Weynon leaned against a tree, arms folded and shivering. It had gotten horribly cold once the sun dipped beyond the horizon, and no one was getting a fire started. There was still light in the sky, quickly fading, allowing him to make out Garec who stood nearby, watching Donnan sitting on the ground with his eyes closed and head drooped. A minute later, his eyes opened and he stood up.

  “Possibly a full platoon of Kircans, hard te tell,” Donnan said. “Got spooked thinking one of em sensed me, might’ve been an Empath. Class 1 if he was, otherwise I’d have been discovered for sure.”

  “And the townsfolk?” Garec asked.

  “Didn’t see many of their men about, but otherwise acting as ye’d expect of Parastenians.”

  “Lovely. Well, we can’t just sit here and expect them to help themselves. Boughton! Alann! You’re with us.”

  The two men came running up. Weynon had played Sentinels versus Snakes with them both. Boughton even made a few games more interesting by channeling to let everyone fly. Alann was a Class 1.7 Fear Emogician who always played on the side of the Snakes and was the only soldier Weynon hadn’t been able to tag out. Maybe that was because the others had gone easy on him, but he wanted to believe he was just that good and Alann was simply better.

  “What’s the plan, Sir?” Boughton asked.

  “We’re flying in and taking out the Kircans. Quietly. Alann, you’ll give us cover on our approach, and if you spot any officers, paralyze them. We want any who might know something about the Tyrdens alive. Donnan will land just outside the town and take care of any problems.”

  The two soldiers gave a “Yes, Sir,” and within a moment, darkness enshrouded the four of them before they launched into the sky, vanishing.

  Weynon remembered why Fear Emogicians were called Night Stalkers and shivered all the more. He looked around to the other officers left behind. “What are we supposed to do?”

  “Wait until he gives word,” one of them said. “Shouldn’t be long.”

  Dowyr came walking over, keeping his hands squished under his armpits. “More fighting ahead?” he channeled.

  Weynon shrugged. “Not for us.”

  “Good. You know something funny? I can make other people’s hands feel warm, but not my own. I thought I should be able to because I can make myself see things, but I guess I can’t make myself feel things. So unfair.”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing. Like how would you know if you were getting frostbite if you couldn’t feel it?”

  Some of the soldiers gave a brief look of confusion at Weynon before noticing Dowyr. It was always weird to be having a conversation with someone no one else could hear, unless he specifically meant them to.

  “I guess, but I still hate it. I hope whatever they’re doing out there will mean we get to sleep indoors.”

  Weynon nodded. Sleeping outside most of the way to Fort Calhoun hadn’t been too terrible, but it had gotten much colder since. They had no Emogicians that could create shelters from the cold, only a Dragon—a Frustration Emogician—for starting fires, who was currently lighting some torches before they were in pitch darkness. No moon shone, but the sky was clear and the stars were out in full. Weynon tried to focus on them instead of the surrounding darkness. A part of him was scared he’d see a pair of wolf eyes out there, ridiculous as it was. He doubted the wolves would find him again the same day, but that hadn’t stopped him from shifting around in his saddle and keeping an eye on all sides of the Company.

  Perhaps half an hour later, though it had felt like an eternity, Boughton landed from out of nowhere and gave the all-clear. The Company began moving into Leife.

  Leife was a decently sized town, with fields and farms aplenty surrounding it, and the layout curved alongside the river. A large stone bridge wide enough for a carriage was built across the river in the middle of the town, though why anyone would want to travel further north was a mystery to Weynon. There were few towns this far north as it was.

  He noticed an odd lack of any lightstones anywhere, which most towns in Elyssanar used to light the streets. Instead, large torches mounted on poles gave enough light to see the way, and they also illuminated a garish array of colors painted on the houses. Weynon wondered why anyone would want their home to look so sickening, though maybe they looked better in daylight. There was another thing about the houses that was peculiar; each had at least one fabric cone sitting on the roof. Sticks poked out from their tips, creating small openings from which smoke drifted upwards. Each cone had a different pattern with colors to match the houses.

  Dowyr noticed him staring and pointed at one of the cones. “Chimney covers so the Snakes can’t sneak into their homes through the chimney. Parastenians also have a strange belief that making everything look bright, fun, and silly helps ward away Hell and prevent violence. I wish it worked. Gotta respect them for sticking to it though.”

  Weynon frowned. “My mom told me about them, how they wouldn’t fight back even if Heaven told them to.”

  “They don’t believe Heaven would ever tell them to.”

  “Then they shouldn’t name themselves after Paradise, because she’s wise enough to know that if people won’t fight when Hell comes against them, Hell wins.”

  “Unless nobody fights. Hell only comes against people through people. That’s their point. There’s a reason they say you can’t change a Parastenian’s mind about violence any more than you can turn a chicken into a cow.”

  Weynon scoffed. “It’s a stupid point.”

  Dowyr made a noncommittal sound and looked around with a curious expression. “I wonder why there are piles of clothes all over the pla—”

  Dowyr gasped and buried his face in his horse’s mane. Weynon looked around, wondering what had frightened him, but there were just the odd piles of clothes, all similar looking, and a disturbing lack of people. He caught glimpses of eyes peeking out from windows or doors, but they vanished almost as he saw them.

  The clothes, Dowyr signed. Those were Kircans.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Weynon finally realized what he meant. Donnan had phased the enemy soldiers out of their clothes and straight into the ground. Weynon shivered and channeled to calm Dowyr. A terrible way to go, but perhaps painless, done in an instant. Merciful. Yes, it was good to at least give their enemies a merciful end.

  They reached the center of the village, a small open field in front of a large inn. Near the inn stood Garec and Donnan talking to a middle-aged man dressed in a bright green sleeping gown, who looked none too pleased, especially at the sight of the rest of the Company as they approached.

  “You are welcome to our fires,” the man said, “but I must ask you and your men leave all weapons with your horses.”

  Garec gave a slight bow. “Your fires warm my soul, and it will be done as you say.” He looked at the approaching Company and called the order. The officers began repeating it down the line.

  “How long do you mean to stay?” the man asked.

  “One night,” Garec said. “I intend to see this war over before it really begins, and that demands we keep on the move.”

  The man grunted. “And how to you plan to do that? More killing?” He shook his head. “Whatever you might think, a few dead men don’t end wars.”

  “Haven’t ye heard news of Irostead?” Donnan asked.

  The man grimaced. “A day to make Paradise weep twice over, once for the city and its people, and again for the man so consumed by rage and violence.”

  Garec nodded. “If anything, I aim to prevent another city from suffering the same fate. No man alone should have such power.”

  “Hmm. Except to build up something greater than himself. I suppose we should get your men situated for the night. Cold, much too cold for this talk.” He turned to the Company and gasped upon spotting Weynon, then again for Dowyr. “What madness,” he breathed, eyes beginning to glisten. “What madness has taken you for there to be children in your ranks?”

  Weynon frowned. “I’m here because I want to be.”

  The man blinked at him and shook his head, then walked to the inn with Donnan following. Garec gave Dowyr a meaningful look and signed, get Elethe, need you both.

  Dowyr turned his horse away and rode back through the Company while Weynon started looking for a place to leave his horse. An officer came up to him and offered to take care of it. He thanked him, took his blankets, and made his way into the inn.

  Two fires burned in the large common room, filling the space with a refreshing warmth that enveloped Weynon as he entered. There was an odd lack of anyone else from the town inside. He’d expected at least some young men playing dice or Kings at the tables, but there was only the green-robed man and Donnan, who busied himself moving tables and chairs to make room for sleeping mats. The green-robed man turned to Weynon when he entered.

  “I cannot express how deeply the sight of you breaks my heart,” he said. “What’s your name?”

  Weynon shifted uncomfortably, refusing to meet his eyes. “Weynon.”

  “You are welcome to our fires, Weynon. I am Elan, mayor of Leife. Forgive my forwardness, but, if I may ask… how did you come to be in such company?”

  “The will of Heaven.” Weynon hadn’t meant for it to come out so coldly, but there it was. “He needs me to help stop Hell from using the Kircans to destroy us.”

  Garec, Dowyr, and Elethe entered and moved towards a staircase at the far end of the room.

  “—don’t know if I can channel any more without passing out,” Elethe was saying, and she certainly looked on the verge of falling over right there.

  “It will only be for a moment,” Garec said. “You should be able to learn what we need in seconds.”

  Elethe sighed and nodded. Garec began leading them up the stairs, and Weynon caught Dowyr’s eye long enough to sign, ?

  Mind-read interrogation, Dowyr signed back.

  Elan watched them go up the stairs with narrowed eyes. “Mind-read? So all you children must be Emogicians.”

  “I’m a Druid,” Weynon said, making himself stand a little taller. “Even the animals are helping us stop the Kircans. Why won’t you?”

  Elan sniffed. “I doubt Heaven’s creatures care for one side over the other. We do not fight because it is not the way of Paradise. If the Kircans occupy our lands and take away our young men, so be it, they are welcome to our fires, just as all are. But we nor the men they take will bow to their demands.”

  “What if they decide to hurt you? Like Irostead?”

  “Then we run.”

  Weynon scowled. “That’s not what Heaven would do.”

  “We are not Heaven. It is arrogance to presume we can do what he can.”

  Weynon shook his head and moved past him to start helping Donnan with the tables and chairs. Elan frowned and went back outside.

  “Best te leave it be,” Donnan said to him. “They’re not the type to be reasoned with.”

  “They mock Heaven,” Weynon said coldly. “They let fear tell them what to do.”

  “Not fear, no. That is a misreading. It is courage, and perhaps a stubbornness tougher than steel. Do they flee in the face of pointless death? Perhaps, but that can be said of all men. But when it comes te certain death, where there is no hope of running, they stare it in the face, side by side. It may frighten them, but they face it anyway. That takes courage, and it has always been their strength. It’s what attracts people te them. That, and I suppose their beautiful women, which is a rather unfair advantage.”

  Weynon supposed he could see that courage, but it still seemed misplaced to him. The whole point that The Five Sentinels makes is that evil will always exist and rise up, and good must rise up against it. He would never be able to understand how the Parastenians might believe their way would put an end to evil.

  The only right way was to fight back. That was the end of it.

  *

  Dowyr yawned as he followed Garec up the stairs. It wasn’t necessarily late, but from the day’s traveling, the battle, and the amount of channeling he’d done, exhaustion was setting into his bones. Elethe looked in even worse condition, mostly due to her channeling near her limit for long periods of time.

  They entered a room with four men, one of them being Alann. He was focused on the other three, who stood stiff as a bone. Only their eyes moved, and wildly. Dowyr shivered at the sight.

  “I just need you to read them,” Garec said. “I’ll ask questions if it’ll help. It should only take a minute.”

  The men’s eyes widened and began darting between Dowyr and Elethe. It made his skin crawl.

  Elethe shrunk back but nodded. “Questions should help.”

  She looked to Dowyr. With a deep breath, he channeled his Emogic out, not sending it anywhere, and he saw it rush into Elethe and back out at the three men.

  “Ready,” Elethe mumbled.

  Garec gave the men a hard look and began asking questions, pausing for a moment between each one. “Where’s Royce? Where’s Roderick? Do you know someone who would know where they are? Where can I find them? Are there any more Kircans scheduled to come here?” He turned to Elethe and was barely quick enough to catch her as she fainted. “Snakes! Dowyr, what—?”

  She’s fine, I think, Dowyr signed. Too tired. Probably got the information we need though.

  Garec shook his head. “I need the information now. Can you get it?”

  Dowyr bit his lip. “I’ll try. One at a time.” He channeled a telepathy link to the first Kircan.

  I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna d-

  He cut the link and nearly heaved up what was left inside his stomach.

  “Are you ready?” Garec asked.

  Dowyr shook his head and held up one finger. He cleared his throat and channeled to the next Kircan, trying to fuzz out all but the subconscious thoughts that crossed his mind. He gave Garec a thumbs-up.

  “Where’s Royce?”

  Doesn’t know, Dowyr signed.

  “Do you know someone who would know where they are?”

  Doesn’t know, next man does. Dowyr shifted his channeling to the last Kircan. Ready.

  “Where can I find someone who knows the location of the Tyrdens?”

  Dowyr clenched his jaw as he tried to concentrate on the thoughts streaming through the Kircan’s mind. He was putting up a mental fight, only bits and pieces coming through, but it was enough to get a solid answer despite his defensive efforts. The City of Norwood, roughly 160 kilometers east and a bit south of here. A Colonel is stationed there. He knows.

  The Kircan hadn’t known the distance, but Dowyr remembered all the maps he’d ever looked at and was confident the information was correct.

  “Are there any more Kircans scheduled to come here?”

  In two days.

  Garec grimaced. “That’s good enough, you can stop Dowyr. Go downstairs and get some rest.”

  Dowyr hesitated and looked between the frozen Kircans. What are you going to do to them? he signed.

  “Nothing you need to worry about. Come on.” Garec picked up Elethe, limp in his arms, and turned to the door.

  Dowyr followed him down and wondered what the Kircans’ names were.