The following story takes place after "Of Lowlifes, Lutes, & Liars" Chapter 2: Inquisition.

An uneasy tension hung in the air of The Blanched Hart as Star Guards reached for their weapons and released their respective detainees. Several women fled their captors’ clutches, including the handsome southerner who'd given the lieutenant sass.

This Cass-Mean, or whatever her name was, had dropped to the floor and was inching away from the Star Guard lieutenant as fast as she could crawl.

She was a nothing, a nobody, and yet, the southerner could have made a handsome bedwarmer for himself or his lordship. Instead, her pleas for help drew the Solanai’s interest, damning Lieutenant Kettering to his fate.

It was just some D’jabareen filth, Warner winced, unsure of his next move. And the Deceiver's still among us somewhere…

Silence descended on the entire room of The Blanched Hart tavern at the crack of a Solanai's whip, which echoed like thunder indoors, drowning out the monsoon rains outside. The lash master wielding it had moved so quickly that Warner hadn't even seen her do it.

Gods old and new, Warner shuddered at the sight of her and the piercing sting she’d given him. Who are you, soldier?

It was bad enough that Colonel Glazebane himself was dining at The Blanched Hart, let alone this faithful brute with a bloodstained whip. The behemoth of a woman stood, looming over Warner like a gigantic sentinel, with cruel, gray eyes burning into his.

The leadership insignia on her breastplate bore the rank of a Solanai major, leaving Warner hopelessly outclassed by the towering beast. She ranked higher than Warner in every way, from her physical size and strength, to the rank she carried among her peers.

Oh gods, the Star Guard lieutenant realized, clutching his bloodied face with a silver gauntlet. Where did it all go wrong?

“You whipped me?” Warner pressed his pristine hood against the fresh cut to stop the bleeding. Other Star Guards formed up to bolster their ranks at the sight of their injured companion. “I can’t believe you just—”

“By the higher order of Her Majesty’s charter,” the head Solanai bellowed throughout the tavern, “‘to protect the weak and ensure the peace,’ the Solanai obey.”

“PROTECT THE WEAK.” A chorus of deep voices, chanting in perfect unison, sending shivers down the arms and legs of the Star Guards, silencing them. “ENSURE THE PEACE.”

Ripples of terror fanned out among Warner’s men, their shiny armored plates clinking together with every shudder. The Star Guards were so concerned with forming ranks for defending themselves that they paid little mind to the tavern patrons scurrying around them.

“PROTECT THE WEAK,” the Solanai chanted as they advanced on the Star Guards.

The tavern master, a portly, affable man called Benteen, urged his guests to flee, making a run for the back door and unlocking it for them on his way out. The friendly tavern server, the lively bard, and countless patrons scrambled outdoors as the Solanai chant continued.

“ENSURE THE PEACE.”

Warner trembled in his armor, with a lump forming in his throat, threatening to choke him. The Star Guard fought desperately to project an image of calm control, of commanding presence, but it was a foolhardy effort. Every twitch of tensed brows and bead of sweat glistening on his clammy forehead betrayed the truth.

Lieutenant Warner Kettering was afraid.

He had good reason to be. The forces of the Dark Army, these mercenaries for hire, they were legendary, even among the Old Sarzonnese. Rumors of fiendish exploits, murderous rampages, unfathomable brutality; all of it shook Warner to his core, until the Star Guard begged the Holy Healer for deliverance.

Another whiplash landed on top of the first one, dropping Warner to the ground with its sting. His reliable sergeant, a man called Garmish, stood in front of Warner to shield him from another blow.

Damn them, Warner cursed silently, staring up at the warriors with mounting hatred and an undisguised sneer. An unknown pressure electrified the air around them, sapping the Star Guards’ strength with its unseen heaviness.

If only there was a way to get rid of these beastly warriors, to rid Old Sarzonn of the Dark Army’s presence. They were a blight on the holy house’s horizon view, with their ugly barracks and unsightly behavior. If only his lordship could find a pretext to evict them, to purge the disease of darkness from their lands.

But there was nothing for it presently. Her eminence had given permission for the Solanai to build a camp here, and nothing short of all-out war could drag these horrid monsters from the streets of Old Sarzonn.

No, you must keep your faith, Warner scolded himself silently, the taste of fear lingering in his mouth, potent and bitter. His lordship has a plan. You mustn’t give up hope so easily.

And just as the Star Guard steeled his resolve, the pressure around him mounted, and the fire lights dwindled into darkness.

What is this? Warner wondered, his eyesight failing him, and a sweet smell of ether loomed. Within moments, a stormy cloud of void-black nothingness surrounded him, starving Warner of information in the tavern.

Under cover of darkness, his companions equally blinded and desperate, the beatings began. Sounds of savagery echoed all around him, with familiar voices calling for aid. Clinking metal, cracking whip strikes, heavy footfalls—all impossible to track or avoid. And Warner’s energy was ebbing with every second, leaching from his trembling body as he steeled himself for battle.

So tired. Why am I so tired?

Warner staggered to his feet, his muscles aching from the strain of lifting his own armor. Glittering plates that were meant to protect his body from fearsome blows merely weighed Warner down now, stealing what little speed he could conjure.

I can’t see. There’s nothing in the darkness.

He had to mount a proper defense, to find a way to get the upper hand in this treacherous void. Warner couldn’t afford to wonder how the Solanai had snuffed out every candle, every torch, and even the fireplace where that D’jabareen filth had tried to hide. He was fighting blind, unable to rely on anything but his other senses.

A fiendish thunder shock rang out in the distance, with an anguished voice squealing from the crash.

That’s Lawson down, and Garmish, Warner flinched. The Star Guards were already outmatched in practically every way, and losing a lancer and an archer put the fear of death in Warner’s heart. He couldn’t guarantee that the Solanai wouldn’t kill them, and throw their bloodied corpses into the streets for starving hunting hounds to feast on.

Focus, damn you! Warner chided himself. A creak of wet leather broke through the distant screams of scattering people, coming ever closer. Where are you? I can hear you.

Fleeing patrons, toppling furniture, breaking tankards, painful screams—how could Warner possibly pinpoint these creatures in the darkness?

A crossbow bolt went wild in the void, ricocheting off something metal before embedding into a wall stud. Heavy, booted footfalls landed eerily close to Warner before going silent, and another suit of armor hit the floor with a crash.

That’s Jenkins, I’d wager, Warner thought as he braced for attack. That leaves just me and—

A bracing bang from a thunderous whiplash echoed by Warner’s left ear, causing a piercing ring that drew his gauntlet to protect himself from more loud noises. Warner flinched at the horrible, gargling cries of a Star Guard nearby, his voice straining to be heard as he gasped for air.

Lorrin.

Warner had just enough time to take a breath before a gloved hand bashed into the side of his face. Its leather reeked of fresh blood as the glove returned for a frightful backhand against Warner’s swollen cheek. The sting radiated through Warner’s face like a white-hot brand, burning the Star Guard’s failure into his body and soul in equal measure.

It was only three strikes in total. Three blows with what felt like an ironwood timber wrapped in wet leather had felled the Star Guard lieutenant. At the third hit, Warner dropped to his knees, his gauntlets groping in the darkness to find the floor and keep him from face-planting.

Dizzy and disoriented, reeling in pain, Warner heard no more sounds of his brothers in arms. The clanging of heavy armor had ceased, and only ferocious breathing could be heard in the void.

An inhuman growl echoed in the darkness, recalibrating Warner’s objectives in an instant. “Winning” had become “not losing,” only to devolve into “not dying” as Warner scrambled for a way to guarantee his survival.

A Solanai, once riled, was not likely to stop for gold, for promises of holy favor, or for material rewards. The only thing these brutes could tell the difference between were the strong, and the weak.

I’ve no choice. There’s nothing left I can do, Warner realized, his breath strained into a sniveling cry.

Before he’d stopped to think about it, Warner whimpered in a voice so small, one would strain to hear it.

“Mercy,” Warner begged, with the titan warming the air around him with their monstrous aura.

The shroud of choking darkness dissolved around him, leaving Warner to glance up at the warriors who’d beaten his squad so badly. It ached to lift his head, to force bleary eyes upward to see how many Solanai it took to fell an entire star of men. And to his great confusion, Warner shuddered at the opposing force, disbelieving and deeply frightened at who was responsible.

Just one.

The Solanai colossus who’d slashed Warner’s hard-lined face was the only one who’d moved at all. Her compatriots had returned to their places at the table, staring daggers at the Star Guards and collecting their things, leaving the major to tidy this mess alone.

She moved so slowly at first, like a predator conserving energy, but Warner realized who she was after a thorough thrashing. Faster than a panther’s strike, five holy soldiers had been beaten bloody by the Scourge of Tevrose.

Major Tazanni Barshaw.

Assured of her victory, the dread major dragged every last Star Guard to The Blanched Hart’s entrance and heaped them by the door.

Was this mercy, or something else?

Major Barshaw was either decent enough not to throw his men out into monsoon rains, or couldn’t be bothered to inflict such indignity on them. Either way, it spared the Star Guard lieutenant another humiliation, though not the last one he would face tonight.

With only Warner remaining, Major Barshaw stooped low to get a proper look at the whelp who’d dared to defy the Empress’s charter. Inches away from Warner’s face, with cold, gray eyes fixed on his beaten mug, the Solanai deigned to speak a single word to the frightened Star Guard.

“Pathetic,” she growled, with a voice so husky and deep that Warner shivered at the sound of it.

The way she looked at him just then, like Warner was something Barshaw had scraped off her boots, stung more than a whip slash to the face or a bracing backhand ever could.

***

Limping and soaking wet, the Star Guard lieutenant and his compliment of men trudged defeatedly to a crossroads. Warner stopped at the juncture separating Merchant’s Quarter to the road to the holy house, with the Grand Cathedral high on the eastern hill.

Warner couldn’t bring himself to lift his head, to allow his tears to melt into the rains. Weakness and failure were shameful enough; the Star Guard couldn’t compound his failures and bring dishonor to his men. At Warner’s hesitation, one man approached, his breaths heavy and laden with defeat.

“L-Lieutenant Kettering, sir?” Lawson creaked as he pleaded with his commanding officer, clutching his side from one of Barshaw’s bracing strikes. “What should we, I mean, what will we tell Lord Vythorne, sir?”

About this? Warner wondered, his mind filled with fearful visions of their despicable failure. None of Warner’s star would be welcomed back to his lordship’s domain with open arms after hearing of this disgrace.

If Amias Vythorne saw how little effort it took to defeat his men, they’d have better luck slumming around The Dregs for work than being allowed back in the Grand Cathedral. They’d been so soundly beaten that not a drop of blood on Barshaw’s soaked leathers was her own.

“Nothing,” Warner replied, looking down at his feet as rain pelted his armor with little clinks of music. “You will tell him nothing. As of this moment, you are on maneuvers. Get medical care as discreetly as possible and report back to the Grand Cathedral in two days’ time. Understood?”

The men remained sent, saluting their leader as best as they could before shambling away, one by one, into the abysmal rain.

Alone at the crossroads, Warner lingered, beaten, bloodied, defeated, but not hopeless. Warner clenched his jaw until his cheek wound reopened in the rain.

Hopelessness was just another dagger in his side, an easy means to strike Warner dead, and he would not go out that way. For the man who’d chased glory his whole life, who’d played second fiddle to his elders and peers, hopelessness was his tool to inflict on others, not himself.

I’ll tell him the Deceiver got away. That my men are on the lookout, Warner decided silently. And when the time comes, I’ll secure my position at master’s side, in a place of honor, outclassed by no other.