The Pulver Chronicles – 47. Everywhere You Go

In the five years he had lived among the Hellhounds, Jackson had been in many meetings of the chieftains. Various moods had dominated them, from joy to anger, from levity to fear. To memory, this was the first time he saw a meeting feel so… desperate.

It wasn’t the kind of despair where everyone ran around screaming, begging for help, praying the Gods for a miracle. It was a very quiet, very subdued kind of despair. Which was much worse, in a way. At least, with the first kind, people were trying something, anything. But here, nobody was even making any attempts, not even to just break the heavy silence that loomed in the council hut like a ghost. It was as if the announcement of the Vertrisian Elves’ change of allegiance had removed their ability to speak.

Well, in truth, during the first part of the meeting, several chieftains had offered some ideas or suggestions to the floor. The first ones had been somewhat rational, like when Aleo -who, having finished her term as war chief, was back to being tribe chieftain- suggested the Hellhounds tried to sway the villages who had switched sides into coming back in the Alliance. The last ones, however, had ranged from idiotic to suicidal, like the suggestion a new chieftain had made of attacking the Elves -either to take over the whole forest or as punishment, it wasn’t clear. Ultimately, though, all the ideas submitted had been shot down.

And then, things had gone quiet. Minutes passed without a single word being spoken.

“Well, maybe…” Nari said with considerable reluctance. “I know this is not what we want, but maybe… Maybe we should reconsider the Emperor’s offer of vassalage.”

“No,” another chieftain abruptly said.

“We’ll not be slaves ever again,” Naele said.

“Would that truly be worse than the alternative?” Nari said.

“I’d choose death over slavery everytime,” Naele retorted. “As Mad Jack once said, it is better to die standing than to live on your knees.”

Well, Byron said that, actually, Jackson thought. And I’m pretty sure he was quoting someone.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Aleo said. “Don’t you see? That offer is gone. The Emperor has offered our territory to the Elves, which means that after several rejections, he’s come to realize we will never agree to vassalage. So, he decided to secure the Vertrisian Forest in a different way.”

Nari opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. “Well… So, then…”

And then it got quiet again.

Unusually, Jackson had said nothing all through the meeting, nothing at all. He had made no attempt at suggesting a plan, had not supported or criticized anyone’s ideas, had not commented on any facts brought up by the others. In fact, he had not even made a single quip or joke. The whole time, he had simply sat there, legs crossed, head bowed. Alizana had shot him a few glances, but never tried to break him out of his silence. Byron, too, had remained very quiet.

“There is only one option left,” Sathariel then said, intervening for the second time in the meeting, the first being to inform everyone of the situation vis-a-vis the Elves.

“War with the Empire?” Naele said. “That will be another Dusk Steppe for certain.”

“No. Exile.”

Reactions to that suggestion were mixed, ranging from shock to despondence. What caught Jackson’s attention was the way Alizana reacted: without any surprise or anger. She took it with something resembling acceptance -or maybe resignation.

“Exile! Exile where?” Nari said. “The Empire will not have us, and neither will the Hexacracy -even if we were foolish enough to go back there. As to C’fa, it is on the other side of the Meridional Sea; where would we find the ships to travel there? And that’s assuming the Leagues or the maliks will tolerate us.”

“We could always sail east,” a chieftain suggested sarcastically. “Some say another continent lies where the sun rises.”

“No place in this world will greet us with open arms,” Nari said. “This is not an option either.”

“You are right: no place in this world will,” Sathariel retorted calmly.

The chieftain raised an eyebrow, confused. Jackson turned towards Sathariel, mouth ajar. Was he saying…?

“We must choose exile, not to another region of this world, but to another world entirely,” the young Demon said.

One of the chieftains chuckled in disbelief, staring at him like he had lost his mind. The others considered him with either confusion or outright concern. Aleo, however, seemed to understand exactly what he was suggesting, and looked aghast.

“You are speaking of the First Forbidden Arcane,” she slowly said.

“I am.”

“What?!” Naele screamed out.

“Let me just-” Several chieftains began talking angrily at once. Sathariel spoke louder: “Let me just explain my whole idea to you. Please hold your decisions until you’ve heard the entire story.”

Sathariel then went on to tell them of Jackson’s meeting with Azazel, and of the Archmage’s offer. He told that story succinctly, withholding a few details. As he spoke, some of the chieftains had adopted a grave expression, especially when Azazel was mentioned, but a few looked even more incredulous.

“That is nonsense,” Nari said when he was done. “Another world? Like in the stories we tell our children?”

“That world is quite real, I assure you,” Sathariel said. “As a matter of fact, one of us could tell you all about that other world.”

He turned to Jackson, and a moment later so did the entire assembly. Jackson sighed, then cleared his throat.

“Yeah, what Seth is saying is true,” he said. “There is another world. I, uh… I came from it.”

Gasps and exclamations of incredulity rose from the chieftains, who traded comments between them. However, Jackson noticed that one of them, Aleo, had barely reacted. In fact, she did not seem surprised at all. He questioned her about it.

“I suspected as much,” she said. “First, there was your accent. I had never heard anything quite like it, and neither had anyone I asked. Then, there were those strange weapons of yours. And finally, there was the fact that you seemed so oddly ignorant of this world; some things that were common knowledge even to children were unknown to you.”

Jackson remembered having asked her about some animal species, and about the edible kinds of mushrooms found in the forest. It turned out that some of the things he had wondered about could in fact be found all over Varda, even in Hastad where he had claimed to come from when questioned by her.

“I assumed you came from a far-off land, but not quite that far-off,” Nari confessed. “Another world, that is…” She shook her head. “Had anyone else told me that story, I would have named him a liar, but I can smell you’re being honest.”

“So… This is what you’re proposing, Sathariel?” Yanu said. “That we abandon this world –our world- for a completely different world, one that is entirely unknown to us?”

The disbelief was clear in her tone.

“Is it our world?” Alizana said softly. Yanu and several other chieftains glanced at her with surprise. “I don’t believe I’ve ever truly felt like it was. This is the world where we have lived since we came to be, yes, but everywhere we went it was made clear to us we did not belong. Ever since we were created, we were never truly accepted anywhere. Namtar meant for us to be nothing but warlike animals, and it seems most of the people we met thought of us the same way, as if all knew what we came from. And as a result, our entire history here has been nothing but a long series of conflicts.

“Yes, the idea of moving to another world is a scary one. It may seem like a mad one too. But… I think it makes sense. This would be an opportunity to begin again. To write a new history, one without war, and without pain. Another world… Another chance for us.”

“No tree can survive without its roots,” Yanu said.

“Our roots are poisonous,” Aleo said. With a chuckle, she added: “Or perhaps it is the land we grow on. I’ve never been good with metaphors. My point is, I think Alizana is right. This makes sense. Moving our people to another world… makes sense.”

The chieftains began talking among themselves. To say opinions were split would be an understatement. Leaving the only world they ever knew for another? Madness! Suicide! No, Alizana spoke true: this was a new chance for the Hellhounds to grow and prosper. To wither and die, more like. Wither and die is what they seemed condemned to in this world as well. But why would the other world be any better? After all, they knew nothing of it!

“Tell us more of your world, Jackson,” Rakli, the new chieftain of the Nekli tribe, said. “What are its main kingdoms? What are their rulers like?”

Jackson took a deep breath, then went on to explain, to the best of his ability, the countries of his world and their leaders. His own knowledge of politics was limited, and pertained mostly to the United States of America, but Byron helped him fill in the blanks -and correct a few of his misconceptions. His answers elicited more questions, as it soon became clear to the chieftains just how different that other world was. What, there was no nobility in this world? But then, did that mean this “President” directly ruled everyone on the land? What was a representative? What was a senate?

Soon, the questions broached a broader array of topics. The chieftains asked about the peoples, the cultures, the landscapes… and the food. A few of the chieftains had become fond of the BBQ sauce introduced by Jackson, and wished to know if this other world had more such culinary inventions. That particular topic was talked about at length.

Not all the chieftains joined that conversation. A few had remained quiet. One of those eventually decided to speak up during a lull between questions. Jackson had been introduced to her at the beginning of the meeting: she was Pali, the new chieftain of the Nali tribe -Culli had chosen to retire some time after Neasa’s death.

“This is ridiculous,” she spat out.

The assembly turned to her.

“Bad enough that you ask us to make use of the Forbidden Arcanes, but you truly expect to trust an Archdemon? Well, I, for one, am not going anywhere, and neither is my tribe.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. An entire tribe of contrarians, he said to himself.

“How are you not outraged?” she told the other chieftains. “The Forbidden Arcanes! Have you forgotten what those can do? And have you all forgotten the Archdemons? The pain, the destruction, and the death they spread? And you would have us put our fate in the hands of that Azazel! Are you mad?”

The last argument seemed to sway some chieftains.

“She has a point,” Yanu said. “How do we know this isn’t a trap? How do we know the Archmage is not leading us to our doom?”

“That would be a very elaborate and complicated trap, then,” Sathariel said.

“The Archdemons hate us,” Pali said. “We have killed two of them, and they probably blame us for the death of Elyonn as well. This is probably a ploy to gather us all in one place, and kill us all!”

She slapped the table.

“Doubt it,” Jackson said. “Azazel doesn’t care much for the rest of the Archdemons. She didn’t even want to go to war with the Empire. Hell, they had to force her to join the Hexacracy.”

“But why would she help us?” Yanu asked. “I can conceive that she is not as evil as the others, but I can’t accept that she’s doing this out of the kindness of her heart. Does she even have a heart?”

“I think she’s doing it to get us out the way,” Jackson said, remembering what Byron had said when they met with Azazel. “To cover her tracks.”

“What does that mean?” Aleo said.

“She… We think she may have created your people.”

Predictably, that little reveal had quite the effect on the chieftains.

“Horseshit,” Pali said. “Namtar created us.”

“I knew it couldn’t be him!” Yanu said. “Not just him, at least. I knew that bastard knew too little of such magic. He had to have had help. So it was Azazel, eh?”

“Apparently,” Jackson said. “But you see how that’s a problem for her. She created the Hellhounds, and the Hellhounds have killed two Archdemons, and are the main reason the Hexacracy got its ass kicked. Makes sense she wants all of us far away from here, in case one of her colleagues puts two and two together.”

“Wait, what was that about Elyonn?” Aleo said.

Jackson sighed. He hadn’t meant to mention that. All right, might as well come clean about the whole thing.

“Ah… So, it turns out Azazel was working against Elyonn the entire time. She thought the war was a shitty idea, so she decided to sabotage the Hexacracy. She, uh… She’s actually the reason I found out about your people, and that you were in the Vertrisian Forest. It wasn’t by accident either. She actually wanted me to join the Rebellion, so I could help you guys in the war.”

“That’s… Are you sure about all that?” Naele said.

“It’s too long a story to tell right now, but yeah, I am sure. She’s also the one who gave the alert about Namtar going down to Tinuan. And she did some kind of magic shit on my gun, so I could kill Elyonn with it -well, so David could.”

He had expected a pinch in his throat as he spoke the name of his fallen friend, and there was one.

The assembly of chieftains took those new revelations with a mixture of confusion and fear.

“How did she know all of this?” a chieftain wondered. “She must have been watching over us, spying on us!”

“Probably, but it doesn’t matter at this point,” Alizana said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “The point Jack is trying to make is: if what Azazel wanted was to kill us all, she had opportunities to do so before. She could have helped Namtar when he came for us. Instead, she chose to hinder him. Her offer to help us seems genuine.”

“The war is over now,” Pali said. “Maybe her situation has changed, and so have her intentions.”

“That’s just speculation, I see no reason to believe that,” Sathariel said. “Furthermore, she’s now our only option.” He sighed. “Whether we like it or not, we have to trust Azazel.”

“I don’t,” Pali retorted, “and neither does my tribe. Putting our fate in the hands of an Archdemon is exactly what we sought to avoid by moving south.”

A couple of chieftains nodded in agreement.

“Like Sathariel said, what other option is there?” Aleo said. “To stay and fight? Like Naele said, this will be another Dusk Steppe.”

“Let’s just put this to a vote,” Jackson said, yet again anticipating another endless argument. Instead, he seemed to have triggered one, as one of the chieftains, Kadja sat up straighter and exclaimed:

“A vote? This isn’t the sort of decision we can decide by a vote! What, if a majority decides to entrust Azazel, the minority’s fate will be sealed as well?”

Jackson grunted in frustration, but part of him conceded she had a point.

“No, that is not our way,” Alizana said. “We cannot and will not force anyone to go against their principles. How about this instead? We’ll end this meeting here, and over the course of, say, the next two weeks, chieftains of every tribe will come individually to meet with me, and tell me their tribe’s decision: to stay, or to go.”

“Why individually?” Naele said.

“So that your decision may remain private if you so choose. I won’t have anyone being pressured or coerced over this. Also, once that decision has been made obvious, we must swear that there’ll be no retaliation against anyone. No offense, no fight. This will not be a schism.” She took a deep breath. “Whether we stay or go, we will remain a sistren. We will remember our sisters.”

As nice as he found that speech, Jackson couldn’t help but think that at least some of those who would choose to stay would denigrate those who would elect to go with Azazel, and probably eventually forget them. Long distance relationships never worked, after all.

Alizana’s proposal was accepted, and after a few more exchanges, the council was adjourned. There was a strange nuance to the goodbyes between the chieftains as they left, something akin to finality, as if they felt like this might be the last time they met with each other. Some chieftains shook paws, others hugged, a few just traded nods. Pali was the first to leave with her retinue, and seemed to be in a hurry to do so. Alizana, Jackson, and Sathariel were among the last to depart the Rano camp, doing so just as the sun had begun its descent. Jackson still didn’t like traveling at night, but thankfully the Neha camp wasn’t very far. As they got in sight of the huts, Alizana asked:

“Are you okay, Jack? I think this is the quietest you’ve ever been.”

He noted that she had spoken the first sentence in English -there was no real equivalent to the word “okay” in Imperial or in Hellian-, though with a strong accent.

“I guess…” he said. Sighing heavily, he stopped walking, dropped his head, and added: “No. No, I’m not okay. I’m really, really fucking far from okay.”

Sathariel went to give him a side hug. “I’m sorry, Jack. I get it. It feels horrible to admit that we lost the war, especially after everything we sacrificed, but we have to be realistic.”

“It’s not about the war. I mean, yeah, it does feel shitty. All those people we lost… Jesus, especially those we lost at Evrart’s Rest. Like, what was even the point?… But no, it’s not that.”

“What is it, then?” Alizana said. She didn’t seem especially happy either: her lupine ears were folded down, and the glow of her eyes looked dimmer than usual.

“I…”

He bit his lip, looking at Sathariel and Alizana before lifting his eyes towards the canopy, and the few stars he could see through it.

“I don’t fucking want to go back to Earth.”

The words had come rushing out of his mouth like vomit.

“You don’t?” Sathariel said. “But I thought… Isn’t it your world? Your home?”

“Yeah, well… Do you want to go back to your hometown?”

The young Demon scratched one of his horns. “No, I don’t. It’s just… The way you speak about your world… All these wonders you talked about. The people, the cars, the food, the sights… I thought it was a great place. I mean, you said our people could be happy there.”

“They can. Probably, yeah. But I can’t. I never was.”

The late afternoon was growing cold, so they decided to continue their conversation in the Neha camp, close to the fire roaring at its center. Tezrian was there, staring into the flames as often. After his meeting with Azazel, Jackson had told the priestess all about the Archmage, and how she had used her as an agent. Tezrian had taken the news in stride, surprisingly, and had kept her faith in the Purest Flame.

“That Azazel might think she used me,” she had explained, “but I believe in truth the Purest Flame used her. By leading me here, she has gotten me closer to find what I have always sought. The Purest Flame is real. Some of the visions I saw might have been sent by the Archmage, but many were not, I know this.”

Jackson had not discussed the matter any further. For all he knew, Tezrian might have been right to stick to her beliefs in spite of this.

He, Sathariel, and Alizana sat by the fire, enjoying its warmth for a little while before resuming their conversation.

“I keep calling it my world, but the truth is I’ve never felt like I belonged there,” Jackson explained. “I was never wanted there, not by my parents, not by my foster families, not by anyone; there was never a place for me there. This world, though?” He made an encompassing gesture. “This world has always felt right to me. I mean, maybe not at first, but… Here, I’ve found everything I’ve ever wanted, and more: a home, a community, adventure, love… Hell, this world’s given me a goal in life, a cause, a fucking reason to wake up in the morning. I c–”

The words got stuck in his throat. He breathed in through his nose, then tried again:

“I can’t lose it all.”

Alizana put an arm around his shoulder and pushed her head against his. “You won’t, Jack. You won’t lose any of this. I don’t know what is going to happen when we travel to y- to that world, but I know this: you won’t be alone. You will still have us. You will still be one of our people, our tribemate, our friend… and my mate. Nothing will ever change that.”

“Absolutely,” Sathariel said. “Whatever happens, we’re still family. And as for adventure… Mate, you’ll still be Mad Jack. You’ll still fight for what you believe in, and for the people you love. That’ll never change, I know this for a fact. Maybe there won’t be any Archdemons around, but I doubt that’ll stop you.”

Jackson opened his mouth to respond, but then tasted something salty. It was only at this moment that he realized he was crying. Not a few tears either, like the manly heroes in those action movies Jackson used to watch. This was full-on bawling, to the point where his voice cracked and he couldn’t speak coherently. Alizana and Sathariel hugged him, and kept hugging him until his tears dried up, and also when Alizana’s stomach informed them that dinnertime was near. The noise was so loud and so unexpected that all three exploded in laughter, and kept on laughing for a good while.

Jackson decided to make some boar ribs with BBQ sauce for dinner. To go with them, Sathariel suggested uncorking the bottles of sunwine that had been in store for a long while; Jackson wasn’t sure how the Neha tribe got them, but believed they had once been the possession of some Hexacrat lord. Then, one of the Hellhounds, a young adult named Latna, brought up several terracotta jars containing some white, sticky, jelly-like substance. It turned out to be some whiteberry jam she had made; the young woman was aspiring to become the tribe’s cook. The jam had a nice smell, and went well with the bread imported from Tinaun, especially when the latter had been grilled over the flames. 

Meanwhile, Alizana called her tribe, and explained to them what had transpired during the last chieftains’ council. Their reactions were much the same as the chieftains’, but Alizana managed to foster a renewed sense of hope in her tribemates that helped overcome the anger and the sadness. This was not the end, she explained, but another beginning, just like when they left the Hexacracy.

Soon, the entire Neha tribe was sitting around the campfire, eating, drinking, and talking. All were merry once more, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. To Jackson, this dinner felt a little like a last meal, which made his BBQ sauce taste a bit bitter. In addition, something had been running around his mind ever since the council. Alizana could evidently see it on his face, and inquired about it.

“It’s just… The timing of that whole thing with the Elves,” he said. “The Emperor made his move with them so soon after I declined his last offer… I didn’t even answer him, but he knew I was going to turn him down -that I was always going to turn him down.”

“You did decline his previous offers,” she pointed out. “He probably wisened up and realized this last offer wouldn’t fare any better.”

“I guess. Or… His spy told him.” He groaned. “I still can’t believe we haven’t figured out who it was.”

“Oh, I have,” Sathariel nonchalantly said.

“You have?” He took a good look at his best friend, and saw that he was already a few drinks in. Hopefully, not enough to alter his memories or his judgement. “Well, who is it, then?”

“I really don’t think it matters anymore, at this point,” Alizana sighed.

“Well, I guess not,” Jackson said. “But I’m curious.”

“The war is over,” she said, looking into his eyes. In that moment, Jackson could feel the weakness inside her. The strength and the stoicism she had shown so far had partly been a façade. “I don’t know what good that information would do. Let’s just enjoy ourselves, tonight. No war, no Empire, no spies. Just us.”

“Yeah, of course.”

And so Jackson dropped the matter. Sathariel looked like he was willing to discuss it some more, but his motivation was soon drowned in wine, mead, and beer. The rest of the evening was a blur, a happy, carefree, liquid blur. After the food and drinks came the singing and dancing. If one could call it dancing; Jackson was already a poor dancer when sober, and he couldn’t imagine that all that alcohol had worked any miracles for his coordination. His singing had probably not been on par with Frank Sinatra either. Not that any of that mattered, it was still a fun night. His terrible hangover the next morning was testament to that.

He woke up on the floor of Alizana’s hut, his legs on the cot and his back on the pets decorating the floor. Those pelts were comfortable enough to sit or stand barefoot on, but definitely not enough to sleep on. At least, that was what Jackson’s back was screaming at him as he rolled on his side. Alizana was laying on her stomach on the cot, mouth open, tail between her legs. Sathariel was on the other side, half of his body pinned down under Alizana’s weight. The Demon was the second to wake up, groaning and holding his forehead as he did. Alizana woke up a lot later, sound sleeper that she was. She was also the only one to smile as soon as she got up; she had always had a strong resistance to hangovers. After a silent breakfast that consisted mostly of water, Jackson decided to rip off the Band-Aid and say what everyone was thinking:

“I suppose we should start packing up now.”

Sathariel grunted in agreement -well, he grunted, at least.

“Yes, we should,” Alizana said. “Also, I think we should contact the Emperor one last time.”

“To acknowledge our defeat or to brag one last time?” Jackson said. “Like, make it clear he never actually defeated us or whatever. I’m down for either, honestly. Hell, we can do both at the same time.”

“No, I was thinking we should ask for safe passage as we leave the Southern M- the South. We are still officially at war. The Emperor will probably not attack us, but I can’t say the same for his lords and his generals.”

“Mmh, yeah. I guess it won’t be too hard to get that from him. We’re basically offering to empty his lands without any fuss. Good deal for him.”

Those words came out sour, which he blamed on the hungover. It wasn’t until about noon that its effects dissipated, leaving Jackson feeling tired and oddly empty -and very thirsty. Once he could see clearly enough to do so, he worked to write the letter to the Emperor, the very last he would ever have to write. He sat on a log outside the storage hut, and got started. Owing partly to the fatigue, that letter was even shorter and more to the point than the previous ones, maybe to the point of being curt in tone, but Jackson didn’t care. No one said a declaration of capitulation had to sound polite and respectful.

“Right, now we just need to find a courier to bring it to him,” Jackson said as he folded the letter and placed it in the envelope. “Can one of your guys do it?”

That question was meant for Sathariel, who was sitting next to him.

“They could, but I have a better idea.”

He stood up, and gestured for Jackson to come with him. The Demon went to the eastern side of the camp, where Ardito was sitting on a log, playing on one of his chord instruments and singing one of the songs he had written during the war. It was about the battle of the Broken Teeth, and centered around the death of Yerleg, although, as Jackson had noticed the first time he had heard it, it didn’t mention Neasa by name. The melody was somber and the rhythm quick; Jackson thought it might have worked as the soundtrack of a horror movie.

“Good day, sirs!” Ardito warmly said, interrupting his singing and putting away his instrument. “Or perhaps it isn’t so good? I heard talk among the tribes, nothing too happy, no, no. In fact, many wouldn’t talk at all, at least not to me.”

“Yeah, safe to say, we’ve caught a bad break,” Jackson said.

“I am ever sorry to hear that, Sir Mad Jack. Is there anything I could do to help? A joyful song to warm your soul, mayhaps?”

“D’you know, there actually is something you can do,” Sathariel said as he went to stand by the bard’s side, one foot on the log. “We have a message we’d like to deliver to Emperor Damian III, and we want to make sure it arrives safely, without ending up in the wrong hands.”

“Oh, I’m hardly the right person for such a task, Sir Sathariel, no, no. I’m a traveler by trade, certainly, but I doubt my path will ever lead me to the Emperor, or any member of his court. I am more inclined to meet with fellow travelers, and vagrants, and nomads, and traders…”

“It’s true, you do travel a lot. All through the Vertrisian forest, for one, between every one of our camps. You’ve been to many of the towns in the Southern Alliance, as well. And you did indeed meet with many people. Tribe chieftains, village elders, burgmeisters, war chiefs… And Alizana. You’ve met with her very often, haven’t you? She really welcomed your company, and your songs.”

Jackson frowned. Where was he going with this? Wait, did he…

“Chieftain Alizana quite enjoys my music, yes, yes,” Ardito said, his smile a little hindered as if he too was wondering what Sathariel was aiming at. “And she inspired me with many songs, she has! Aye, many songs that I shall sing until my voice is taken from me by old age.”

“You even occasionally accompanied us in battle. Overall, I’d say you’ve probably learned a lot during your stay.”

“Why yes, quite a few songs I have written during my stay here, quite a few tales, yes, yes. Some epic, some dramatic, some comedic, and some… a little lurid, eheh. My stay has also gotten me quite an audience.”

“Indeed. Many people are very interested in what you have to say. I admit, I still haven’t figured out how you managed to communicate with the Eastern Empire without being caught, but I know you to be a crafty lad. You must have found a way, or several, during your travels.”

Jackson’s jaw dropped. No way. Not him. No, no, no, that wasn’t… It didn’t make any… He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It did make sense, actually. Perfect sense.

Goddamnit. God fucking damnit. Jackson squeezed the handle of Byron’s ax, his jaw clenching. Ever since David had let it slip that someone among them was spying for the Empire, Jackson had reviewed quite a few potential suspects, starting with the pro-Empire denizens of various villages in the Alliance. He had not exactly made a list of them, but if he had, he had to admit Ardito would not have been anywhere near the top. The bard was simply not someone he had ever envisioned in that role. How could he suspect Ardito, the silly, hammy, buffoonish, garrulous bard, who lifted their morale through hardships, and was the life of the feasts?

As it turned out, that, along with what Sathariel had mentioned, was what made him the perfect spy.

“I’m afraid I’m not with you, Sir Sathariel,” Ardito said, though something in his voice hinted otherwise.

“Oh, are you not?” Sathariel said, placing a hand on the bard’s shoulder. “Then let me be more explicit: you have been spying for the Eastern Empire.”

Turning a very pale shade of white, Ardito opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, but only managed to stammer out a few words. That might well have been the first time he was actually speechless, Jackson thought. He eventually regained the ability to talk:

“That isn’t- Sirs, what I’m being accused of…”

“From the beginning?” Jackson bluntly asked.

Ardito shot him a quizzical look.

“Were you spying on us from the beginning? Did you join us in Vertrisia just for that? Or did the Empire recruit you later?”

It didn’t make much of a difference, he thought, but still he wished to know.

The bard visibly swallowed, and made to stand up, but Sathariel pushed on his shoulder to keep him seated.

“Sir Sathariel, b-before you do anything you’d regret, might I be allowed to defend myself-”

“This isn’t a trial, Ardito,” Sathariel softly retorted. “But don’t worry, this isn’t an inquisition either. Like I said, the only reason we’re here is that we have a task for you. We have a message for the Emperor, and I’d say you are the perfect person to carry it.”

“I-”

“Unfortunately, once you deliver it, you are no longer welcome among us. And, trust me, you wouldn’t want to come back anyway.”

Ardito visibly swallowed. “I-I understand, sir Sathariel. What is the message?”

Sathariel passed him the envelope, which Ardito slipped under his coat, then withdrew his hand from the man’s shoulder. The bard stood up with a start, clumsily picking up his instrument. He walked away like the Devil was chasing, so quickly he tripped on a rock and almost fell in the mud. It was almost comical enough for Jackson to forget how angry he was as he watched him flee.

“Are we just going to let him leave?” Jackson said.

“What else should we do, execute him?” Sathariel sighed. “He may have spied on us, but it’s not like he killed anyone. And… Liz is right: the war is over. I’ve seen more than my share of deaths.”

Jackson didn’t argue the point, though his anger did not subside until later that day. Ardito packed up and left less than an hour later, disappearing without notice or goodbye.

Over the next few days, chieftains and delegates of several tribes came to meet with Alizana in her hut, to inform them of their decision to leave or stay. Most of them agreed to exile. Two elected to stay behind. Two more tribes, including the Nali tribe, did not send anyone, which was taken to mean they would stay as well. In the meantime, Jackson informed the last few villages that were still part of the Southern Alliance of the Hellhounds’ decision. For most of said villages, it seemed like a foregone conclusion at that point, and in fact one of the chiefs revealed he was already in talks with the Empire to discuss joining them. A few of the villagers chose to come with the Hellhounds, but the vast majority wouldn’t leave the land where they were born and where they had lived their entire lives. As to Sathariel, he called his spies back from their assignments, as quickly and as discreetly as possible. Almost all of them decided to follow him to the other world.

“To think I had finally managed to get a decent spy in the Empire!…” Sathariel said with a chuckle. “A young man, serving as a squire to a count. I suppose it’s better that way, though. As a spy, he would have been in danger every day. As a squire, he has a promising future.”

“Guess so,” Jackson said.

This brought Koval back to his mind. The boy too had been saddened by the latest developments. In fact, when Jackson had told him that they were losing the war, his first reaction had been one of incredulity.

“But… You are Sir Mad Jack!” he had said, dismay heavy in his voice. “You led the Hellhounds to victory against Elyonn and his Legion! Surely that can’t be the end. There has to be something you can do!”

“I’m sorry, kid, but there isn’t.”

“I don’t understand, sire, I just don’t understand. You have won all of your battles. How can you be losing the war?”

Jackson wished he had had a good answer then, one that could explain it all without crushing the boy’s optimism. Should he have told him that, sometimes, all the best efforts combined with the best training and the cleverest tactics can’t make a difference? That, sometimes, the game is rigged before the cards are even dealt? That, unlike what many heroic tales have taught Koval, right does not make might? No… It might have been true, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say that. In the end, he had given him an evasive answer and changed the subject.

After his conversation with Sathariel, he went to find Koval. The squire was in the storage hut, oiling Jackson’s armor and doing his best to fix or hide the damage. The dent left by Elyonn’s war hammer was still visible, though a lot less so after Koval had taken care of it. Watching the boy as he worked, Jackson noticed how much he had grown over the past year. He was now about the same height as Jackson, and had bulked up a lot from all the training. He had even begun to grow a beard, though it was more of a stubble for now.

“Good morning, sir Jackson,” he said. “Is it time for training? Your armor is just about ready.”

“Morning. Err, no, no training today. We, uh, we should talk, Koval.”

Being called by his first name evidently surprised him, as he stopped sanding the breastplate, and turned away from the armor’s stand.

Jackson licked his lips. Ah shit, I’ve never been good at goodbyes. Been on the receiving end of those too many times, I guess. After dithering for a good minute and taking a deep breath, he managed to say:

“I’m afraid that’s it, kid. We’re leaving.”

“What? Who’s leaving?”

“All of us. Well, most of us. Most Hellhound tribes, as well as the Humans, the Demons, the Orcs… Some Elves, too.”

“Well, but… Leaving what? And where to?”

“Leaving the Vertrisian forest. And the Southern Marches -well, the South, now, I guess. As to where to… Err, that’s a long story, kid. Basically, I’m going back home.”

“Home?”

Jackson rubbed the scar on his left hand with a sigh, then went on to explain again that he came from another world. He told the story in a straightforward, matter-of-fact way, and managed to tell the whole thing within five minutes. Surprisingly, Koval didn’t look the least bit skeptical, and seemed to immediately accept that story. Jackson questioned him on that.

“I know you’re not a liar, Sir Jackson. This is amazing… Another world! It’s a bit scary too, I don’t mind saying. From what you’re telling me, it sounds so different from ours. I don’t know that I could… I mean…” He cleared his throat. “But I-I’ll follow you, of course. Always, sir.”

Jackson smiled gently. “Is that what you want, Koval?”

“I, well, it’s my duty as your squire, sir.”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want to come with me?”

Koval hesitated, and glanced at the armor. “I… Well, actually, I… No, sir. I’m sorry. It’s just… It’s just that this is my world, you see?”

“That’s okay, kid, don’t be sorry. So what is it you want, then?”

“I wish to see the world, sir,” he said, suddenly passionate. “This world. You’ve told so many stories of your travels, of the places you’ve seen, of the people you’ve met… And you’ve only seen but a portion of it! I would like to see it all. The South, the Eastern Empire, C’fa and its Leagues… Maybe even the Hexacracy.” His voice cracked as he ran out of breath. “And I want to be a knight just like you, sir. An errant knight. I want to help others, save them from danger, and fight for a good cause. I…” He scratched his nape. “I know it sounds silly, sir, but…”

“It’s not,” Jackson said. “It sounds like a great idea to me, actually. In fact…”

He gestured to the armor. Koval looked at it, then at Jackson, his jaw dropping.

“She’s all yours, kid,” Jackson said.

“Your arm- Sir, no! I…”

“I’m not gonna have any use for it where I’m going. Not many swords in my world, plus we’ve got Kevlar. Also, it’s too bulky to wear on Halloween.”

“I am- I am no knight, sir. I don’t think there’s a single lord on the land who would give me title.”

“I’m not a knight either, kid. No one ever knighted me or anything. I was just some guy. But one day, I put on a suit of armor and started swinging my sword around, fought for a good cause, and now everyone calls me Sir Mad Jack. I guess… I wanted to be a knight, I acted like a knight, and so, in people’s minds, I became a knight. If I can do that, you can do it too, Koval.”

“But… My training…”

“You’re more than ready. Not much more I can teach you, anyway. Hell, you faced Neasa to save me. That’s some knightly shit right there.”

The teenager stared at him for a while, then straightened his back and nodded with aplomb.

“I will do that,” he said. “I will be a knight. Thank you, Sir Jackson.”

“This may be our last conversation, Koval. Can’t you drop the “sir” just that one time?”

Without warning, Koval threw himself at Jackson and hugged him tight. Jackson flinched, then returned the hug.

“Wow, you’ve really built some strength in your arms now, haven’t you?” he said as he felt the now all-too familiar weakness in his ribs.

“I’ll make you proud, s- Jackson.”

“I am proud, Koval, I am proud.” Jackson patted his shoulder.

After Koval ended the hug, Jackson decided to make him another gift. He led his young friend to the camp’s corral to show him.

“Your horse?” Koval said. “Won’t you be needing him for your travel?”

“Well, I’ll just hop on one of the carts or something.”

“But he served you for so long…”

“Yeah, I’m gonna miss Florid, but it’s better that way. I can’t take him with me, and I know he’ll be in good hands with you. It’s a good deal for you too: you get a good, trained horse for free. And what’s a knight without a horse, uh?” Koval opened his mouth, but Jackson interrupted him: “I won’t take no for an answer. He’s all yours. Take good care of him. And don’t let him eat too many flowers; I’m pretty sure some of them are bad for him.”

As if he knew he was the subject of conversation, Florid approached the fence and pushed his head against Jackson’s arm, demanding to be brushed. Jackson gave Koval the brushes he used for his horse, partly to symbolise the change of ownership, and partly because he didn’t feel like grooming Florid at the moment.

The chieftains of the tribes who had elected to go gathered one last time in the Neha camp. There were a few more plans to make, in order to efficiently move such a large amount of people, along with their possessions. Decisions had to be made in regards to what could be taken, and what would have to be left behind. Horses, cattle, and carts were organized in order to carry as much as possible without slowing them down too much -everyone agreed that the sooner they would leave, the better. There were lots of numbers involved, which soon gave Jackson a terrible headache, leading him to leave Byron in charge; the veteran had always had a knack for logistics.

The Emperor’s response came through a courier to Tinaun. It was positive, as expected: safe passage was guaranteed for all of Jackson’s people, on pain of suffering the Emperor’s justice. Jackson then asked Tezrian to contact Azazel to inform her they were taking her up on her offer. He was not party to that conversation, but Azazel’s answer was also positive. Tezrian said their exchange had been quite brief. The Archmage, who had seemed to be tense or maybe rushed, had advised them to arrive before winter, then ended the conversation before the priestess could ask any questions.

Additionally, the trek had to be planned in advance. It was a long way to Azazel’s Occultatum, and to make matters complicated part of this journey would lead them through mountains. And not small mountains either: the Archmage’s fief comprised some of the least hospitable parts of the Western Mountains -known to the Hexacrats as the Syverk Mountains. High altitudes, small, craggy roads -when there were roads at all-, and cold, inclement weather were to be expected. Thankfully, a few more Elves had defected from the neighbouring tribes and clans and chosen to leave with the Hellhounds, either out of disgust that their shamans and chiefs had chosen to side with the Empire against their former allies, or to flee the Empire’s encroaching influence. Several of these Elves were scouts, and at least one of them had experience with mountains; the latter would teach the others what he knew. Tezrian was also confident her scrying would be able to help them. No doubt, Jackson thought, given who’s on the other side.

The priestess too had agreed to join them on their journey to another world. Jackson initially thought she had decided to do so in order to chase that Purest Flame she kept preaching about, but in fact it was because she believed the Hellhounds were now her people, and likewise the Hellhounds -especially those who had taken trinitarism as their religion- thought of her as one of their own.

In total, one thousand and ninety-eight people would take part in what was now called the Second Exodus, along with a little under one hundred horses, donkeys, mules, and cows. They were organized in twenty-five different groups of forty to forty-five individuals, so as to make travelling easier and faster. It would take an estimated three weeks to go from Vertrisia to the northern border of the South, then about two more weeks to reach Azazel’s fief. Food was gathered and prepared so as to keep as long as possible, but it would still be necessary to hunt and gather more during the journey. The possibility of trading food with Southron villages was brought up, but the Hellhounds and their remaining allies had little left to give in exchange; and anyway, the now Empire-aligned villages might well refuse any commerce with them.

Finally came the time to pack up and dismount the camps. There was a strange hollowness in Jackson’s heart as he helped Sathariel take down their hut, especially as he saw the rest of the Neha camp, his home for the last few years, disappear, leaving nothing but traces behind. The steles were left where they had been installed, though the names were copied on pieces of parchment and taken. By no means should the memories of those who had fallen be left behind.

The skies were clear and the temperature slightly cold on the eve of the day of departure. Koval was here, having decided to accompany them for the first part of the journey. He looked proud, wearing the armor, mounting Florid, his sword by his side. Decla, who was touring the nearby woods one last time to look for any forgotten possession or any more food, called out to Jackson as he was packing a mule.

“We have a visitor,” she said.

Said visitor turned out to be Bonnie. She was wearing large clothes, but despite them Jackson could tell she was now showing.

“I wanted to see you guys off,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not,” Jackson said. “I’m happy to see you again.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry it has to end this way, I really am.”

“It’s okay, I know. Can you hold this, please?”

Bonnie grabbed the end of a leather belt Jackson was using to finish tying up the mule’s luggage. It took him a couple of tries before he could get it to fit right.

“I heard you’re going back to Earth,” Bonnie said. “Is that true?”

“Yup,” Jackson said, patting the mule’s neck. “We found a way back. It’s a long story.”

“Can I, uh… Can I ask you to do something for me then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“There’s a married couple living in Blaine, Washington, right next to the Canadian border. They’re called Clara and Dennis Gardner. Two Elves. Must be in their late fifties by now. Not that you could tell by looking at them. You know Elves.” Bonnie chuckled. “Um, could you…” She retrieved something out of her pocket. Her old dog tags. “Could you please give them these?”

Jackson opened his hand, and she dropped the metal bits in his palm.

“You got it. Should I tell them something?”

“Yeah, uh… Tell them I’m alive. I mean, if you give them my tags, they’re gonna think… Well, you know. Don’t tell them about this whole other world thing, though. I don’t know that they’d believe you anyway. Tell them… Tell them I’m happy. Oh, and that they’re going to be grandparents soon. We’ll call her Kwisenawä if it’s a girl, or Odesrundya if it’s a boy.”

“Sounds like good names,” Jackson said with a smile. “But you might have to write them down so I don’t mangle them when I talk to your parents.”

They both chuckled.

“Also, tell them I’m sorry they’ll never meet their grandchild, but I’ll make sure to tell him -or her- all about them. And… And that I love them. I’m sorry, that’s a lot of stuff to remember.”

“I’ll remember, Bonnie. I’ll pass on the message, I promise.”

Bonnie nodded, then cleared her throat. The two old friends remained quiet for a while.

“So… I guess that’s goodbye, then,” Bonnie said.

“Yeah, guess so,” Jackson said awkwardly.

“And I guess I should say something like “I’ll never forget you” and stuff, but I think you already know that.”

“Same here.”

Bonnie bit her lip. “I kinda suck at goodbyes, don’t I?”

“Same here.”

They laughed, then Jackson held out his hand, which Bonnie shook.

“Goodbye, Bonnie,” he said. “If you ever miss me, just think back to all the times the sergeant made the unit do extra push-ups because of me.”

“Yeah, that should scratch that itch.” Bonnie snorted. “Goodbye, Jack.”

And with one last handshake, Jackson left. Bonnie elected to stay to see Jackson’s group off as they left the Vertrisian forest. As the woods disappeared behind a hill, Jackson did his best not to look back… too many times.

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