June 7, 9 ATC

Outside the City of Pyrruby, Duchy of Milk and Cereal

The fire crackled and snapped as Austin held the fish over it, hoping it wouldn't fall off the stick. Her forces had stopped to set up camp on the bank of a small stream as the sun began to set, and she had left the others to catch her food for the evening. Some of the soldiers had told her they had rations with them, but she'd insisted. She was glad she did; she'd caught three of the fattest trout she had ever seen.

As the fish browned a little bit more, Austin heard a rustling behind her. She turned around, expecting to see another raccoon come to peck at her fish, but it was only Faker.

"That's a fine fish you've caught there," he said. Faker pulled up a log and sat down on it, staring into the fire. "I must say, I'm a little jealous."

"My father always told me that the fish grow fatter in the streams than they do in the lakes or rivers," Austin said. "It doesn't sound like it'd be true, but you never know." She paused. "Would you like one?"

"Much obliged," Faker said. She handed him a plate with a fish on it and a roasting stick. He skewered his trout on the end and placed it in the fire. "We don't eat much fish in Enabler. Our lakes are few, and we have no rivers. Seafood is a delicacy." Eagerly, he stirred the fish around the fire, as if that would make it brown faster.

"Trust me," Austin said, "eat enough of it and you'll get sick of it quick. I grew up in Prosthetium, a river city. It reeked of fish." She took a bite out of her trout. It was well-browned and of good texture, but bland. Faker noticed her disappointment.

"How'd you like some salt on that?" he asked, producing a shaker from his pocket. Austin looked at him oddly.

"Did you have a salt shaker in your pocket the whole time?" she asked.

"I carry lots of stuff in my pockets," Faker said. "Do you want it or not?"

Austin shrugged, took the salt, and gave the fish a once-over with it before handing it back. She took a bite. "Much better," she said. She ate in silence as Faker continued roasting his trout.

"Tell me, Austin," Faker said, finally breaking the silence. "Are the rumors true?"

Austin took another bite out of her fish and looked at him. "What rumors?"

"That you're Austin Rufus reborn," Faker said, leaning in for dramatic effect. "Or that you're his daughter. Or his sister. Or that you were a woman all along, and you pretended to be a man to become a general."

"That last one's just weird," she commented, and she continued eating the trout. As Faker continued to stare expectantly at her, she sighed. "They are true though. Well, one of them. I am his daughter."

"I knew it!" Faker laughed triumphantly. "I've seen the paintings of him. There was too much of a resemblance to be coincidence. And the name was just the cherry on top."

"It's a common name, especially around the Confluence," she commented. She took a final bite of her fish and tossed the remains into the woods.

Faker was finally content with his fish and began chewing it. "So, how'd you end up here?" he asked, his mouth full of trout.

"My father was charged with treason," she said. "We fled. I was separated. I grew up in Prosthetium and became a mercenary. Got hired by McDouggal as a bodyguard, came to the Diet, met Nitesco, and the rest is history. Well, recent history."

"Did you know McDouggal well?" Faker asked. He munched unassumingly on his trout, but Austin could feel his gaze become colder. She stopped herself from shuddering.

"Not particularly well," she answered honestly. "But well enough to respect him, if not like him." Faker nodded, considering her answer, and she decided to change the subject.

"What about you?" she asked. "How did you get here?"

Faker laughed and set his roasting stick on his lap. "Oh, that's a long tale," he said. "But I'll do my best to make it short. My stepbrother was supposed to become the Triumvir. Spent his whole life being prepared by my mother and my stepfather for it. He grew into a capable, if arrogant young man. He probably would've made a good leader."

"What happened to him?" Austin asked.

Faker looked at her and grinned. "You might think murdered him, but no. I was only eleven when he died. The idea of being a prince went to his head, and he began consorting with all sorts of folk he shouldn't. Got syphilis from a prostitute in Sang-Divin. Died not long after. I became the heir, and when my father died, I took his lordship. The people weren't happy that my mother's family essentially took his family's title."

"Did you change their minds?" Austin asked. "An angry people makes a short reign."

"I'm the only leader they had," he said indignantly. "They should have been happy for that much. But it didn't matter. They came to accept things soon enough."

"And the Church?" Austin asked. "Why did you sign on with them? You're not a believer, I hope?" They shared a chuckle.

"No," Faker said, and he resumed eating his fish. "I signed on to keep a buffer between myself and Contramundi. He was always my main rival, and when he started making moves, I knew I needed an ally. And the Church answered."

They returned to silence. While Faker quietly ate the rest of his trout, Austin packaged up the remaining fish and put it away before sitting down next to the fire again. They sat there for a few minutes until they heard something rustling down the path.

"Who goes there?" Faker called out, unconcerned. A scout came into view, hands folded behind his back. He bowed.

"My lord. Commander Austin." He cleared his throat. "We've spotted the Gunnian column on a small thoroughfare not far from here."

"Are they headed toward the city?" Faker asked. He gnawed a final bit of meat off his fish and tossed the bones into the fire. The scout shook his head.

"Um, no sir," the scout said. "They seemed to be heading northwest. Toward the Prince's Pyre."

An expression of surprise appeared on Faker's face, and he turned to look at the scout. "The Prince's Pyre? Are you sure?"

"Positive, my lord," the scout said. "That's where the road they're traveling leads to. Perhaps the Duke has a residence near there?"

"He must," Faker muttered.

"What is the Prince's Pyre?" Austin asked. Faker glanced up at her and waved her off.

"You'll have to see it to understand," Faker said. He drummed his fingers on his leg and mumbled to himself. "How large was their caravan?"

"No more than a company of soldiers, my lord," the scout said.

Faker nodded. "Go and gather three companies' worth of men. Leave the rest here. We will move to intercept."

"Wait," Austin said. Faker cast a questioning look at her and gestured for his scout to leave. As the man left, he gestured for her to go on.

"If we attack Nitesco now, we'll never know if we can rely on McDouggal," she said. "He's a pragmatic man. If he has no choice but to kneel, then he will kneel. But if we let him parlay a bit with Nitesco, we can see whether or not he really does sympathize with the League, or if he is truly loyal."

Faker nodded slowly, considering her advice. "Yes," he said. "I see your meaning. Zissman must know if his allies are truly loyal." He stood up and set aside his roasting stick. "Very well. A test of loyalty it will be." He stood up to go gather his men, but stopped to look back at her.

"You'll make a fine commander yet," he said. Faker flashed her a final smile and disappeared into the camp. Austin couldn't tell what the smile meant, and she didn't care to. She stood up and followed him out.

It was well past sunset when Nitesco and his guards finally arrived at McDouggal's manor. Nitesco had never expected McDouggal to respond to the raven he sent him, asking him to negotiate using Milk and Cereal as a base of operations, let alone allowing Nitesco to travel to his private estate. The rivers and the roads to McDouggal's lands were rough and filled with bandits, but they had come out unscathed. Now came the hard part: negotiating with Junipera's most stubborn Duke.

As they marched up the hill, McDouggal's estate came into sight. It wasn't particularly glamorous or spacious, but it had high walls and an abundance of defenders for its small size. The manor sat on a cliff overlooking the Prince's Pyre, a vast stretch of lifeless, ashen land. The ground itself was still scorched black, even thirty years later, and the crumbling remains of Milk and Cereal's former capital stood empty in the night. Why McDouggal would take up a residence with such a dreary view, Nitesco didn't know.

As they approached the gates, a few of the guardsmen broke off to get a closer look and, seeing they were Gunnian, shouted to the other sentinels on the wall. Moments later, the gate was opened, and the soldiers marched through.

The estate courtyard was also plain, with only a few benches and some statues to decorate it. McDouggal walked out into the courtyard, flanked by half a dozen commandos, and stopped in front of Nitesco.

"Prime Minister," McDouggal said. The Duke wore nothing but his evening wear and a red cloak, which made Nitesco feel overdressed in his suit of armor. "I see you've brought quite an escort."

"The roads are dangerous," Nitesco said. "Especially with the Church prowling about."

"That they are," McDouggal said dryly. "But you did not come all this way to chatter with me about the roads. Come in, come in. I am many things, but I am not inhospitable."

Nitesco gave the signal for his guards to disperse while he followed McDouggal into the manor. Like the outside the foyer was not particularly large or well-decorated, save for a few tapestries and a checkered carpet, but it seemed to fit the man who lived in it. McDouggal signaled for his guards to stay back. He took Nitesco down a side hallway, down to the opposite edge of the manor, and into his office. As Nitesco took a seat at a small table, McDouggal shut the door behind him.

"Can I offer you something to eat?" McDouggal asked. He fetched a plate of appetizers and a glass of wine from a windowsill and set it in front of Nitesco. "I imagine you must be famished."

"I am, yes," Nitesco admitted. That was an understatement. The plate didn't have much on it, only a loaf of sweetbread, a hunk of cheese, a pear, and a small cut of beef, but it was better than army rations. He tore into the sweetbread like an animal, making McDouggal chuckle. "Unfortunately," Nitesco said, his mouth full, "I did not come here just to sample your food."

"No, I imagine not," McDouggal said. He stood and walked over to the window. It was massive, covering nearly an entire wall of the room, and it offered an unparalleled view of the Prince's Pyre. The Duke shook his head. "I cannot accept your offer."

Nitesco was mid-bite when he heard that. His appetite suddenly gone, he set down the pear he was working on and steepled his fingers. "So," he said, his irritation clear. "You brought me all this way just to tell me no?"

"It's not just that," McDouggal said. He glanced at Nitesco, and back at the window. "Tell me, do you know how the Prince's Pyre came to be?"

"The stories vary," Nitesco admitted. "But I have no doubt you'll tell me."

McDouggal ignored Nitesco's remark and continued. "Shortly before the start of the Third Shipping War, my country was engaged in a war with Renora. The Interteam League, which I am the leader of, was founded by my grandfather to counter Renoran imperialism. King Zentics had been moving to seize the lowlands to our north. In response, my father declared war, and he marched north, leaving my elder brother in charge."

"I didn't know you had a brother," Nitesco said. McDouggal shook his head.

"I have few fond memories of him," the Duke admitted. "He was arrogant and vain, as kings so often are. But he was also a fool. Worse, he was engaged to a Bumblebee princess. When Bumblebee declared on Black Sun, she convinced him to join them and march south on Arkos. Despite my attempts to convince him otherwise, he rallied what men hadn't gone north with my father and went south to fight the Arkosians."

"I'm guessing it didn't end well," Nitesco said. He resumed eating his pear.

"His death was no great loss," McDouggal said. "But it came at a most inopportune time. His forces came back a quarter of the size they were when they left, and he returned in a box. That alone was bad, but then I received word that my father had been routed and killed by Zentics. That meant I was the king, and I had taken the throne as two armies marched on our capital.

"Zentics arrived first. Ahead of his arrival, I evacuated the capital and most of our gold. I kept my father's personal fortune and offered it to Zentics, along with as many of the crops growing in the capital's fields as it pleased him to take. I was lucky he was in a forgiving mood that day. He accepted that as the terms of my surrender and left with almost all of our crops in tow."

"And the Arkosians?" Nitesco asked. "What about them?"

McDouggal pursed his lips. "I knew I could not defeat them, and I knew that there was no negotiating with them. That only gave me one choice. The Arkosian general was arrogant. He refused to bring supplies along, as he insisted his men could live off the land. So I showed him the error of his ways. I—" He paused, glancing over the Prince's Pyre. He sighed. "What crops Zentics didn't take I burned, along with the forests, the fields, and the city itself. I fled north with my men. When the Arkosians arrived, they had nothing to sustain themselves, so they retreated south. It was a wasteful victory." McDouggal, done with his tale, took a seat at the table.

"Why have you told me this?" Nitesco asked. "It's a fine story, but what point does it have?"

"The point," McDouggal said, chagrined, "is that I know what it's like to have my country ravaged by war. The destruction. The sacrifice. I am not willing to put that on my people again." His expression softened, and he sighed. "But I know you are a good man. I know that the Church is a greater threat than any we have ever seen. And I am willing to offer you my support, but only secretly. I cannot risk Zissman's ire."

"We need a base of operations," Nitesco protested. McDouggal scoffed.

"Then find one elsewhere," he said. "What I'm offering you is money. Weapons. Food. The necessities of war. A base means nothing if you haven't anything to support it with." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I know it isn't the result you were hoping for, but it's the best you've got. I offer you my friendship, though secretly. Can we agree on that much?"

Before Nitesco could answer, an explosion rattled the compound. He bolted out of his chair as McDouggal stumbled backward in surprise, but they both quickly recovered. Before they could process what happened, a guardsman kicked open the door.

"The walls!" he shouted. "They've blown open the walls!"

"Who's they?" Nitesco asked, but the soldier was gone before he even finished his question. He looked to McDouggal, who was opening the cabinets. He pulled out a breastplate and began strapping it on.

"Doesn't matter," he said. "Go. Take command. I'll be right behind you."

Nitesco didn't need to hear it twice. He ducked out of the room and sprinted out to the courtyard to rally the men.

Austin crept up the hill leading to the estate, her mind elsewhere. The thought of storming McDouggal's estate, even though it was only a hypothetical, was maddening. Two weeks ago, she might have died fighting Faker. Tonight, she might die alongside him.

As she continued walking, she looked over the depression that was known as the Prince's Pyre. Faker was right, at least, that she had to see it to truly understand. There was desolation as far as the eye could see; the ground was white with ash for miles around, and the city stood empty, illuminated only by the moonlight.

Faker was crouched behind a large tree, drumming his fingers against the bark. As she approached, he turned to face her.

"All quiet on the roads?" he asked. Austin nodded.

"Nobody's coming," she said. "Now what? Do we send a man in to see what's going on?"

Faker turned away from her for a second, gesturing to a few of his men. As a couple soldiers disappeared around the side of the estate, he turned back to her. "No," he said. "The Gunnians already went in."

"So?" Austin asked.

"So?" Faker echoed. "So McDouggal's negotiating with Nitesco! That means he's a traitor."

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Austin said, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "McDouggal is a cautious man. He wouldn't put all his eggs in one basket like that."

Faker continued to avoid her eyes. "The evidence suggests otherwise," he said. "I've already made a decision."

Austin narrowed her eyes at him, but the sound of an explosion interrupted her thought process. She gasped as a plume of smoke rose up from the far wall of the estate. Faker drew his sword.

"You didn't tell me about that!" Austin exclaimed. Faker shrugged.

"I didn't see the need. Come on, now. This is your duty too."

As Faker joined the soldiers streaming in through the breach, Austin grit her teeth. Not only had Faker gone behind her back, he was forcing her to the forefront of command, something she was decidedly not ready for yet. But she had no choice. She, too, drew her sword and joined the assault.

The courtyard, despite the number of soldiers fighting inside, was relatively easy for Austin and Faker to navigate. She crouched behind Faker as they sprinted through, ignoring the soldiers around them. As they ran, Austin looked over Faker's shoulder to see what it was they were running towards. The manor itself, she saw, was wide open, and Faker was beelining to it.

As they entered the foyer, Austin was startled by the appearance of McDouggal in plate armor. Despite his age, he was as agile and strong as a man of twenty, fighting off two of Faker's men with a spear and a chipped wooden shield. They watched as McDouggal knocked away the first soldier's blade and turned around to impale the second before knocking the first in the throat with his shield. The soldiers slumped to the ground on either side of the Duke, and he looked up to see who had come to challenge him next.

"Faker," he sneered. He wrenched his spear out of the soldier's corpse and turned around. "Nitesco," he called to a man on the stairs behind him, "it's time."

Nitesco, who had just finished slitting a soldier's throat on the landing, turned around to see who had come to face them. His eyes flickered to Faker, the discontent on his face clear, but then they drifted over to Austin. Nitesco gasped and took a step back.

"Austin," he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. "How?"

"We took her in," Faker gloated. "Made her ours. She's not your pet anymore, Nitesco."

McDouggal's eyes shot over to Austin, apparently noticing her for the first time. "Hm," he grunted. "When I heard Nitesco had made you a commander of the League, I thought that I was mistaken about you. But now it seems that I was right about you all along." He spat on the ground. "You were just an uppity peasant girl playing at grandeur. Did you get it? The power you craved?"

"You misunderstand," Austin said softly. "I never wanted power. Only peace."

"LIAR!" McDouggal yelled, and he lunged at Austin. Austin dove to the side and somersaulted to safety, while Faker rushed at Nitesco. As they crossed swords, McDouggal readied to skewer Austin again.

"You think I don't see through you?" McDouggal asked. "I've dealt with dozens of whelps like you. One more won't matter!"

Austin slashed at him, only to be knocked away by McDouggal's shield. The Duke swung at her, connecting the shaft of the spear with her head. Austin fell, but recovered just in time to dodge a stab.

"There is no need for this," Austin said. "Surrender now, and Zissman will forgive you!"

McDouggal scowled. "I did not rebuild my kingdom just to have it ground underfoot by some heretic Outlander!" He swiped at her with his shield, but Austin slammed her sword into it just in time to knock it away. The Duke screamed in pain, but kept on the offense.

Austin decided that she could not remain on the defensive any longer. McDouggal lunged at her again, but this time, Austin merely sidestepped it and grabbed the spear. She attempted to yank it from his hands, but only succeeded in lurching him forward. McDouggal knocked her in the chest with his shield as he fell, sending her into a small table and knocking the vase on it to the ground.

"Clever trick," McDouggal commented. Another lunge. Austin ducked just in time to save herself, but the point of the spear hewed her shoulder. "Bitch," he added.

Austin began her own attack, bringing several powerful blows down onto McDouggal as she advanced. The Duke held his own, backpedaling fast enough for most of the hits to miss, but the ones that landed put several large cracks in his shield. As Austin prepared her final flurry, McDouggal dodged right and swiped her across the stomach, forcing her to relent.

"There's no need for this," McDouggal parroted, his voice high and mocking. "Surrender now, and Nitesco will forgive you!"

"Stuff it, old man," Austin mumbled, her frustration getting the better of her. As McDouggal raised his shield, she opted to throw herself into him, shouldering him into the stair railing. McDouggal, again, raised his shield to protect himself, but Austin's downward swing was powerful enough to shatter it. In response, he swung at her face, forcing her to back up, and quickly clambered to his feet.

"This has gone on long enough," Austin said. McDouggal merely spat on the ground and glared at her.

"How true," he said, and already he was mid-lunge. Austin, knowing he had no shield to protect him, sidestepped again. As McDouggal stumbled forward, Austin brought her sword down on the spear's shaft, splitting it in two. The Duke fell on his face, and before he could get up again, Austin ran her sword through his thigh. He shrieked in pain, and for a second she felt a hint of guilt, but then remembered herself. She whirled around to see how Faker and Nitesco fared.

Nitesco had Faker up against the wall, pressing his sword into his opponent's, the edge of his blade grazing Faker's neck. Aware that something had happened in his peripheral vision, Nitesco glanced at Austin for a second, but quickly did a double take. When he saw her standing over McDouggal, his face slackened and his posture loosened.

"Austin…" he said, but before he could finish, Faker pushed him off and rebalanced. Nitesco warily crept backwards towards the door, his sword up, glancing accusatively at Austin and Faker. He finally stopped in the doorway, trying to form a strategy, when McDouggal turned over on his side.

"Nitesco!" he yelled. "Run!"

Faker moved to attack, but Nitesco kicked him in the stomach. Ignoring the chance to deal a finishing blow, he looked up at Austin. In his eyes, she saw confusion, anger, sadness, but most of all, betrayal.

"We'll meet again," he whispered.

"Yes," Austin said. With nothing left to say, Nitesco turned and ran out the front door, bellowing to his remaining men to retreat. Faker slowly rose to his feet, watching Nitesco and his soldiers disappear into the woods.

"After him," he wheezed. Faker coughed and stood, watching as his men gave chase to the fleeing Gunnians. Only a few Enablerish remained in the courtyard, which was littered with the bodies of Faker's soldiers and McDouggal's guardsmen. Austin surveyed the damage for a bit before McDouggal, who was struggling to stand, drew her attention.

"You got me, wench," McDouggal spat. He steadied himself on a pillar in order to stand. "Are you proud of yourself?"

"I am," Faker added, and he punched McDouggal in the stomach. McDouggal sank to his knees, and Faker looked down on him with vague disappointment.

"I'm not sure if I should be impressed with you," he said, "or disappointed in him. Either way, you did well, Austin. Finish him."

Austin blinked. She looked over at Faker, who was staring at her expectantly. She raised her eyebrows.

"Finish him?" she asked. "Why? He's beaten. We can take him prisoner. Zissman—"

"Zissman ordered us to remind these rulers of his power," Faker interrupted. "McDouggal willfully associated with the rebels. Not only that, he crossed blades with us. He is a traitor. And the punishment for treason," he said, leaning in uncomfortably close, "is death."

"I don't want your mercy," McDouggal said, his voice thick with disgust. "I would rather die than spend the rest of my life locked up like a caged bird. I ask only that I not suffer the indignity of beheading." To punctuate his statement, he lowered his head in defeat.

"See?" Faker said. "Even he agrees. Go on and be done with it." He turned around, offering only a contemptuous backwards glance at the Duke.

Austin sighed. "You're right," she said, drawing her blade. McDouggal looked up at her and, for the first time, she saw fear in his eyes. Nevertheless, he stood firm.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way," she said, as if it made a difference. McDouggal merely glared at her, the hate in his eyes burning bright, and he shook his head.

"I'm not," he sputtered angrily. "I would have it no other way. I die as I lived: in defense of my homeland. My conscience is clear." His voice cracked, and tears welled in his furious eyes. "Is yours?"

Austin clenched her teeth and pressed her blade into his neck, ignoring her feelings of remorse. "Clear as day," she said, and she slit his throat.

As soon as she let go, he pressed his hands against the wound, desperately trying to clot it. He gurgled and fell on his side, staring in awe at the pool of blood forming below him. Weakly, McDouggal looked up at her and gave her one final glare of disgust. Then his eyes glazed, his face went slack, and he died.

Austin stood there, looking at the body, until Faker came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked him in the eye and, to her surprise, saw some sympathy.

"You did him a kindness," he said. "No good ruler would ever want to outlive his kingdom. And this man, for all his faults, was a good ruler." Faker looked down at McDouggal's corpse, and the sympathy in his eyes disappeared. "But it's over now," he said, turning around dismissively.

"Now what do we do?" Austin asked. Faker took a seat on the stairs and drummed his fingers on the railing.

"I'll keep the majority of the men here," he said. "With their leader dead, it's only a matter of time before the people find out and turn against us. We must strike first."

"Will you lead the campaign?" she asked. Faker shook his head.

"I'll leave that to my generals," he said. "Zissman wants us back in Bumblebee as soon as possible. We should set out tomorrow." Faker sheathed his sword and began heading upstairs. "But that's tomorrow, isn't it? Tonight, I need a warm bed to sleep in. Come on, I'm sure there'll be a second bedroom for you too."

Austin watched as Faker went upstairs, opting to stay in the battered foyer. Bodies littered the estate grounds, and there was blood on almost everything. Was this the peace she was fighting for?

She looked at McDouggal, whose paling face was still stuck in a grimace of hate. Austin turned away and began heading upstairs. Such questions, she decided, would be better asked tomorrow.