Nothing was ever the same after that battle.
The men explored the mage's manor and found horrors that explained at least part of the tangled web that had spread across the world.
None of the guards remained alive. The place was like a graveyard.
They concluded that the mage had murdered his own servants. More questions would otherwise have taken root in their minds, and every explanation Dyran might have offered would only have created further problems.
This way was simpler.
He had killed his guards and raised them as undead, just as immortal servants had already existed within the manor. Their magic, however, had faded with the mage's death, leaving them like puppets whose strings had been cut.
They found the infamous book upon a willow-wood desk.
Several pages were missing.
"As long as this book exists, the demoness—and perhaps others besides her—can return," Arsik said.
"So this is the source of her power?" Kalden asked.
The others nodded.
They burned the book and watched until even the final ashes had scattered, making certain that nothing remained.
The sight of the ashes placed a heavy sorrow upon Darma's chest.
He thought of Maynar.
The poet's death weighed upon him. Darma had decided that he had enjoyed his company. He had failed to protect him. He had brought him all this way and allowed him to die.
Within the manor, they found numerous writings and extensive correspondence.
The mage had been obsessed with immortality.
His progress, however, had not been enough. It appeared that his infatuation with the demoness had robbed him of his senses. The best he had achieved was binding his existence to hers.
Even that had come at a terrible cost.
The woman had demanded precious stones, blood, and vital organs from him. Dyran had given her everything, surrendering further and further to her irrational demands.
Among the letters, Kalden found many that connected Dyran to Ulthar, House Sparrow, and several other nobles operating in the shadows against Lothen.
With those letters, he could have thrown the entire kingdom into turmoil.
Yet he could not find the strength to do it.
A weight rested upon his own chest as well. He felt betrayed by the very institutions he had sworn to serve.
They discovered other rare objects from every corner of Vitallia.
There were spheres containing memories, like those at the Cross, organs preserved in jars, books of spells, and great riches.
A cellar stood filled with food and fine wines, some of which had spoiled. The mage had probably lost interest in eating long ago.
There were records of guard patrols, lists of nobles who were easier to bribe, and notes concerning mysterious moonlit rituals that required the blood of the daughters of noblemen and lords.
Everything was steeped in darkness.
They used Dyran's supplies to treat their wounds.
They remained inside the manor for several days.
The place resembled a tomb, for no trace of life remained within it.
Kalden told them about the voice in his mind, about Ilandro, and about the orders he had received.
The others had little to say.
Arsik gathered Maynar's ashes into a small vial and handed it to Darma.
"He deserves to be in the sea, at least," he said.
Darma promised that he would empty the vial into the ocean, though he would carry it with him for a while first.
One day, Marbi and Sordo arrived at the manor.
When they reunited with the others, they learned everything that had happened there and throughout the journey.
Marbi wept when he heard of Maynar and of all those who would mourn him back in Ayaton.
He delivered Nastal's letter and explained that returning was no longer an option.
Nastal had acted against the queen's will and taken an enormous risk by writing it.
Darma read the letter in full and laughed when he reached the end.
It spoke of good and evil.
It carried Nastal's dramatic voice, comparing a person to steel and describing the stages through which it passed in fire before taking its final form.
The edge of a weapon was not evil in itself. Its nature was defined by the intention of the hand that wielded it.
Darma was surprised by how directly those words spoke to his soul.
"What do we do now?" Arsik asked at last.
"We can't go back," Darma replied. "And we can't remain here."
He glanced again at the letter.
"The priest says he has a friend in a village in northern Lothen. He says the man will smuggle us away and help us. Apparently, he also wants to contribute to the struggle against evil."
Darma's voice carried a trace of mockery.
"Northern Lothen?" Arsik said. "What the hell are we supposed to do there, so far from the sea?"
"The village is called Foglane," Darma said.
"I know it," the knight replied.
A strange atmosphere hung in the air.
Something had begun to form between the warriors.
"What does Nastal expect us to do there?" Arsik asked. "We're islanders, Darma. It's far too late for us to become farmers."
"Nastal believes a new age will begin there."
"What kind of age?" Kalden asked.
"He thinks it's time for us to give something back, or some other such nonsense. The old man has lost his mind. What does he expect from us?"
Darma's voice hardened.
"We fought. We found the demoness and the mage, and we defeated them. Ayaton is safe now. The debt has been paid."
There was shame hidden beneath his words, and he struggled to speak them clearly.
Arsik paced restlessly through the room.
Kalden caught Darma glancing toward him.
The Gargoyle did not trust him.
Perhaps he even feared him.
The knight could take the letters and become a hero throughout Lothen. He could deliver the criminals into captivity and win even greater glory.
The stars had aligned perfectly for the young knight.
Yet Kalden had still not voiced his decision.
Darma could not understand what he was thinking, and the uncertainty only irritated him further.
Of course the knight would never simply let them leave.
They would have to fight for their freedom again.
More killing.
More running.
But where could they go?
The southern sea seemed farther away than ever, and the Trident would capture them there.
To the west lay only Brutgors and barren mountain peaks.
To the east, the river kingdoms were caught within the Lion's claws.
Only north remained, he thought.
But where in the north?
Kalden took the letter and read it.
"I don't know this Nastal," he said at last. "Tell me—does he mean what he writes?"
Darma and Arsik nodded.
Pale waited in stoic silence.
"At this moment, we must make a choice," the knight said.
"What choice?" Arsik asked.
"We must choose why we fight."
"More philosophy?" Darma asked.
"A little more, Kraken."
"Why do we fight?" Darma said. "We fight for survival, gold, glory, and sometimes women. What else is there?"
"You're wrong," Kalden replied. "Or rather, you're lying."
He looked directly at the Gargoyle.
"There are other things in this world, and you know it."
"What other things?"
"There is this."
Kalden pointed toward the vial containing Maynar's ashes.
"Among many others."
He held Darma's gaze.
"You know that now, Kraken."
Then the knight turned toward Arsik.
"Why do you still fight?"
Arsik did not need to think.
"For revenge."
Kalden nodded and turned toward Pale.
"Why do you fight?"
"For honor," the warrior replied.
At last, Kalden turned once more toward the Gargoyle.
"And you, Kraken? Why do you fight?"
"For redemption," Darma answered honestly.
"Revenge, honor, redemption. They are not the noblest of purposes, but each contains righteous wrath. They form the trinity of the Knight-Gods: Jastar, Arkallis, Solisis. Three virtues that embody not only Lothen, but all of Vitallia."
"The three Knight-Gods fought Nendel and united humanity in the great battle. We too must do our part. We have been together only a short while, yet the gods placed us upon the same path. It is a path forged in fire, and we will be tested a thousand times before we reach our destination."
"And what destination is that?" Darma asked.
Kalden held up the letter.
"The one it has always been, Kraken. The struggle between good and evil still rages. We will follow Nastal's words. Against everything we once believed, we will do our part."
"We will find evil and tear it out by the roots."
"What evil? Where do we begin?" Arsik asked.
Kalden looked at him and smiled.
Arsik shuddered before the knight had even spoken.
"We will find Taarum, Arsik. The Lich of nightmares. The creature that killed your companions and the Blade Guardians."
"We will find the evil that plagues our age, and we will destroy it. I swear it to you."
"For Lothen."
"For the gods."
"And for every soul that was lost."
"If that is your purpose, then you have my sword."
The knight knelt and drove his blade into the ground.
Arsik found himself trembling.
He knelt as well and nodded to the knight.
"To the last drop of my blood," Arsik said. "I will search every last pit in Vitallia. He will not escape my hands a third time."
"You'll need strength for such a mission," Darma said. "I can't allow two weak humans to enter a lair like that alone."
He bent down and joined their circle.
"The purpose is honorable, so Pale cannot refuse to follow," Pale said. "As the Chosen of Blood, he still has great things to accomplish. Perhaps this is one of them."
He smiled.
"Yes. It will be a good beginning."
"This is madness," Arsik said.
"Then let us be mad," Darma replied.
"We'll need help," Arsik continued. "Gold, equipment, and an army."
"All of it will come," Kalden said. "The gods will help us."
"Until then..." Arsik smiled. "I know of a hiding place where we can begin."
"Argar," Darma said.
"Forward," Kalden replied.
And they prepared to leave.