The next morning, Arthur had breakfast, but Bob slept till noon. Outside the tavern, there were two horses tied to a post, drinking water from a bucket.
There was an old man sitting outside on the porch in front of the tavern, a blanket over his legs.
“Such days are these,” The old man said with a raspy voice. “That men are killed in the street, if it be the most ordinary of happenings.” He said, eying Arthur.
“Those men were out to kill me.” He said simply.
“All the same, either they kill you, or you kill them, still, people are killed in the street.” He coughed. “Not to mention Mitch’s cow that be killed in the process.”
“That wasn’t really our fault either,” Arthur said, defensively.
“Wasn’t saying t’ was. Als I was saying, is that a cow be dead, and dead she be.” The old man nodded firmly. “I remember a time when these parts were safe. Sure, the big towns ere been a rowdy lot, but not this village.”
“Do you blame me?” Arthur asked.
“Blame? Hah!” The man exclaimed. “Blames easy lad, point yer finger and name names, but, dead men r’ dead still, Mitch yet be short a cow.”
The old man averted his gaze, and seemed to put it out of his mind.
Figuring the conversation over, Arthur moved on.

Arthur walked out of town. It was the end of summer, and the first cool breezes were sweeping down from the mountains, as he went back to where the severants lay dead.
None had touched the bodies, though most had learned of their presence the night before. Some had spoken out against them, but Bob had showed them some imperial writ, and they had let them be, but the bodies, they had not dared to disturb.
The crossbow was still lying next to the dead man. Spirits left to the land of the dead along with the one they were bonded to, so if it had been a manifested spirit, it would have disappeared. There must have been some other way for it to have shot forth magical bolts.
He touched the weapon, but he felt nothing. No mana.
He shrugged, and continued on. The man himself had become pale, with blackened lips. The sigil on his chest, which he now saw, was made with a throne of real silver that had once been polished to a bright shine, was now obscured by patches of dark, dried blood.
Arthur searched the man and found a number of items, most of them utilities, knives, some pieces of paper, and a coin pouch. It was not particularly heavy, but he took the lot, deciding to look over the papers later.
The other body was much less pleasant too look at. It looked as if it had been mauled by a giant owl, which of course it had been. Clothes torn, gaping wounds long since patched with dried blood, or entirely empty.
The man's scabbard was empty, and Arthur saw the sword lying a dozen paces away among the grass.
He attempted to search the man, but realized he couldn’t do so without getting congealed blood all over himself, so he gave up.
The cow was the only one that had been taken away, probably by its former owner, who would not want its meat to go to waste. There was still a black spot of dried remains of blood and flesh, where it had died.
Flies were already all over the site, making him feel all the more uneasy being there.

“We should bury them” Arthur said when Bob had awoken. He nodded.
“Sure, kid. That is probably a good idea. I may have overestimated how fine I was anyway, we should stay here today, leave in the morning.”
Arthur nodded, he had noticed how Bob had barely managed to stumble down from their room.

-=-=-

The royal capital of Saretia, a city called Kestronis, was located between the slopes of the southern most of the Eskaren mountains, not far enough south the be in the wetlands, but not far enough up the mountains to have been built on bare rock.
Though it was not much bigger than Celia, it was built like a fortress, with tall walls made of solid stone blocks, brought down from quarries up the mountains.
Many a generation on Saretian monarchs had used it as a base from which to control trade from east to west, and vice versa, both over land, and over sea.
Now, Xilthan had traveled that way to meet the king.

King Desvan G’Zeir was a large man, a head taller than Xilthan, who was by no means short himself, and massive limbs to match. He wore mountain lions pelt as a coat, and a golden crown on his dark-haired head.
He had a full beard, and shoulder length hair.
“What tidings do you bring, my lord?” The king asked, after inviting Xilthan into the gardens of the palace, where they could speak in privacy.
“My liege, word of severants, and the strongest aspirant for the imperial throne we have had as of yet.” The king was not aware of Xilthans position as the grandmaster of the Imperial Eyes, for it was a secret order, but he did know that Xilthan had influence in the capital.
“There have been several strong candidates in the past few years. What makes this one any different?” The king asked as they walked.
“My mages inform me of his potential, but more than that, I can feel it. The time is nigh, and soon, the world will change again.”
The king nodded in thought.
“This news disturbs you?” The king asked.
“What disturbs me is not this news, but that of the severants, for they have grown strong, and word is they are even claiming the support of kings.”
“Troubling indeed, but no great surprise. Support for the emperor is at an all time low, even amongst loyalists.” The king said, and Xilthan nodded.
“We need that heir.” He said confidently. “The stewards are weak, their rule is failing, if this boy does not prove to be the one, it may mean the end of the empire as a whole.”
“What would you have me do? My authority ends at Saretia’s borders.” The king said, having stopped, and turned to face him.
“Gather the kings, my liege. Call a meeting, find out who can yet be trusted, and prepare for war, because heir or no, war will surely be upon us soon.” Xilthan pleaded. And the king raised his head, a weary expression on his face.
“I will do this thing, but only because I trust you, Xilthan.” He said, placing a large hand on his shoulder.

-=-=-

Rory groaned as he attempted to walk normally. In the beginning he had struggled to walk at all, but with practice, use had returned to his weathered limbs.
The little spirit danced around him, looking on curiously.
She wasn’t always there, in fact, she usually wasn’t.
“Do you enjoy watching me suffer, little flame?” He snapped. And the spirit stopped, cocking her head slightly.
“I am not a flame.” She said. “I take the shape of the elements you know, and will change as you learn new elements, if you ever do.” She said happily.
Rory shrugged, continuing his slow walk through the gardens, but the spirit kept speaking, oblivious to his annoyance. He wasn’t really annoyed at her, but rather at his own helplessness. He had always fended for himself, and now, he was recuperating in a noble mansion. “This is not true suffering, I think.” She added, skipping around him in circles. “That was when we met, do you remember?” she asked jovially “You were very brave, thats why I chose you. Others said I was mistaken, because you are old. But I disagree. I think you will go to heaven.” She continued, not waiting for an answer.
Heaven? He wondered what she was on about.
“Is that why you chose me? Because you think I’ll go to heaven?” He asked.
She stopped in front of him, studying his face curiously.
“Well, of course.” She said, as if confused that he had to ask.
He decided not to inquire further and instead continued on his way, the spirit ever fluttering around him.
He encountered the gardener on his walk, and, though the spirit ever jabbered on about this and that, he remained silent. Others couldn’t see or hear her, and it would unsettle them to hear him talking, seemingly to thin air.
“I’m bored!” The spirit said, when they were alone again. “When are we going to play with Emina’s energy?” She asked.
“You mean, cast spells?” Rory asked rhetorically. “Perhaps if Emina’s energy could strain on my burned limbs, otherwise I’m going to focus on walking at the moment.” He said, gritting his teeth.
“Of course. Why didn’t you say so?” The spirit said. And she approached him. “Ask Emina.” She whispered, “And I’ll guide the energy.”
“Ask what?” He said.
“What you wish for, silly!”
“Emina, please strengthen my legs,” Rory said, looking to the sky, and feeling strange for doing so.
Nothing happened.
The spirit stood next to him, looking at the clouds.
“She’s not in the clouds, you know.” She pointed out. “She’s in heaven. She can hear you, even if you whisper very quietly.” She said, lowering her voice, as if showing what she meant. “Look to her with your mind, touch our bond, and she will hear.” She said, still whispering.
Rory closed his eyes, moving his mind to the place where their bond lingered. He could feel the spirit, and even with his eyes closed, he though he could see her.
He looked into it, touching it with his thoughts.
“Emina, please strengthen my legs, so I may walk unimpeded.” He whispered almost inaudibly.
He saw a figure through the bond, a massive shadow of pure light and energy that now turned to look at him.
He felt a warm feeling fill him, and for a moment, he felt like a god himself. The energy flowed into his legs, and they filled with the heat of flame.
He thought they would be set ablaze, but the pain quickly faded, and he just felt strong. Stronger than ever before.
“Hahaha,” her bright girlish voice sounded. She, ever looking like a little girl made of flame, seemed to have been invigorated by the experience, her flames brighter and deeper in color. “You did it!” She said, jumping into the air, and clapping her hands. “How do you feel?” She asked.
Rory paused, feeling his weight with his enhanced legs.
“It feels.. Good.” He said. “Thank you, Nirameilia.” He said.
“Shhhh!” she hushed. “I told you, don’t say my real name out loud. Someone might hear you!” put her hands to her mouth, as if to whisper in his ear. “Just call me Nira.” She said.
“Okay, Nira,” Rory said. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to play now at home. Just call my name if you need me, or if you want to play.” Nira said.
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to say your real name out loud? Will you hear me if I say Nira?” Rory asked
“Of course not, silly. You can call me with your mind. We are bonded, I can hear you, even if you say my name in your head.” She said, and vanished.
Home? Rory wondered. What home?

-=-=-

“This belonged to the one who killed your cow, it won’t bring her back, perhaps is not even enough to buy a new one, but its better than nothing.” Arthur said to the farmer named Mitch, as he handed him the pouch of coins he had found on the dead severant.
“Who are you?” The man said, as he hesitantly took the pouch. Arthur shrugged.
“I’m just me.” He said, “Again, sorry about the cow.”

He was able to borrow a shovel from the tavern owner, and he dug two graves outside of town.
He did not feel the need to mark the graves, nor to say anything over them. They had been murderers, and he did not do it for them, but for the villagers who did not deserve to have to handle the corpses of strangers, made by strangers.

He stroked the snout of one of the horses, which were still tied to a pole in front of the tavern.
“Yeah, you are innocent, aren’t you?” he muttered into the horses ear. “I wonder what your name is.”
They were large animals, both of them mares. He had bought them some food, for he felt bad for the animals.
They could leave them, but it just so happened that he and Bob were in need of transport, for they were pursued by killers.

-=-=-

Rory reveled in his brand new legs, for they felt as such. The magic had faded, of course, but the healing they had done had lasted and left him feeling stronger than he had in decades.
The scars remained, but they no longer bothered him, and for the first time since his near encounter with death, he felt optimistic about his future.
Lord Xilthan had been gone for a week, off to Kestronis, the capital of Saretia, but was now riding through the manor gates, where he was being welcomed by his wife, three daughters, and his servants.
The Margrave had a son also, but he no longer resided at the manor.
Rory felt a slight nudge on his spirit bond, and the flame appeared, at first but a spark, but it rapidy grew into the size of a melon.
It, or she, cocked her head as lord Cusac hugged his wife and children, before making his way over to him.
“How was your trip, my lord?” Rory asked as the grandmaster of his order approached.
“As productive as could’ve been hoped.” Lord Cusac replied. “What about your recovery, going well, I see?”
“Certainly, my lord, I am feeling much better, largely in thanks to your healers, but also because of my own spirit.” He said.
“Very well, I am glad you are getting acquainted with your new abilities. I would love the details, but they must wait, for we’ve a greater matter to discus, in private if you will.” He said, gesturing to the manor, motioning for them to enter.
“I wonder what that's all about,” The spirit mused curiously.
‘I have no doubt we will soon find out.’ Rory thought.

“I must travel to the capital.” Lord Cusac said, “I and it is my wish for you to accompany me.”
“Why, of course, my lord,” Rory said, taken aback, “How would you have me serve you on this mission?”
“It is not as grandmaster of the imperial eyes that I make you this offer, Rory, but as the Margrave of Celia, and one who values the survival of this kingdom. You are now a mage, and I suspect you would gain much from being instructed properly in the ways of Emina’s magic. That is why I ask you to come along. You will always be an eye, for you cannot be unmade, but I suspect your true destiny lies elsewhere.”
Rory nodded, trying to adjust to these new prospects. He glanced to his spirit, who nodded to him calmly, reassuringly, but stayed quiet.
“Yes, my lord, I will come with you, but if not as an eye, how would you have me serve you? Surely you can find better mages to fight for you, for I am a novice in this.”
“That remains to be seen, but it will not be me who you’ll be serving, but the heir to the emperor, who will no doubt be in need of trusted allies soon.”

-=-=-

Arthur, with Bobs watchfull eye helping him, had thoroughly looked over all the notes he had found on the severant. He had hoped it would contain some clue of their purpose or instructions.
Alas, they appeared to be no more than personal messages and shopping lists.
They continued on their way, now on horseback.
No one had argued their right to take the horses, and even if they had, they probably wouldn’t have done anything about it.
Arthur felt somber, His first witnessing of death still lingering on his mind.
“How is your arm?” Bob asked.
“Much better now, I’m not sure what you did, but it helped,” Arthur said. He still felt a sting in his left shoulder, but he could now move is arm freely.
Bob shrugged.
“Good.”

It had been several days since they had left the town behind them. They ever looked over their shoulders, expecting the remaining three severants to show up at any moment.
Still, they found time to eat and to practice the sword.
Bob was a talented sparring partner, and he did not hold back.
Arthur was on the defensive. He blocked swinging strikes one after another, struggling to keep up with Bobs fast paced.
Even when he could see them coming, he could not react fast enough to properly counter. He knew the moves, he just needed more time, even if it was a mere second.
Arthur took a step back, letting the overhead swing miss him, and brought his training sword come up as fast as he could.
But there Bob was again, bring his own blade back rapidly, while making a sidestep of his own.
Arthur felt the piece of wood get wrenched from his grip.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed. Rubbing his wrist.
Bob smiled at him.
“You’ve gotten a lot better, I think it's time for you to start learning more advanced techniques.” He said.

Battered by the horse's backside, Arthur's butt had long since turned to wood and stone.
His was white nosed mare with mostly black hair.
Bob’s was a slightly bigger animal, black with a white mane. Arthur supposed they might be related.
Not knowing how they had been called before, Arthur had named his horse Snow, because of its white nose.
Bob had named his beast, for reasons that remained unclear to Arthur. Certainly not for its temperament, since it was a calm animal, and well-trained, judging by its obedience.
Now that his butt had been hardened into solid rock, he actually felt comfortable riding snow.
Still, they made regular stops to stretch their legs, and to, as Bob said, keep their blood flowing.
They never stopped too long tho, for the severants were surely on their trail by now.

-=-=-

Some time ago.

The three of them rode into the town in the middle of the day. They had been forced to backtrack and lose days of precious time, and all because of that stupid owl.
It, or he, he assumed, had allowed itself to be followed, entirely in the wrong direction. It had taken him until sensing the deaths of his companions to realize that they had been tricked.
He breathed deeply, attempting to calm the raging blaze that were his thoughts.
Burn them away. He thought forcefully, and he could feel his spirit respond.
The energy flowed into him and filled his mind, cleansing it with the wrath and completeness of fire.
He released his breath and smiled. Now he could think.
“Nath?” He said questioningly, looking to his hound-spirited companion.
The beast, the spirit in its familiar form, and therefore visible to others, was already present.
“That way,” Nathrin said, pointing to the other side of the town.
“Keep sniffing around, you know what to look for.” He said, and gestured his other companion to follow him.
Frightened faces regarded them as they made their way through town. He ignored them.
At the location Nathrin had pointed out, they found nothing but bloody grass, remains of guts, and wood splinters, now obscured by time and partially washed away.
They did not have to look far to find the graves. They were really dead then.
He kneeled, touching the earth where they lay. There were no headstones or even sticks, as they deserved, but there was no time for that now.
He closed his eyes and said a quiet prayer, as was his duty as their commanding officer.

“May these souls, and their spirits, find comfort in the halls of heaven, for all know that is where they truly belong. May the Goddess watch over them, for their fight is now over.”

He got up and saw Nathrin approach. The man took off his hat and placed it against his chest.
“They died for the emperor, and the will of the severed throne. And they will not have died in vain!” He said, in turn, looking both his remaining men in the eyes as he did.
They nodded.
“For the severed throne,” Nathrin whispered.
“For the severed throne.” He replied.
“For the severed throne.” Ezkeil, his other man, echoed.
“What did your hound find?” he asked.
“They were definitely here, by the strength of the scent, for approximately a day and a half,” Nathrin replied.
“Can you find out what direction they left in?”
“I can find out, but they covered their tracks, it would take time.”
“Very well.” He sighed.

“My name is Gream Du’Sheine, I represent the true plea of the emperor. Two vandals came through here, I beseech you, please provide any information as to their heading, for they are killers and criminals, and must be brought to justice!”

-=-=-

“Quiet,” Bob whispered. The Push had warned Arthur about two kilometers back, and they had decided to tie up the horses and scout ahead on foot.
Now, they saw a flickering of light between the trees, no doubt originating from a cooking fire.
Slowly and carefully, they moved through the forest's underbrush, which provided them plenty of cover as they approached.
The dark of night obscured their forms, and the moon, in its crescent shape, barely illuminated a thing. Still, as the men around the fire came into view, there was enough light for them to see the insignia that they carried on their chests.
A red circle, with a silver throne within, the mark of the severed throne.