“I’ve come to see my brother. It’s clear to me he needs help, despite his abundant capability. I’m told Prince Orion is ahead, tending to the plagued,” Argrave spoke to the Waxknight before him, staring at the man’s dead eyes barely visible behind his bandages.
“Do you mean to say our Holiness is your brother?” the leading knight demanded, taking a step forward.
“Half-brother,” Argrave removed his hands from his horse’s reins, holding his palms out. “But a brother nonetheless.”
The loose bandages wrapped around the leading Waxknight’s face slacked, blocking his vision, and he corrected it while pulling it tight.
“Prince Induen?” one at the side questioned.
Argrave shook his head. “No prince at all, elsewise I might have an escort gleaming as you knights do.”
“Argrave, then, the bastard,” the leading knight said.
“All are equal before the gods’ eyes. That’s what Orion says, at least,” he smiled warmly, defusing the situation.
The Waxknights sized Argrave up, then glanced back towards his companions, examining them in turn.
“For your own sake—the waxpox abounds here,” their helmetless leader informed him. “We will take you to Orion if you wish it to be so, but even our Holiness struggles to combat the disease, and more refugees show up daily.”
“I have an idea of how bad things really are,” Argrave turned his head, looking through the trees from whence they’d come. “Things get worse beyond these wetlands every day. Not all refugees had the good fortune to be tended to by my brother. And that’s precisely why I came here—to help him, and to help those that suffer,” he said seriously.
“Orion accepts all comers. Whether you are truly his brother—that will be for him to
nodded. “My companions and I will follow
two. I know you drank it
from her shoulders and fishing within to fetch the drink. She took off the white, solemn Humorless Mask covering her face, and imbibed the liquid, wincing from its bitterness. Durran cursed too quietly to be heard, and then drank as
Anneliese nodded, then put the mask
he kept his Brumesingers close.
where one might glimpse the warped, waxy skin. Argrave had long ago described these knight’s capabilities to his party. Their entire body was affected by the
shameless questions. Durran looked
and aggressive, and much of the fortress had been torn asunder by growth—trees, roots, fungi, and vines all consumed the
led them past all of that, heading for a keep in the corner of the fortress. Once at the door, the knights directed them to a makeshift stable that they’d been using, and Argrave left his horse there without complaint. Durran seemed hesitant to leave his mount there, and his eyes glanced from side to side
measured and disciplined steps into the keep where more of their colleagues abounded, guarding the man that lay within. Orion received a
hair was all bound into a thick braid that descended to his knees. His eyes were gray, with thick and bushy black brows giving him a fierce gaze that might remind most of a stern, if loving,
the Waxknights went ahead to speak to Orion. They spoke to him, and then pointed. Orion looked at him. He pushed past the
with this man in ‘Heroes of Berendar’ all at once. A great deal of them ended poorly.
Galamon—and he hurtled towards Argrave like a bull. Despite himself, he took a
he’d grown a lot the past month, but now he was being treated like a small child. After a moment of rib-crunching embrace that very nearly triggered his armor’s protective enchantments, Orion put him back on his feet
he said, laughing heartily. “Tan, strong, hardy!” he gripped Argrave’s shoulders as though feeling his muscles, and then laughed again. “And your eyes…” he paused, all of his mirth disappearing at
he shouted. “This is my brother, come to
heralded him proudly before the crowd. Even despite their sickness, they mustered
from that tower of old owls. You were mired in misery last I saw you. Now your back is straight, your gait is steady, and your will…” he whispered into Argrave’s ear, barely audible above the cheer of the crowd. “I see light in you, now. Gold amidst the dark, like Vasquer’s heraldry… and your eyes. Your strange eyes… that vex
the crowd, too, another
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Fdv2vIuFE6C9iUjY1bySE1f1ahDJLNaw9h/5FRCwq3iXUiLudR1+GUJykJ2XZCu+Jj4E68VdzBc80r07JLFlNpmM6LctPdrLqqXXE3nmQB8dgRaUT749rpwMemz+EcqGk4BSpoP9IS37VPFcpkKe9Gi3hYmJxuvEtw==
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