The two priests stood in the shadows of Rougemont Fortress, a once mighty bastion of strength reduced to charred stone. Inside the inner walls of the fortress, fires burned, and the keep bellowed smoke into the sky, creating a plume that could be seen for miles around. Flames leapt from the windows of the Great Hall, reducing the vestiges of the once proud hall to ash.
The outer walls surrendered its great stones into the river that once flowed in front of the fortress. The stones and rubble that fell in its path, reduced the flowing water into a stream and rerouted the river from a straight line into a snake. The water burbled as it moved over rocks and tree branches. The priests stood at the edge of the debris filled water and fixed their eyes on the destruction before them.
“The Son Ansfroi says we should be glad for the demolition of this fortress,” said Pagiel, a priest of the Oracles. “But I’m not feeling it.”
“Perhaps one day,” said Neriah, the senior of the two by nearly two decades. “You’ll understand the reasons these things must happen and be glad about it.”
Pagiel turned his head and coughed several times. “I might if I live that long.”
Rougemont was inland from the coast of the Great Ocean of Kura atop a hill which held views of the ocean and the valley. The battlement towers provided coverage for every angle of land and sea. But It made little difference when the Blue Horde’s navy arrived off the coast and its army marched from the north and south toward Rougemont. It was a numbers game, and the Horde had more than those holding the fortress.
“The Advocate’s prophecy was correct again,” said Neriah. “He said this stronghold would fall to the Empire, and it did.”
As if it were a matter of days. It was years.
“Are we finished here?” said Pagiel, staring at the spectacle.
“No. I told you our stay here might last two fortnights.”
“Our work here is done. We prayed to Aerin for the destruction of this stronghold, and it has happened.”
“We must convert those still alive to the Faith of the One.”
“I don’t think those who watched this slaughter are going to be too keen on hearing the message of the slaughterers.”
Pagiel looked down at his staff and wondered if it truly held the magic as Neriah had said. It had been four years since he received his and nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. So far, it served as a good walking stick and a weapon to beat off wild dogs. He’d also thought about beating Neriah over the head with it at least once.
“Your faith is small, Pagiel,” said Neriah. “You must grow a faith as strong as this hold once was.”
Yeah, and look what happened to it.
“Now what?” said Pagiel.
“Come, let’s see if we can help the milites medici,” said Neriah.
“Again? I can only take so much blood in one day.”
“It’s not about you, it’s about service to the One Faith.”
Pagiel picked up his staff and stared at the steel ball at the end, contemplating how much damage it could inflict upon a man’s skull.
“Pagiel, stop staring at your staff. Follow me.”
It was time to see how magical the rod really was. The staff was light in his hands as he swung it directly at Neriah’s head.
“Follow this.”