outskirts of the field. As they were mere minutes from entering another forest, Carius saw movement from the corner of his eye. Turning, he was prepared to raise an alarm, but relaxed when he saw the creature was no enemy, but a dog. Or perhaps a small wolf, he wasn’t sure.

It walked towards the battlefield, its muzzle close to the earth. Eventually, it reached one of the half-burned mounds and started sniffling. Perhaps it smelled the decay and hoped to find something to fill its belly? Or maybe, the knight wondered as he saw the animal start digging down, it was searching for its master, who now perhaps layed scorched amidst the ash. Sir Artorias once told him that even death wouldn’t separate him from Sif. Maybe it was the same with this animal.

It reminded him of a scene from the Dragon War. As his battalion was returning from a hard-fought battle, they came over another battleground. On it, the winged beasts lay dead, blood around them drying out. But around those were also burned bodies of its vanquishers. Some were human warriors, others were servants of the Lord of Sunlight. Either way, servants of the Gravelord would have plenty to work with before the day was done.

But what he specifically recalled about the scene was that amidst the dead were also many denizens of Izalith. Above one stood a figure, silent. A man, obviously a civilian judging from the clothes. How he got there, alone, the knight didn’t know. Going alone outside of fortified territories was considered a suicide that early in the war, and for a good reason.

As he and his knights passed, the man bent down, taking the blackened form into his arms with gentleness that sharply contrasted the scenery around him.

He joined them in their march home. Obviously not a physically strong individual, he struggled after a while. One Silver Knight offered to take the body from him. Without uttering a word, the man simply shook his head and continued staring into the body in his arms with endless sadness in his eyes.

Carius didn’t know who he was or why he ventured into the unformed world alone, only to retrieve a burned carcass. But as he watched the animal desperately trying to dig down, the sorrowful face of that Izalith man flashed in the Silver Knight’s mind.

The Knight-Captain turned his head and left the field of battle behind him.

***

In retrospect, he should have seen this coming.

He did, in a way. If there is one thing the Silver Knight learned over the years, it was that Prince Gwyndolin and those that served him always had an ulterior motive. Every action was considered from every angle, so as to best utilize it and progress the Dark Moon’s agendas.

Most of the time, Carius did not mind. To have a schemer to guard Lordran and its prosperity was in some ways more comforting than even having a God of War on your side.

The irritation arose only when it was the Captain and his men that were caught in this web without them knowing.

Such as was the case now.

“You should have told me sooner,” the silver-armored warrior stated, as he marched beside the cart.

“Would it change anything?” Ahern asked in response, stroking his beard. He sat in his carriage, handling the horses with ease as always. “It doesn’t affect your task. In fact, this barely affects anything. I always take a break at Fort Tenebria. The horses can rest under a roof, while I talk to the folk in the local tavern.”

The knight opened his mouth, closed it, thought about the last sentence, and voiced his confusion. “Why is there a tavern inside a military checkpoint? What purpose could it serve beyond distracting its defenders?”

Ahern merely looked at Carius, giving him a deadpan look. “Interestingly enough, sir knight, not everyone is like your kind; they require food, drink, and sleep. But I’m certain if you patiently explain to them those concepts are a mere distraction from their duty, they will surely change their mind.”

“That is not what I have meant,” said the knight calmly, not rising to the bait. “Tavern implies the fort is open to visitors. Is that the case?”

“Yes, that is so, Captain.”

“Right. So they not only let possible spies or saboteurs in but actually invite them to spend coins.”

At this, the Caravan Master gave a small smirk. “That is the case indeed.”

The Silver Knight huffed at the slopiness of the human defenders. “How fortunate for people like yourself then, Master Ahern.”

But back to the topic at hand. Carius looked once again at the piece of parchment in his hands. The writing was clearly that of Prince Gwyndolin.

Carius gesticulated with the letter in his gauntlet. “At any rate, this piece of paper clearly states you have your own commands from the Prince, and I do not possess the authority to override those. There was no harm in telling me.”

“Perhaps not. I simply viewed this as irrelevant to you. I will do the talking, after all.”

The Silver Knight shook his head, handing the document back to the Caravan Master. “It doesn’t matter now. Until we arrive in Astora on schedule, I care not if you have other tasks. Though, I would appreciate it if you would inform me of any other side tasks you have now, if possible.”

Ahern tilted his head in understanding. “There is none other, sir knight, so you may rest easy.”

The question was if he was telling the truth. Carius didn’t have any other choice but to trust him, however.

“Very well,” he spoke after a while, accepting the human’s words. “Satisfy my curiosity if you can though, to make us even; is this man another of Prince Gwyndolin’s servants?”

“I cannot say. The Prince knows him, clearly, and trusts him with an important task. More I do not know. More I do not need to know. As for the reason for this meeting: information.”

“What kind of information?”

Ahern shrugged. “I wasn’t told the details. Something connected to this civil war. Lordran officially doesn’t support either side in this conflict, but it isn’t surprising it would rather see Rendal on the throne. Unlike the Ricards, the Regent’s line always was loyal to the Way of the White.”

“When they aren’t busy losing the throne to their plotting vassals, you mean.”

“Quite. Great warriors they may be, a strong arm does not make the head fit for a crown.”

Carius nodded and tapped the hilt of his straight sword in thought. “This man we are supposed to meet, Pharis. His name sounds familiar...”

“He is quite an archer, famous far and wide,” remarked the Zena.

Right, Carius remembered now. Gough praised this Pharis’ skill with a bow once or twice when he was retelling his adventures. Apparently, they met on one of his journeys, though that was years ago. The man had to be quite old now, for a human. And how he was connected to the Dark Moon, Captain Carius had no idea.

Ahern suddenly looked up. “Clouds are gathering,” he observed.

Carius looked to the horizon and indeed saw a mass of gray clouds. He liked the rain, but only where there was a solid stone wall between him and the outside. To march in it is always unpleasant.

But then again, maybe it won’t be that bad and it will be only a few drops.

***

“Well, this is awful,” exclaimed Ordelius loudly, right before thunder struck, as to confirm his words.

That’s one way of putting it, thought the Captain. Countless small drops of water fell upon their armor and ground alike, making tingling sounds that echoed throughout the woods.

The storm began more than an hour ago and it didn’t show any signs of stopping any time soon. The sky was dark, illuminated only by the blue flashes of lightning.

I really do hope the road ahead of us will turn into mud, thought Carius with sardony, as his boots hit the wet and slippery stone road below him. It was fine enough now, but the road showed many signs of being neglected, and more than once they had to cross passages where it lacked stone altogether. If any were ahead of them, the rain would surely turn them into small muddy lakes by now.

Ahern, sitting behind the horses, tilted his head to him and raised his voice. “We should reach Fort Tenebria in less than an hour, Sir Captain.”

Let us hope this Pharis fellow will be there, thought Carius. He didn’t fancy standing in the middle of a foreign military fort, and not only because they were caught in the middle of a tempest.

And indeed, after another hour or so of walking, dark walls appeared before the convoy. Four towers, connected by four walls. A basic defensive structure. Practical, if not exactly impressive.

And despite the raging storm, their arrival did not go unnoticed. The iron gate was raised, and three figures waited inside. The etiquette demanded they venture forth to welcome the Gods’ servants, but given the weather, Carius forced himself to not blame them for breaking the protocol.

“Master Ahern, greetings! We bid you a welcome, as always!” said a large man in a seemingly jovial tone once they reached the walls. It sounded forced.

He wore a metal breastplate and had a thin-bladed sword at his side. Given the golden crossguard of the said weapon, this had to be the commander of this stronghold.

Ahern nodded in greeting. “Chevalier Tello. An honour, as always.”

“Likewise, likewise! Please, come in!” beckoned the Balder Knight, as he and the other two soldiers followed the carriage into the courtyard. “We weren’t certain if you would show up, sire! With the war raging across the land and all.”

The Caravan Master’s face remained impassive. “Well, here I am. I presume the stables are ready?”

“Of course, of course! Though you might find them a tad more full than usual. But your horses will fit in just fine still!” he assured hastily. He truly seemed tense.

The Zena jumped out of the carriage and began undoing the horse harnesses. The Silver Knights stood impassively at sides, rain still descending upon their armor. They learned firsthand that Master Ahern liked tending to his horses personally, and didn’t tolerate any interference on this matter.

“Interesting. Has someone of note arrived recently?” he asked.

The question seemed to make the commander somewhat uncomfortable, though he tried to hide it. “Well, a nobleman from the capital arrived just before the storm began. But as I have said, the stables still have enough room, so no need to worry about that, sire!”

“Hmm,” was Ahern’s response.

Tello and his men, now drenched in water, had nothing more to say and stood as the Caravan Master tended to the horses.

“May… may we take our leave, Master Ahern? Or do you require assistance with anything? If so, do not hesitate to ask!” the commander shouted over the thunder.

Carius would almost feel sorry for the man, drenched as he was now if he wasn’t busy looking over the fortification. There were no guards on the palisade, but each of the tiny windows within the stone structures shined with light, so the garrion was not likely understaffed. But then, why weren’t the walls guarded? The Knight-Captain wasn’t an expert on how Balder ran its military, but this seemed sloppy.

“No. You may go,” muttered Ahern without even looking at the soldiers.

The Silver Knight watched them walk away. The Chevalier didn’t even glimpse at the Silver Knights. Quite a different reaction from the humans they have encountered earlier, but then again this wasn’t his first time seeing the servants of the Gods, so maybe the novelty simply wore off. It didn’t matter, Carius supposes.

Still, he gripped the straps of his shield a tad tighter.

The carriage remained at the side of the road in the middle of the fort, but the horses were led by Ahern into the stables. “Cyrus, Julia, Felix; you know the drill,” he said. The Silver Knights nodded and remained with the carts, forming a guard around it. “The rest of you,” he said with a gaze aimed at Tavia, Ordelius, and Severa, “will stand watch over the horses. Do not allow anyone near them, understood?”

“As you say, Caravan Master,” they responded.

The Captain took a moment to look over the barn. Indeed, it was full of horses, well-cared for, their hair shining. Quite plainly noble steeds. But there was still space for their own white stallions and mares.

Ahern nodded in satisfaction and then turned to Carius. “As for you, Sir Captain, how would you fancy getting a drink?”

***

The moment they entered the one and only house within the fort’s walls (he had to bow down to fit through the door), which seemingly served as the already mentioned tavern, the first thing that hit Carius was the oppressive heat of the place. It was like a wave, engulfing them fully. And once they closed the door, the smell was the second thing he noticed. Cheap alcohol, burned food, and something else the Silver Knight didn’t care to name.

Some of his brothers and sisters on occasion, when duties permitted, did visit some of Anor Londo’s own establishments. To mingle, they said. Carius never felt the need to do the same but respected his knight’s choice of pastimes.

Standing here, in this excuse for an inn, he genuinely hoped his knights visited something with more class.

The last thing he noticed was that everyone was looking at them. Or, more specifically, at him.

For a short moment, the air was tense, and the looks weren’t something Carius would call friendly or in any other way positive.

How very odd.

“Ahern, old chap, how lovely to see you again!” came a sharp, but the friendly voice from the right. A man was rising from his seat there, clothed in green brigandine. His shoulder-length blonde hair was covered at its top by a pointy broad-brimmed hat. His face, proudly bearing a mustache, had many wrinkles, but there was energy in his gray eyes.

His words had an effect on the tavern as well, and the patrons - mostly soldiers, judging from their tunics and chainmail - turned back to their drinks.

Ahern raised an eyebrow but shook the man’s hand nonetheless. “It has been a while. I hope you have a tankard of beer ready for me.”

“Do hydras like swimming? Of course I have!” he laughed. He then turned to Carius. “And a Silver Knight! It is an honour sir, truly. I’ve heard only great things about your noble kind!”

Carius mimicked Ahern and raised an eyebrow underneath his winged helmet. This was Pharis? Not quite what the knight has expected.

“The honour is all mine, sir,” the knight responded with a small bow.

The man wished to say more, but Ahern was faster. “If we are done now, I would like to sit. Preferably into something that doesn’t move.”

“Yes, certainly, the table is right there.”

He led them towards a table put in the corner of the tavern. It was nicely selected, noted Carius. Pharis could observe the entire tavern without being obvious from this spot, while still being secluded enough so nobody could listen in to any conversation he held.

As they sat down - the chair was smaller than would be comfortable for the Silver Knight, but oh well - Pharis waved at the innkeep and ordered a round of beer. After it was on the table, and the innkeeper was gone, Pharis dropped his smile and put his hand on a black bow next to him.

“Success is to be rewarded…” he spoke, looking at Ahern.

“... as failure is to be punished,” finished the Caravan Master. “So, you must be Pharis.”

Wait, so they didn’t know each other? Why the charade at the entrance then? And what was that with success and failure?

“And you must be Master Ahern. Not that I thought otherwise. The Silver Knights were quite a giveaway,” Pharis remarked. “But you can never be certain, you understand. Not with… well, you know.”

“Aye. Better careful than sorry later. Regret is of no use to the dead,” the Zena affirmed, before taking a sip of his beer. He turned up his nose after tasting it but continued drinking anyway. “I must say I am surprised,” he eventually said. “I wasn’t aware you are a Darkmoon Blade as well. Makes sense though. He wouldn’t trust just anyone in this.”

Darkmoon Blades?

“Not a surprise, considering all I have discovered. Not an easy - or safe - profession, I have to say.”

“You tell me, I have been doing this for years now.”

Doing what now? He gathered that the Caravan Master was more than what meets the eye, but these two were talking like they were in constant danger every day. Also, it took mental gymnastics and planning to get Ahern to tell him anything, and here he was, talking to this man he never met before like they knew each other for decades. How rude.

The archer nodded, giving a small smile again. “I know. You are something of a legend among the provincial Blades. All of them hope to meet the great Crystal of Zena one day.”

Crystal of Zena? What?

“I would think it would be the other way around. If they are doing their job right, they will never have to actually see me.”

“True, but still, you are the oldest of his servants. Respect is respect, you know?”

“I suppose it is,” muttered Ahern in return.

Knight-Captain Carius was thoroughly confused. What in the ever-burning Kiln were they talking about?

Pharis, despite not being able to see his face, had to recognize the knight’s bewilderment and finally took pity upon him. He looked at Ahern, who ignored him and instead seemed content with putting black dust into his pipe.

“You have no idea what we are blabbering about, do you, sir knight,” Pharis proclaimed. Emphasis on proclaimed because it wasn’t an answer.

The knight wanted to shake his head in reaction but didn’t. Considering the situation, he didn’t need to feel more like a child. “Not in the slightest, no,” he admitted instead with words. Much more refined response. He hoped.

The archer chuckled. “I’m afraid I cannot tell you much. Our lord is quite clear when it comes to this smoke and dagger business, you see.”

“Oh, really? I wouldn’t notice,” deadpanned Carius.

Pharis gave a chuckle. “And Sir Gough said your kind could use more sense of humor. Seems fine to me, I say. Though, then again he says that about everyone anyway.”

“Sir Gough mentioned you as well. He spoke of you fondly, complimenting your archery skill, and even once claimed it rivals his own. And he doesn’t say that about everyone. Or anyone, in fact.”

At that, Pharis seemed taken slightly aback. “He said that?”

Carius nodded.

“I know how to handle myself around bows, ‘tis true. Better than most, to be sure… But to know the great Sir Gough to praise me is quite something else! Many a child wishes to become great knight like the legendary Wolf Knight when they are growing up, but I was always amazed by the Third Knight the most. His feats of archery are… well, legendary.”

“I fought alongside noble Sir Gough many times myself, and I can assure you the legends do not lie,” said the Silver Knight, tapping armored fingers on the wooden table. “You saw him in action yourself after all.”

“I did! We hunted a red drake together once. Quite a story!... Though, you know it already, obviously.”

He looked into the wall in thought then for a moment. “He also spoke to me of Anor Londo. I wish I will be able to see it in its shining glory one day myself… but he also spoke to me of you, sir knight. May I presume you are Captain Carius?”

“I am. The cape gave it away?” Carius asked, motioning to his cape with his shield.

“Yes. He said only the Captain of the Order has the right of bearing the blue cape... And if I may be so bold to say so, he spoke of you fondly, as well as he did about his other fellow knights. Which is not a surprise either. It boggles the mind that your kind fought together for so long, since the ancient past where true dragons resided…”

“Aight, that’s enough chit-chatting for now, gentlemen,” announced Ahern after putting his pipe away. “Do you have the reports, Pharis?”

The man gave a nod and pulled out an oval metal case. A case for sensitive documentation. The Duke’s Archives used it commonly in Anor Londo. Beyond the protective metal case, it was also magically sealed. It would be opened only by those who knew how to open it. Anyone else would find only burned ash inside.

Carius also noted there was an insignia carved onto its top. A crescent moon, crossed over by an arming sword.

“It is as His highness predicted. She is behind Lady Clarencia’s coup, pulling the strings from the shadows. I wasn’t able to confirm it, but I also believe the plague was also of her doing, somehow. Would fit her modus operandi. But all the details are here,” he tapped the tube.

“‘She‘?” asked the knight with growing unease.

Ahern took the case from Pharis, looked it over, and then put it into his own bag. “Yes. She, Captain Carius,” he said. The tone of his voice was clear and left no room for doubt.

Velka.

The knight was deep in thought, going over scenarios and the implications of this discovery when another flash of lightning illuminated the window.

But this time, it wasn’t blue, as it should have been.

It was golden.

Chapter Text

The thunder and the golden flash that followed left the tavern silent, the eyes of its occupants drawn to the muddy windows. Even the drunkards inside could tell something was wrong. Very wrong.

Carius rose from his seat, brandishing his sword. Ahern and Pharis followed suit. Then, the sounds of chaos, weapons clashing and people shouting, could be heard from the outside with an increasing volume.

Ahern looked at Pharis. “The Ricards?”

“No,” he said pensively, as he checked his quiver. “The last battle pushed their forces back to the west. They can’t be here.”

The Silver Knight and his companions moved towards the door. Unfortunately, so did the alarmed soldiers in the tavern. They started rushing towards the entrance, but did so in a disorganized manner, filling the limited space, hitting chairs, tables, and each other in their haste. The Captain looked at them with distaste. Blasted amateurs.

He tried to make a way through, pushing the humans to the sides, but all of sudden something shattered the window on the other side of the room, reducing it to a pile of glass shards. He didn’t manage to get a glimpse of it at first, but then another two of the mysterious items followed, falling amidst the soldiers, a small trail of smoke rising from the objects in question.

Master Ahern let out a curse. Carius didn’t wait another moment and raised his shield.

“Take cover!” he shouted to the men behind him. Even before the words left his mouth, he could feel a chill behind him, and see a palpable blue aura fill their part of the building. He didn’t have time to ponder what it was for long though.

The explosion was of immense strength; it drowned the Balder soldiers that stood atop the bombs, tossing them like ragdolls. The furnishing broke to pieces and flew in all directions in splinters. The stone wall closer to the point of impact flew away like it was a house of cards. The shockwave threw even the fully armored Silver Knight back. No shrapnels posed danger to Carius, but the gravity did. He flew a short distance, hitting his head against the wall behind him as he landed against it, falling to the floor afterward.

The impact took his breath away, making him choke for several moments. A certain part of his mind told him to remain calm and attempt to regain control of his breathing methodically, but easier said than done. His lungs burned and darkness encroached from the edges of his sight. He struggled to remain awake. It has been a long while since he lost consciousness, hasn’t it? How easy it would be to lay his head down for just a moment…

The explosion left little but dust after it. He couldn’t see through it. Or perhaps his eyes weren’t working as they should. He couldn’t tell.

A blurred silhouette appeared above him after a while. They helped him to get into a sitting position. They were speaking too, obviously, but there was still an explosion’s echo whistling in the Silver Knight’s ears.

And, last but not the least, his shield arm hurt more than that one time he blocked Ordelius’ great arrow during a training exercise. And it hurt a lot back then. He wanted to chuckle at the memory, but his only recently regained breath didn’t allow him so.

Ordelius! He thought with sudden clarity. He and his other knights were outside, in danger! He had to assist them!

Carius blinked, shaking his head. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, but the act started to clear his mind. He began to recognize sounds around him again too.

“... made of sterner stuff, Sir Carius! Common, just get up- or are you wounded? Talk to me, Captain! We don’t have the luxury of taking a nap right now, so do me a favor and don’t take one!”

“I am fine, I am fine… Just… a moment,” the Captain uttered. He flexed his sword arm, finding it without pain. That was at least something.

The man above him - Pharis, he could see clearly enough now - shook his head. “We don’t have a moment, I’m afraid!” he said loudly.

Ahern appeared in his vision next, his green robes dirty and wet and face with many scratches. But he looked unharmed otherwise, just like Pharis.

The Caravan Master motioned to the archer, and both took hold of the Silver Knight’s arms, helping him to get up. “On your feet, Sir Carius!” announced Pharis, while Ahern muttered something about him being too heavy.

Carius growled as he stood on his legs, but he found it helped him to clear his head even more. He looked around. They were in the part of the former tavern that still stood. The other part, however, was gone, its walls shattered. Amidst the stone, soldiers laid, some dead, others crawling in pain through the rubble.

He looked at Ahern. “Right, right… I am fine! What is happening?”

“Someone is attacking the fort from the inside,” the Zena declared, anger plain on his face. “Don’t know who yet, but I think we both can suspect. But that doesn’t matter now. Go to your men in the courtyard and rally them! I and Pharis will go to the north gate and open it in the meantime. After you get your men, go to the stables and get my horses out of it!…” - he raised his finger at Carius despite him not saying a word in protest yet - “...don’t give me that look, we will need them. Get them to the center of the fortress and wait until I raise the gate. Then get them out, and wait for us before the walls.”

The Captain looked at the two men before him. A part of him wanted to oppose this plan; to split up seemed unwise. But he didn’t see any other way to get out of the stronghold, nor was there any time to argue.

“Very well, I will do as you ask, Master Ahern,” he responded. “Just don’t take too long.”

“Don’t worry about us, just go!”

He did so, walking by the tavern’s remaining segment of the wall, testing his footing. Not feeling any explicit wound or injury, he put more speed into his steps, turning towards the open space once he reached the wall’s end.

He slightly widened his eyes in surprise as he took in the chaos before him.

Carius was prepared to encounter any foe short of a dragon (drake, wyvern, however the current beasts were called now), but the sheer disarray that met him instead was unexpected.

The first thing - after realizing the storm was still raging - he saw was the fire. Not only was one of the defensive towers burning from the inside, black smoke ascending towards the shining stars, but there was also another burning pile beneath it. Their former cart and carriages, to be precise. The once ivory wood was turning black before his eyes, its surface cracking. The carriage was inverted, with still clear signs of explosion marking it. Apparently, the tavern wasn’t the only place that got its share of the bombs. The enchantments likely protected the convoy from the brunt of the physical force, but couldn’t withstand the following heat of the fire.

The inferno was roughly in the center of the open space that was the fort’s courtyard, and thus it illuminated the expanse around it, chasing the night’s darkness away. As such, he could see there were some corpses already on the ground.

One of those was a Silver Knight. He didn’t know if the knight was dead or alive. He couldn’t see any blood, but that meant little. Nor could he see the knight’s weapon, however, indicating the warrior was caught in the explosion and his sword was thrown away.

After his eyes got used to the bright source of light, he finally saw some movement; two of his Silver Knights were fighting several foes. Most of them wore a mix of chainmail and leather, but two were in plate armor of dark iron, their red short capes flowing behind. More than that, they wielded their weapons with clear expertise.

It seemed that some of the local Knights of Balder, for reasons unknown, sided with the enemy.

Not wasting any more time, Carius rushed across the field towards the fighting knights, his heavy footsteps splashing the wet ground, adding to the chaotic chorus.

As he ran, he also saw that there was combat atop of the walls. It looked like both Balder soldiers and knights fought each other. That is what Ahern meant by claiming the attack was from the inside. The garrison was infiltrated.

How shocking, considering the lax security around here, thought the knight bitingly. He should have expected something like this to happen the moment Ahern admitted a damn military fort had a public tavern within its walls.

His route was suddenly intercepted by enemy combatants. Two men with pikes stumbled out of a tower to his left, their brigandines stained with blood, initially looking towards the raging combat, likely intending to join the fray. Then they noticed his approach and looked at each other. After a moment of hesitation, they ran towards him with a warcry on their lips.

“Death to the False Gods!” one shouted.

Well, that answered the question of their foes' allegiance. 

The Knight-Captain didn’t slow down, and met his two new foes in combat. One tried to aim for his helmet, the other for the hand that held the sword. A typical strategy when wielding a spear against an armored opponent.

Both struck at the same time, demonstrating some modicum of skill. Carius angled his shield to cover his left side, as he slashed with his sword against the enemy on his right. But the man reacted in time and took a step back, avoiding the strike. His ally used the moment to attack, hitting the knight above his knee, trying to put Carius on the ground. The strength behind the strike would likely be enough to imbalance a more traditional foe, but a Silver Knight was anything but that.

Unfortunately for the soldiers, they acted on training, not reaction, and the man who avoided Carius’ sword earlier threw himself forward, attempting to knock him down by using the shaft of his spear, expecting the knight to not stand firmly on his feet. That was not the case. The Captain used his height superiority, kicking the soldier with his knee into the stomach, making him bend over. Then the knight finished his opponent by hitting his neck with the pointy lower end of his shield, making an audible crack.

The other soldier, previously blocked by his friend’s body, struck forward at that moment, now attempting to hit the Silver Knight’s helmet visor. Carius narrowly dodged the strike, striking with his sword horizontally, snapping the spear in two. That surprised the enemy long enough for the knight’s kick to meet his chest, throwing him to the muddy ground. When he got a chance to raise, Carius pierced his unprotected throat with his longsword.

Two down, more to go, he thought to himself grimly. He was on move once more towards the still ongoing skirmish.

His knights were outnumbered, their adversaries reduced to six individuals now, but four of those were still on the offensive. The Silver Knights were being pushed back towards the raging flames of their former caravan, the enemy probing their defense, but staying clear of the shining spears.

“Stay back you treasonous wretches!” Cyrus shouted, pushing his spear ahead against his assailants. The soldier blocked the attack with his wooden shield, but its surface cracked under the strike, and the man was pushed away.

The Balder Knights stood behind their men now, unlike the time when Carius saw them for the first time. They noticed him getting closer and ordered their men to once again advance. “I told you we were taking too long, damn it all!” one exclaimed loudly before lowering his visor. He wielded a sword akin to estoc, iconic of his order, as well as a tall black shield.

The other remained silent, the helmet already covering his face. There was a red plume decorating it, marking him as an officer. He had no shield, nor sword. Instead, he held an axe-like bardiche in his hands.

Carius joined his brothers (brother and sister, he noted, the latter being Julia, which meant that the knight he saw lying on the ground on the other side of the burning carriage had to be Felix), adding his shield to theirs.

Julia didn’t look at him, not making the mistake of letting an enemy out of her sight, but still exclaimed with relief in her voice. “Captain! We were fearing the worst!”

“Don’t grow distracted on my behalf!” responded Carius. “Focus on the enemy, we have to push them back!”

Cyrus gave an empty bark. “As if we weren’t trying to do that until now…”

Ignoring the remark, Carius parried the incoming mace of the soldier, sliding his blade by its length, slashing the man’s wrist. The soldier gave a cry of pain and released the hold of his weapon, falling back.

Now that the Silver Knights were three, the morale of their foe wavered. The soldiers were less aggressive in their attacks, and more careful. Not only that, but they were growing tired. Unlike their superiors, they didn’t have a chance to rest from the initial engagement.

This was their chance to counterattack.

Carius tilted his head towards his comrades-in-arms. “I will keep the Balder Knights busy, you dispatch the rest of the soldiers.”

Both of them gave a low nod. The moment Carius took a step forward, so did they, slamming their shields into the wavering enemy combatants.

The soldier that wielded the mace prior to his injury now furiously tried to bring down his shield - wielded in his other, still healthy, hand - on the Silver Knight. Carius used his own shield to bash back, which resulted in the man’s shield hitting his head hard. He collapsed, unconscious.

No time to celebrate his victory, for a second later, the Balder Knights were upon him.

They moved in perfect synchronization, one opponent’s sword slashing and stabbing quickly through the air. The other knight attacked less, but each time his heavy bardiche hit his shield, it sent tremors through the Silver Knight’s body.

They were quite relentless. Each time Carius parried one of their attacks, his own counterattack was interrupted by the second knight. Each time he blocked, the other foe used the moment to attack from the other side.

For the time being, he mostly managed to avoid most of their attacks, but not all. Despite his best attempts, some slipped through his defenses. If not for his armor, he wouldn’t be standing anymore.

Just as the soldiers from before, they tried to aim for his arms and head the most, but unlike them, they switched their patterns quickly enough to not become predictable. Carius managed to keep up, but he was forced to remain in a guard stance all the time. But he knew he couldn’t keep this up indefinitely.

His foes were aware of this too and intensified their offensive. After a few more exchanges, one knight pounced on him, fainting his strike, whilst the other - the one with a plumed helmet - slashed horizontally against the Silver Knight’s helmet, intending to use his bardiche as a blunt weapon.

Carius reacted, putting all the strength he had into his shield bash, and slammed into the incoming weapon. It proved superior to the human’s, not surprisingly, and the axe-like blade was thrown off its course, pushing its wielder back two steps.

The other enemy, seeing the exposed foe, threw himself forward, trying to stab Carius’ face. And he would have succeeded, if not for the fact the Silver Knight was exactly trying to bait out this reaction for a while now.

He deftly moved to the left and thrust his own blade onward. Golden sparks enveloped it at that moment, and Carius saw his opponent’s eyes widen behind his helmet. No longer guaranteed protection by his chestplate, he tried to dodge but was too late. The Silver Knight’s straight sword pierced the human’s plate, the lightning burning the flesh beneath it. The Captain pulled out his blade, and right after, blood spilled out, and the man fell to his knees, holding his belly.

Seeing the enemy no longer posed a threat, Carius turned to his other foe, just in time to block the incoming hit.

The human foresaw this and used the shaft of his long weapon to deliver another strike, this time hitting the Captain into his helmet, making him stumble back.

Carius put his defenses up immediately after, preparing for the Balder Knight to press his advantage, but such a thing did not happen.

The foe stood a short distance away from him, unmoving.

Perplexed, the Captain raised his sword, as well as looked around quickly. No danger seemed to be imminent.

Deciding to use this respite, Carius spoke clearly. “What promises did servants of Velka give you, human? Was it worth watching your comrades fall?”

The warrior said nothing. For a moment he watched the Silver Knight. Now that they weren’t in the heat of the combat, Carius noticed something. There was a strange aura coming from the man. Not a visible one but… something radiated of him. Something familiar…

The Balder Knight still didn’t answer. Rather, he took a step back, then another one, until he turned around and ran towards the fort’s tower.

The Silver Knight would call him a coward, but the man fought well, experience obvious in his style.

Carius was torn; he wished to finish his foe, but he couldn’t afford to follow him, never mind the human could easily lead him into a trap.

“Captain Carius!” said Julia as she appeared next to him. So that was what made the Balder Knight retreat. Fighting more than one Silver Knight at once would be a death sentence for him.

She looked towards the retreating knight. “Should we pursue?”

Carius began walking quickly back to the site of the battle. “No. We have to get to the stables, now.” He looked around, seeing the bodies of the curs that dared to challenge his knights. “Where is Cyrus?” he asked, not seeing his body amidst them.

“Here, Captain,” proclaimed the man in question. He was walking from the direction of their burned carriage. “Went to check on Felix.”

Sensing the incoming question, he simply shook his head.

Carius didn’t know the fallen knight well. But that did not lower the pain he felt because of this loss. Each of his knights was important to him, and to hear one of their order wouldn’t return to them to Anor Londo was sad news indeed.

“How did it happen? Did they use the bombs?”

“No,” responded Cyrus. “There was nobody around but a few humans before the explosion, and none of them threw anything. More than that, they were killed by the soldiers we fought just now, so I doubt they had the same allegiance.”

“So what caused the explosion?”

Julia was the one to respond now. “Sorcery. I… I think, at least. I didn’t see where it came from, but suddenly there was an orb of fire above the carriage. That is what caused the fire.”

Well now. That explained how the fort was on fire so fast. 

So there was a fire sorcerer around here somewhere, standing with the enemy. And considering they weren’t here, they likely were inside of the fort’s walls.

He hoped Ahern and Pharis were okay.

But that still didn’t change their immediate task. He repeated his order from before to Cyrus, and the trio made their way towards the stables, which, thank the Lords, didn’t seem to be on fire like the opposite part of Fort Tenebria.

But naturally, there was something that did make the Captain raise his eyebrow once he turned around the corner.

A Silver Knight was kneeling over a body, pulling an arrow from its neck. “Took you long enough,” he said, not even looking up, his gaze focused on checking if the arrow was still usable.

“We ran into some trouble. What about you, any losses? And are the horses safe?”

“The horses?” repeated Ordelius. “Sure, they are fine. As are we.” He then kicked the body next to him. “The fella here and his other friends tried to sneak up behind the barn, likely to throw those bombs I found in his pack inside. As it happened though, I was out to breathe in some fresh air. And considering Ahern said to not allow anyone near his cattle… well, you get the point.”

“As did they,” deadpanned Carius (making Ordelius groan), then gesticulated towards their destination. “Get the horses out. We will move before the north gate, and wait for Ahern to raise it. Then we ride outside.”

Ordelius put an arrow into his quiver as he uttered. “I was wondering where the old man was.”

They walked towards the stables. In front of it were the bodies of the attackers Ordelius mentioned. Tavia and Severa were standing inside of the structure, their bloodied weapons at the ready. Both saluted as Carius entered. “Good to see you, Knight-Captain!” Tavia exclaimed, and Severa nodded in an agreement.

Carius returned the greeting and looked toward the white horses. They seemed fine if understandably disturbed.

It took them a minute or two to get all of them out, but it didn’t prove particularly difficult. The four steeds were surprisingly docile, and listened to the Silver Knights, following them obediently.

The Silver Knights, horses in tow, marched to the center of the courtyard, then turned towards the northern gate.

It was just opening, the iron bars halfway through the gate’s length. Perfect.

“To the gate! After we pass, keep moving! I don’t intend to be caught in the archer range!” he commanded.

His knights saluted and did as ordered, leading the horses through the gate. As they passed it, they could see a large empty space stretching before them, with only a road leading towards the forest, tree trunks on its sides. Carius followed them for a bit, to make certain there was no danger lurking atop the gate tower and surrounding walls. He saw none.

“Keep moving until you reach the forest,” the Captain repeated his order. “I will wait for Ahern and Pharis.”

“We are staying with you, Knight-Captain,” said Cyrus. His voice was respectful but firm. Julia stood behind him, also not leaving. “We have accompanied Master Ahern for many years now. We aren’t leaving this fort without him passing its threshold first.”

Carius looked at them. He was mildly annoyed at not following his orders, but on the other hand… he understood their reasoning. And it was born out of a sense of loyalty. That alone was enough for him to nod. Hopefully, they won’t have to wait for long.

The other three Silver Knights obeyed, however, and guided the horses away. Carius watched them for a bit, content with the fact no arrows started raining upon them. Not that he expected that would happen. There were still sounds of some fighting around, as weak as they were. But the garrison, as well as the traitors within their ranks, were likely either dead or in process of escaping the growing fire.

Speaking of the all-consuming fire, Carius knew how difficult it is to extinguish something of this scope. At this rate, the entire place will be nothing more than a blackened stone and burned planks come tomorrow's dawn. 

And there was still no sight of either Master Ahern or the famous archer.

What could have delayed them? The gate mechanism was right above the gate, so they should have been underneath it moments after raising it.

After waiting for several more minutes, he got his answer.

Two flashes, red and blue, appeared for a moment atop the wall.

Julia pointed with her spear. “Look! At the rampart!”

There, three silhouettes stood. One of them clearly wielded a bow, and after a moment Carius did indeed confirm it was Pharis.

The other two were engaged in combat, though there were no swords or bows involved.

One, a tall individual in the armor of deepest crimson, wielded a staff. They waved it and the air itself above it turned hot; fire arcs appeared, flame without any material fuel. He waved it again, this time in the direction of his foes, sending the fire surge against them.

So that was the flame sorcerer that caused the inferno.

In an ironic twist, Carius’ blood ran cold as he witnessed the flame traveling with great speed against the last man on the wall, who was none other than the Caravan Master from Zena.

The human didn’t move to dodge, though there wasn’t much room to do so. But surely better to at least cover yourself than to receive a full brunt of the enemy’s attack!

Instead, Ahern didn’t hesitate and waved with his raised hand… wait, no. Not his hand alone, he held something in it… Was that his pipe?

Whatever the case, the moment he did so, a radiant blue barrier appeared in front of him and Pharis, stopping the fire straight in its path. Sparks flew both right and left, but the shield held, and the men behind it remained uninjured.

Out of all things that happened tonight, the revelation that Ahern was a sorcerer himself was… actually the least surprising of them all.

That’s what Pharis meant in the tavern, the Silver Knight realized. ‘Crystal Ahern‘. White and blue crystals were inherently tied to the school of sorcery, one book he read said. In fact, the greatest offensive spells often took the form of a crystal. But only true masters could form those.

And a master Ahern apparently was, as he was about to demonstrate. He made motions with his hands and aimed his pipe against the enemy sorcerer, who was in process of casting his own spell, fire spewing around him once more. But then an arrow whistled through the air. The sorcerer dodged, barely, avoiding the projectile. He started casting again, but thanks to the distraction was a second too late from finishing his spell.

For a great crystal spear shot out of Ahern’s hands, blazing through the air, chilling the path behind it.

The enemy in red stood his ground and put his staff before him. As Ahern’s spell hit him, there was a moment when it looked like the enemy managed to raise a barrier of his own, but then there was an audible crack, and he was sent flying back into the crumbling gate tower.

“I knew he could do it!” laughed Cyrus, breaking his otherwise cold demeanor. But his joy was cut short, as Ahern started collapsing, before their eyes, only saved from disappearing from their sight behind the rampart by Pharis’ arms.

Ahern made a motion with his hand, and a dim blue light enveloped both. Pharis nodded, and along with the sorcerer, threw himself off the wall, towards the waiting knights.

Carius was stunned for an instant at this action, but instead of falling straight down to the ground, the sorcerer and the archer lightly descended through the air, until they dropped to the ground. The knights rushed to them, helping them up.

“Fall control spell,” said Pharis, as they landed before them, as he probably summarised defying gravity is a feat that Silver Knights don't see every day. Not from humans, at any rate.

His face was dirty from smoke with some scratches here and there but otherwise appeared fine. The same, unfortunately, couldn’t be said for Ahern himself.

Pharis nodded to the half-unconscious man in his arms. “I will need help with him though, he is getting heavy again. And… be careful.”

Julia moved to do so but stopped when she saw Ahern’s face. She drew a breath in reaction.

Half of Master Ahern’s face, including his eye, was scorched, black and red interweaving. His beard was gone, burned away judging by the scars.

“He waited for us on the walls, alongside Chevalier Tello. The fire sorcerer, I mean” explained the archer as they moved through the field, towards the treeline. “He said he knew Ahern would come… Since then, we were fighting all the while, but we still got the gate open… Honestly, I didn't think we would make it past the gatehouse...”

Carius raised his shield, silencing the man, who was clearly in shock. “You did well. But we will talk later. Now we need to retreat first, and then get Ahern proper treatment.”

Pharis nodded in gratitude, and alongside the Caravan Silver Knights, carefully went with Master Ahern behind the trees to meet the rest of their group.

The Captain looked towards the burning Fort Tenebria. Their foe knew they would arrive there. They knew Ahern always stopped there on his way to collect tributes. And so, they waited for them, using the fort as a cover.

He wanted to growl in anger. So much for the secrecy of the routine. The only comfort he had at the moment was that there seemed to be no sign of pursuit.

For now, at least.

Chapter Text

As the storm grew weaker, the heavy rain diminished to light drizzle and the dark clouds in the sky began to dissipate soon after. With that, dawn’s first rays pierced the forest canopy, chasing the darkness away, revealing the muddy glade on which the knights rested in all its wild and wet glory.

Their armor was dripping with water, just like the trees around them, as the cold morning wind played with the emerald leaves.

The horses were grazing in the center of the small clearing, relentless but docile. Next to them, the Silver Knights and archer Pharis waited in the same manner, tense and ready. If there were any possible pursuers on their track, hopefully the thick forest made them lose their track. But that didn’t mean the group would allow themselves to be caught off guard again.

There was a saying popular among the cleric knights and inquisitors of the Way of the White: Vigilance. Always vigilance.

The Silver Knights took it to heart now.

The Captain himself towered over Ahern, who had his back against a tree, resting, while Severa re-applied bandages and cast her healing on the man’s burned skin. A far cry from the healing abilities of the Princess of Sunlight, her maidens, or other priests and clerics, but it had to do for now.

The Sun had to have its protective gaze on Ahern during his duel against the fire sorcerer, thought Carius, for despite the obvious power of his opponent, Zena’s own injuries were mostly superficial, if painful.

The Caravan Master soldiered on through the discomfort though, and after their group judged that they got from the burning fort far enough, Pharis insisted to take a look at the man and his injuries, despite his objections. Severa, who apparently had knowledge of the elementary Heal miracle, helped.

Afterward, Ahern made clear that he wished to speak to the Captain.

And so he did, telling him of his new plan.

After Ahern gave him the gist of it, Carius was silent for a long while.

“You jest,” spoke the Silver Knight eventually, voice devoid of emotion.

“Do I look like I’m in the mood for smiles, sir knight?” Ahern muttered in response. “I can assure you, I’m dead serious.”

The Silver Knight kept looking at the man, thoughts racing through his mind. He lowered his voice once he decided to speak. Shouting wouldn’t do anyone any good.

“This is ridiculous,” he exclaimed. “How can you even consider this course of action? You are wounded, we lost the convoy and one of my knights. We have to return to Lordran at once! Before we lose more.”

The human gave an empty chuckle at that, but it quickly devolved into a fit of ugly cough. Dame Severa reprimanded him to be careful, that his lungs inhaled too much smoke to make them strain like this. “Return… why exactly?” he eventually managed to say. “That half of this kingdom is crawling with Velka’s cronies? That her rotten plots extend to this idiotic conflict? Pharis, according to his own words, wrote this into his report, as you are well aware. That is why I intend to send him to Anor Londo with it. The Gods will be informed.”

He raised his finger to silence the sir knight, for he wasn’t finished.

“As for me being wounded, well, that is why I won’t accompany you anymore. I will take Cyrus and Julia and try to get to the Balder’s Gate, as I have said before. And before you ask, I’m certain Regent Rendal will welcome our arrival, as will his healers. With Velka’s presence here known, I will do what would be expected of any Darkmoon Blade; make life difficult for her. That I can best achieve through advising the Regent.”

He silenced himself for a moment, his gaze lost in the bushes on the other side of the glade.

“And Felix… He will be mourned. I do not doubt you will make certain his name will be remembered in the Hall of Glories.”

Carius let out a sigh and nodded. “Of course he will. He fell while doing his duty. There is no greater honour for a knight. He will be remembered."

"What about the carriages? You haven’t answered that one.”

“What about ‘em? Can’t collect tribute with a pile of ash and planks, can I?- argh, damn it!” he hissed the curse in the middle of the sentence, as Severa, who gently apologized, applied the ointment. He took a deep breath and finished voicing his arguments. “And it’s not like this was our only Tribute Caravan. The people of Astora and Berenike will just have to wait a tad longer, is all. I believe current events take precedence over some gold and fancy letters.”

The Silver Knight finally looked away, judging Ahern’s words. Now that he spoke in more detail, he was making sense, the Silver Knight begrudgingly admitted to himself. The fact Pharis, who knew this land and could travel not only fast but silently and out of sight, would be on his way to inform Anor Londo of both his findings and their encounter with the servants of Velka was the most important thing. Lord Gwyn and Prince Gwyndolin will know that their enemy is present in Balder. And, naturally, act accordingly.

Ahern himself will hopefully be safe in the presence of the two Silver Knights. Him going to the Regent’s personal stronghold seemed like a reasonable move as well. Of course, Carius wasn’t certain if Ahern even possessed jurisdiction to advise the human lord, but then again, these Darkmoon Blades are apparently Prince Gwyndolin’s personal force. And judging from both Pharis and Ahern's actions so far, quite independent too in the field. If the Caravan Master believes he should go to Balder’s Gate l and that he will be of use there, Carius won’t argue otherwise.

But none of this answered his main concern.

He looked back to the man, just as Severa was rising to her feet. “He should be fine for the time being, though the bandages will have to be changed in a few hours.”

Carius nodded, watched Severa rejoin the other knights, and then voiced his thoughts.

“Do you truly think it wise for me to abandon you and continue on my journey to Astora? I myself do not wish to return to the Divine City empty-handed, but the recent events…”

“Change nothing,” interjected Ahern, steel in his voice. “You know as well as I do that you need to reach Astora and retrieve what you have been sent for. It is of utmost importance. Despite not knowing the details, even I was told as such.”

Carius hummed in thought. “So you don’t know either what actually I am supposed to fetch there,” he said.

“Not in the slightest. But it has to be done. And so, you have to continue on your journey to Astora.”

“With our… secrecy gone, that might prove difficult,” pointed out Carius. “I find it hard to believe Velka just happened to specifically target you and will leave us alone if we split up.”

The Zena raised his eyebrow, though with his other one being half-burned away, the expression didn’t quite feel the same. “Obviously she won’t. That’s why you will have to outrun her mortal lackeys,” he exclaimed and nodded towards the snow-white horses.

The Knight-Captain saw that Ahern tried to rise and held out his hand for the man. “You will give us all of them?”

“All of them; four steeds for four brave knights,” responded the Caravan Master, and took the extended arm, rising with a pained huff. “We don't need them. Balder’s Gate is only some day of a journey away from here. With my injuries that will take longer, yes. But you need the horses more than we do.”

The Silver Knight realized that Ahern thought about this quite thoroughly. If he truly believed this is what they should do, Carius was convinced.

Again, it’s not like he was thrilled about not finishing his task in the first place.

There was one more thing that gnawed at him though.

“That sorcerer you fought, who was he?”

“Baron de Carmese,” answered Ahern, his tone carefully neutral. “You remember the noble that arrived before us? The one Tallo mentioned? That was him.”

“Speaking of Tello; what was his part in all of that charade?”

Ahern gave a sigh and started checking his attire and bag that hung over his shoulder. “I am uncertain, truth to be told. The Chevalier wasn’t a bad man; loyal, fought in several battles against the feudal lords back in the day for Regent Rendal in the Fivefinger Delta campaigns. That earned him the command post of Fort Tenebria.”

Apparently finding what he was searching for, Ahern patted his bag again in satisfaction. “If I were about to guess, his family was threatened by de Carmese or someone else, forcing a shift in his loyalties. Unfortunately a common trend here in Balder these days, exported from Carim… but at any rate, Pharis killed him. So that’s that for him.”

“And de Carmese himself?”

“A minor noble from the hard land located in southern Balder. One who threw his lot with Lady Clarencia de Ricard, or so I thought. But it seems his loyalties go even further, to Velka herself. The fool admitted so, boasting of his mistress, back when I and Pharis encountered him in the guard tower. Thought he would get rid of us right then in her name. Idiot.”

Carius, who was during Ahern’s explanation watching Ordelius and Pharis and their lively conversation (from the way they waved their bows, Carius could guess the topic of the debate), nodded to show he understands now.

“Now,” the human announced, as he took a metal tube out of his bag, not unlike the one case Pharis handed to him the previous evening in the tavern. This one, however, had the insignia of the Greatlord atop its cover, one Carius saw each day on the banners in his office. An ornamented gold circle, depicting the ever-brilliant Sun.

“Take this, sir knight. It contains a letter from Lord Gwyn himself to King Lothair IV of Astora. I wanted to give it to you back in the tavern, but we were rudely interrupted, as you recall.”

Carius took the case, and rolled it over in his gauntlets. It looked, and felt, completely ordinary, but the Captain knew better than to assume this one didn’t have powerful enchantments on it as well.

“With this done, I think it’s time we announced our next move to the rest, don’t you agree, Captain?”

Carius concurred and began walking to the middle of the glave, but a hand grasped his arm, stopping him.

“And, sir knight?” spoke the Zena. “Be careful. It stands to reason that if Velka truly wishes either of us gone, she won’t rely on her mortal servants alone.”

The Knight-Captain briskly nodded.

The knights took in their new orders as they would any other command. That is, without objections. In fact, Carius was certain he saw both Cyrus and Julia relax ever so slightly at the part where Ahern declared he will venture to Balder’s Gate. The Captain smiled at another proof that the knights cared for the man they accompanied for years.

Only Pharis showed initially some hesitation, but after encouraging words from both Carius and Ahern, the archer’s gray eyes narrowed with determination, and he swore he would not fail in his task.

With that, the group split up. Pharis didn’t waste time and began his journey south, saying his goodbyes to the servants of the Gods. Ahern, Cyrus, and Julia were next, fading away in the forest, going east towards the Regent’s center of power.

And the four knights, seated atop the white horses, took off further north, their destination clear.

***

Carius wasn’t used to riding. While he did possess theoretical know-how, he wasn’t about to delude himself into thinking his practical didn’t leave a great deal to be desired. At least Tavia seemed to have no discomfort on the back of her horse, though it made sense. Cavalry was not a standing unit in Anor Londo’s army, but a few dozen Silver Knights rode alongside the humans during the Dragon War, Tavia among them.

Severa and Ordelius, though, had no such luxury, just like Carius. Still, they held their own and that was what mattered.

Lack of saddle didn’t help either, though to be frank, the absence of that certain piece of equipment was more uncomfortable for the horse than for the knight atop of it.

Aware of this, Carius commanded them to stop at one of the sparse inns they passed and requisitioned saddles from the people inside. Fortunately, it didn’t take much - or any - convincing, and the people inside did so without hesitation, only asking for a blessing.

Hesitantly, the knights conceded, and put their hands on the human’s heads, whispering a prayer to Lord Gwyn. No magic was involved, as often was the case with worship, but it clearly made the locals thrilled.

All that aside, his horse - a mare called Marianne - was a docile steed. Like her siblings, and all other great horses of Anor Londo she was descended directly from the first mare to jog upon the Unformed World’s surface. Muscular, fearless, loyal, and a sight to behold; everything Lordran could require from an animal.

Smart too, according to Ahern, who spoke of his horses before he departed with fondness otherwise absent in other conversations.

Most importantly for their current riders, the snowy steeds were fast and possessed great stamina, especially if not weighed by the heavy carriages. Even the Silver Knight’s considerable weight, armor, and all was barely anything in comparison.

So they galloped through the ruined land of Balder, day and night, only stopping to give the horses a well-deserved rest. As they rode through the scenery of the landscape, Carius thought back to the great map in Lord Gwyn’s war room a few times. It showed clearly that the Kingdom of Balder was a vast land, but to actually ride through it gave the Captain renewed appreciation and awe for this seemingly endless world the Lords have created.

It made him feel almost sorry for having to watch over Anor Londo all the time. Almost.

They rode, and they rode more. Eventually, the land, little by little, changed. Whereas before they rode through dense forests and open fields, now the land was more barren and rocky.

This had to be the northern steppes if Carius recalled his books correctly. A sparsely populated land between Astora and Balder. Technically part of the Kingdom of Balder, it was a wild territory, with only a few outposts and settlements that were de facto independent. At the end of it, the river Levroux flew, forming the true border between the two realms.

The Captain slowed down to a gallop and looked around. The space around them was open, devoid of movement, bar the wind that played with shrubs and small trees here and there.

That was good. If there would be any attackers approaching, they would know in advance. Though, by now, he was doubting they were being followed in the first place. Ordelius voiced the thought too, at one of their breaks. Sure, they were being fast, but so far there wasn’t a single sign of any pursuit. Of course, it didn’t change anything, but it made Carius think about the purpose of the ambush in Fort Tenebria…

Out of a sudden, Marianne neighed, and the Captain patted her neck. He muttered some calming words to the horse, but then he noticed that there was no road beneath them anymore. Only short yellow-green grass.

Well, that was less good. He turned around and indeed, the dusty road they were traveling on disappeared just behind. He was about to voice his observation, but Marianne neighed once again, this time more forcefully. And then again.

"Uh, Carius?"

"I am trying! I have no idea what went into her."

"I have a hunch," continued Ordelius. "Look."

The Captain did so in bewilderment first, then his gaze followed the knight's own eyes into the distance. He initially saw nothing, but then he focused on the sky, rather than land.

It was cloudy… but one cloud was far too low and far darker than the rest. It also grew bigger as it got closer far faster than it should…

…

"Ah," exclaimed the Captain once he recognized what he was looking at.

It wasn't a cloud. Clouds didn't have black feathers, not long dark wings, and, if Carius wasn't mistaken, nor did they possess beaks.

Crows. Velka's beloved familiars. Dozens, if not hundreds, of them. And the knight, even if he couldn't see any other creature yet, suspected they weren't alone.

Tavia brandished her spear and calmed her horse with her legs. "It was only a matter of time before some of those showed up." She glanced at Carius then. "What are your orders, sir?"

What were his orders indeed? It would still take the crows at least half an hour to reach them, but what then? Stand their ground? That wouldn't go well for the knights, let alone for their horses. And they needed the horses. Even if they would survive the dark-feathered onslaught, Carius had no doubt Velka’s other, human, servants were on their way. They couldn’t afford to get stranded in the middle of an empty taiga.

There really was only one option here, wasn’t there?

He took in a deep breath and then exhaled.

“We ride. No breaks or stops. Not until we reach Levroux. The garrison on the bridge will assist us.”

Tavia shook her helmet. “The horses won’t last that long.”

“I know. But we are out of options.” He then turned to Severa, who was silent until now, watching the shadow approach. He noticed she was repeatedly squeezing the reins.

“Severa, do you know any other miracles that could assist us?” he questioned.

She jerked slightly at being addressed but nodded right after. “I… I saw monks use the Emit Force several times.”

“Use it once those creatures get too close,” he commanded, then looked at Ordelius and Tavia. “You do the same. A lighting spear may not be an ideal weapon here, but better than nothing. Same with your bow.”

“Now, let us not waste more time! Ride!”

***

The crows caught up with them the day after.

Since dusk, they had them at their back, getting closer and closer.

It was night now, countless white stars dotting the black above, and the Knight-Captain deeply regretted that his suspicion from the day before came true.

The birds weren’t alone. Within their mass, a far larger creature hid. Carius caught only a glimpse of it once so far, but he was certain of what he saw.

A harpy.

A dreadful, disgusting thing. A nightmare given flesh. A sick satire of humanoid and bird both.

The divine deliverers of Velka’s vengeful will. Her most favored servants.

The Silver Knight never faced one before, but he heard tales of sharp talons and beaks that shattered skulls with their strikes. Of feathers that resembled the void itself and speed that boggles the mind.

And that they never hunted alone.

Joyous bunch, really.

But for the moment, their smaller brethren presented a greater threat. The crows still weren’t enveloping the knights and their mounts per se. Not yet, anyway. But Carius could hear the whistling air that flew between their feathers. He could hear the incessant squawking.

After several hours, where it increasingly grew in volume, he could safely say he started detesting the sound more than he hated any other.

An explosion echoed through the air then, and a wave of wind rolled over him from behind.

Severa’s Emit Force was a welcome respite from the infernal screeching, but the pause didn’t last for long, and as before, the crows consolidated several seconds after.

There was no doubt that the flock was smaller now, many of its vermin annihilated by the miracles and arrows alike.

The Captain expected to see golden lightning in his peripheral vision, as was becoming the routine, but none came this time. He risked looking at Tavia, fearing the worst.

But thank the Flame, she was fine, though she noticed his gaze and shook her head.

So she reached her limit and was unable to cast her lightning spear anymore.

Ordelius ran out of arrows an hour ago. He too imbued his projectiles with lightning, without a doubt draining himself as well.

They were left defenseless and tired.

Of course, the Silver Knight’s fatigue was nothing compared to their brave steeds.

The white horses were wet with sweat, but that was one of the many signs of their impending collapse. After so many hours of full gallop, interrupted only by short periods of slower canter, the horses were drained. They were barely above half of their typical speed now, only shortening the gap between them and the black plague that followed in their wake.

Carius was expecting one - or more - of them to stumble any moment now. It was inevitable.

It made him angry. Not at the horses, those did their duty better than the knight could ask them of. No, fury and hate raged within his veins at the injustice of it all. They were so close!

The river was on the horizon for a spell now, only getting closer. More than that, since they started descending towards the shallow valley in which the river was, Carius had no doubts that the line he was barely seeing ahead was the bridge. He could even see small orange dots there. Fire, it had to be.

If only their mounts would last for a bit more!...

“Damn it! Don’t stop now!”

But the Lords weren’t with them that day.

“Captain!” shouted Severa, unchecked emotions resonating in the air. “Sir Ordelius, his horse-!”

His horse slowed down to walking speed and was visibly shaking. The Silver Knight archer tried to spring it into action, but not surprisingly, the horse did not obey. It could not obey.

And as he glimpsed at his Marianne, she wouldn’t be increasing her speed either any time soon.

He turned around, seeing the crows were mere minutes away from their position.

So be it.

“Form defensive formation!” he yelled out, galloping towards Ordelius.

“No! Don’t wait for me,” he implored. “Maybe one of you can still get to the bridge and take shelter there!”

But Carius just shook his winged helmet at his old friend.

Tavia growled at his plea. “We aren’t leaving you,” she proclaimed. Severa nodded.

“Curse your nobility,” Ordelius sighed, as he drew his sword. “To the end, then.”

“To the end,” echoed his brother and sisters.

Carius patted Marianne and flexed his sword arm. The poor mare had to be not only tired but terrified, though she stood her ground, like the other horses. He patted her neck once more.

Then they waited.

The darkness that was the flock didn’t leave them waiting for long.

It enveloped the world around them, blocking even the sky, safe a few streaks of moonlight.

The ambiance alone was terrible. The sounds from before, only nigh deafening now, thanks to their proximity. Or maybe it wasn’t that loud. Maybe it was just getting on Carius’ nerves a tad too much.

The Knight-Captain dimly wondered if there would be anything left for the grave wardens of Nitro to bury, in the chance their remains would ever be found. The winged rats can’t pierce the silver plate the knights wore, but not all of their bodies were covered by it…

Bah. An empty line of thought. What did it matter? A wretched end, either way, the Captain thought bitterly.

And yet, the crows didn’t attack. They created a barrier, a dome, but did not lunge forward.

Then a sickening cackle began to echo through the night. It was like someone took the squawking of the crows and combined it with the laughter of a normal being.

“The- the- the little- little tin soldiers- soldiers cover! Cover in fear! Fear! Do-do-do you fear death, little- little tin soldiers?”

The voice, just like the disgusting laugh, was a perversion of a tone a servant of the divinity would take. It made the knights rigid, even more than they were before. It was unnatural.

Unnatural just like the harpy that descended to the ground before them. It was even more horrific than Carius presumed. Its torso was pale white, scars decorating its surface. Where that skin met the black feathers of its wings, it grew red, tiny black spikes protruding it. It stood on two long legs, akin to those of other birds, just far larger. But most disturbing was its head, which also looked like that of a crow or raven. It sporadically tugged to left and right, down and up. And its black eyes, no pupils to be found, observed the Silver Knights in front of it as a predator would watch its prey.

It spoke again, its beak opening but closing rapidly, making it repeat its words.

“My- my lady in- in shadow, yes shadow- shadow! Promised shiny morsel! No need- need to fear little morsel! You- you die and we- we feast! We feast!”

It laughed hideously once more, but this time Carius pointed his sword at the creature, undaunted.

“Come then, abomination, if you dare. You will not find our wills, nor our strength, lacking.”

Ordelius gave a tiny chuckle at that, though he tried to hide it as a grunt. “You just have to go and poke the hornet’s nest, don’t you?...”

Carius always admired how Ordelius could keep his nonchalance.

The monstrosity cackled again, insanity in its eyes.

“Yes- yes! We come! We come! You die! No pretty- pretty colours for you! No- no- no! Only for- for our lady! Now we- we WILL feast!”

With those words, it lunged forward. Carius raised his shield and extended his blade forward, but at the last moment, it lunged to the right, demonstrating its unnatural speed, attacking Severa instead.

But the harpy wasn’t the only one augmented with the power of great souls. And so it underestimated the divine knight’s reactions, and the swordswoman blocked its lunge with her shield. It sent her and her taking a step to the side, but at the same time slashed with her longsword upward, making the abomination scream.

It retreated for a second, then jumped ahead again, letting its wings carry it. And once again, it changed its target at the last moment, striking against Tavia this time.

At first, it seemed the spearwoman managed to react without an issue, piercing one of its wings. Alas, the harpy seemed to barely notice and struck with its other wing in dizzying quickness, its talons making an arch that struck not only Tavia but also her hapless steed.

It retreated out of the reach just in time to avoid Carius and his weapon, but the damage was done. The horse finally panicked, and rose to its hind legs, making Tavia fall to the ground with a huff. Her armor withstood the strike, even as deep marks marked its plate. But her horse wasn’t so lucky.

The scared stallion, his side bleeding, gathered the rest of his stamina and galloped onward in panic. Right into the flying crows, where it disappeared in a sea of black.

“Ugly- ugly little morsel! You stop-stop-stop! I-I wanted fun yes fun! You fight- fight back- back! Not fair!”

Carius didn’t dare to leave the harpy from its sight. So he just angled his head and asked.
“Tavia?”

“I live, sir. Just, ugh, just breathing is hard at the moment.”

The harpy chose this moment to charge, this time against Ordelius.

He blocked its frenzied attacks and tried to stab into its wounded wing, but the creature’s brute strength and speed were amplified by its anger. It was attacking wildly, not allowing Carius or Severa to interfere.

Finally, its talons struck true, and Ordelius gave a deep growl as blood started dripping from his arms.

But its triumph was short-lived, at least for the moment, because Ordelius responded by slamming the side of his shield into its large, but still thin, black leg. A crack followed.

The harpy wailed and fled beyond the archer’s melee reach.

It apparently had enough, as it was still screaming.

“No! No- no! You die- die- DIE! MY- MY PRET- PRETTIES! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!”

Well, that was it, Carius said to himself. They won’t be able to combat both the horde of the crows and its master.

He lowered himself into a guard stance, or as much as he could atop of his horse. For all the good it would do him.

The crows, a tide of feathers, moved and began to descend upon the knights.

Killed by birds. What a wretched way to die indeed, thought the Captain.

But before a single beak or talon touched his armor, a whistling noise filled the air. It drowned out even the flock’s squawking, that strong it was.

The last thing Carius remembers from that night after the noise appeared was a blinding flash that threw him off his mare, making him fall to the ground and pass out.