Bradbury and I grew up together. Lived on the same street. We always dreamed we would be fighting evil when we grew up. We egged each other on as trainees in the order of the templar. Pushed each other further. Made each other stronger. We were naïve, happy-go-lucky paladins for a few years.
In missions, I had shown promise for being a leader of men, and so I trained with Christian, our squad leader, to learn how it was done. He would listen to me when I gave advice, correcting me when I was wrong and showing me how to do it properly. Bradbury was in the same group. On missions, sometimes I would see an alternate way of doing things and point it out to Christian, which he usually would follow unless he saw a gaping flaw in my logic, which he would catch and identify.
On one mission, I suggested that the squad split up to flank the enemy, who had bunkered down. Christian followed my advice. He took Drosin, Nora, and Paul to storm the door while I took Estri, Bradbury, and Lycia to the back door. The next thing I know, I hear the screams of voices I recognize from the front and then we’re being ambushed. They outnumbered us at least five to one. There shouldn’t have been that many of them. They killed Estri, Paul, Nora, and Christian and captured the rest of us. They began torturing us. They didn’t want information. It was just torture for the sake of torture. Drosin died later in the afternoon. The forced contortions of his body reopened the wounds he obtained in the struggle, and he bled to death. Our captors were… disappointed. With only three captives left, they took delight in torturing one of us in view of the others, that being unable to do anything about the current victim’s plight would be as excruciating for the viewers as the torture was to the victim. They seemed to derive endless sick pleasure from leaving Bradbury and I restrained while they…
Lycia desperately held on to her life with the temerity and stubbornness for which she was known. It was the evening of the fourth day after our capture when a contingent of Templar slaughtered our captors and rescued Bradbury and me. But it was too late to rescue Lycia. So much more extensive was her torture that mere hours before our rescue, her spirit went to join the Silver Flame.
While not strictly prohibited, romance between templar is highly discouraged. I never got the chance t-
[A pause]
They said that there was nothing we could have done, that even if we had followed Christian’s plan… They were just too well prepared. There was no way we could possibly have known… But still I… If I hadn’t split up the group, we could have...
[A pause]
I was broken. I was in psychological shambles. Bradbury helped me out of my rut. He was there for me. We had survived when the others died. It wasn’t fair. It didn’t make sense. But we were alive. This, of course, marked the end of our naivety. No longer were we Nathaniel and Bradbury, Indefatigable Knights in tireless pursuit of evil. We were simply two soldiers who now understood the veterans of the Last War when they smile and shake their heads at eager initiates, wishing they still had such enthusiasm, such innocence.
About a year later, well… probably closer to two, I was called to become a squad leader. I had recovered from the aftertaste of my last leadership experience, and I accepted graciously. I was to lead a squad of initiates on their first mission, the mission given to mark their integration into the knights templar. These missions are always cakewalks, for the graduates, but also for new leaders to get a sense of how leading a team feels. My graduation mission was to help a small settlement build a humble church. Arduous physical work, but no threat. No danger. It was just getting the newbies out in the field and seeing that good can be done and evil combated even without combat. So I was leading these seven smiling cadets on an “escort” mission. A merchant had some goods that he said he thought would be accepted better if they arrived on the tails of an escort of Silver Flame.
The morning of the mission, I was summoned and introduced to the eager young boys and girls hungry for their assignment. There was one boy from Karnatth – Duncan. He had this sense of potential about him – a fire in his eyes. And you just knew that he would go on to do great things. So we met up with the merchant and went to the location from where the small caravan would depart. I and my squad walked in front of the five slow wagons as they made their way from Flamekeep to Sigilstar. One of the graduates complimented me on my shiny new armor. I thanked him, and told him that “flattery won’t get you nearly as far as dedication.”
The first day passed uneventfully, passing through Traelyn and stopping to resupply in Sharavacion. When some of the recruits started to tire and ask why they had to wear their armor on this mission, I reminded them that a paladin in the field must wear his armor, and that carrying weight was good for your health, that walking in the sun built character, and because I said so, and, no, we’re not there yet! The next day, we left Sharavacion for the short trip to Sigilstar. It was just after we had passed the fork leading to Aruldusk when Duncan asked me why I didn’t have a steed. While it’s true that promotion to a position of leadership usually comes with a mount, I had turned down the offer.
My personal philosophy is that a leader should lead his comrades with his comrades, not from high upon a horse. I do not think my colleagues who chose mounts made poor decisions, but it is not one that I personally would have made. Perhaps another motivation for my choice is that horses really don’t like me too much. I don’t know why, but every horse I’ve ever tried to ride has always been the spunky one that tries to buck its rider at every opportunity. And perhaps the Silver Flame acknowledged my choice to continue without a mount, because I was blessed with the power to smite my foes with greater strength and speed.
“Here! I’ll show you”, I said, tasking the brunette girl to signal when to start.
So all six of the others stay at the front of the caravan watching avidly while Duncan and I jog a little bit ahead so we can make an impromptu starting line without being run over. There were cheers of encouragement coming from behind Duncan and me, and I think I heard one of those rascals betting on the outcome. The signal to start was given and we ran forward. Duncan kept pace with me for a few seconds before he started to fall behind.
I can hear his footfalls landing pretty far behind me, so I stop and turn around. Duncan is about fifty feet behind me and slowing down, but a couple hundred feet behind us, at the caravan, I see four cloaked forms coming behind my squad. I start running, no time to strap on my shield, drawing my sword and cursing myself. Duncan turns around just as I yell a warning to the rest, just in time to see four slit throats and four crumpling bodies. The remaining boy notices what is happening and shoves the girl who had given the starting call away from the four cloaked figures as he steps backward to face the assailants. His hand is halfway to his hilt when he is run through with two swords. Duncan has his sword out and is right behind me.
The girl is running towards us with two cloaks in pursuit as the other two cloaks remove their swords and let the recruit’s body slide to the ground.
I’m almost there.
One of the cloaks throws a bola at her feet. She falls.
I’m almost there.
I had just met them that morning. I can’t even remember her name but I’ll never forget her face, her expression of confusion, shock, and pain as the cloak’s sword pierced her spine.
I was almost there.
The other cloak runs past her towards us. I run past him, and his two halves hit the ground separately. Duncan charges the man who is still trying to pull his sword out of the girl and the ground and knocks him over. I leave Duncan to take care of the fallen cloak and charge the other two, who appeared less eager to continue their attack after seeing me bisect their companion. Behind them, behind the wagons, I see additional figures hurriedly loading cargo from the wagons into bags on their horses.
After Duncan and I mop up the first four, we run to pursue the fleeing villains. Three of them turn around to face us while six or seven on horses flee to the hills. Two cloaks with broadswords and one with a rapier. Duncan forcefully slams his shoulder into the man wielding the rapier and pushes him beyond his companions as I place myself between Duncan and the two with broadswords. The two of them together were a fair match for my skill. I had finally struck one of them down and was turning to the other when I heard a sickening, wet rasp. I turn and see a heavily wounded cloak taking his rapier out of Duncan’s throat. Duncan falls to the ground with a soft thud. I notice that the chase had led us onto the grass.
Many blood-stained blades.
I perforate the villain,
Raise him o’er my head,
Throw his body down.
I turn to his companion.
Smirks as if he’s won.
He runs himself through...
Confused, I turn around and realize that the horses have disappeared. They gave their lives to delay us. Us!
I bent over and examined Duncan. His throat was bleeding heavily, and he was thrashing about. I placed my hands on his wound and poured the rest of my divine power into him. His bleeding abated and the wound closed, leaving a hideous gash in his skin, but he was stable. I took off my mantle and rolled it into a pillow and put it gently under his neck.
All the wagon drivers were dead; there was nothing I could do for them. Of the six initiates who fell first, only the boy who had pushed the girl out of the way was still clinging to life, but after an hour or so and despite my best efforts, he too joined the Silver Flame. I laid the slain initiates along the road, laying the drivers a little beside them. On the opposite side of the road I assembled the corpses of the antagonists. After the boy died, and after assuring myself that Duncan was still stable, I set about moving the wagons off the road.
Just about the time I finished, a traveler heading to Sigilstar passed and I sent him to get help. I waited with Duncan for another hour or two when a cleric of Olladra heading toward Sigilstar stopped to see what he could do. He cared for Duncan and I stood mostly lost in thought, only coming out to wave gawking travelers along their way as we waited.
After about three hours, I saw three wagons led by horsemen of the Silver Flame coming from the south with haste. They noticed the scene and hurried over. Clerics disembarked from the wagons, some going to the man kneeling over Duncan and some approaching me to heal my wounds. I thanked them and walked to the commander. I saw the other clerics gingerly but hurriedly taking Duncan to a wagon that left shortly after toward Sigilstar. I gave the commander a detailed run-down of everything that had happened. After explaining, they took me to the Flame cathedral in Sigilstar.
[A beat]
I later discovered that the merchant had been smuggling goods that he failed to mention to the church. He assured that there was no threat. No danger. Had he specified that there might be danger and that there should be an experienced escort, it would have raised suspicions about his cargo. As it was, because of the merchant’s dishonesty, a mission of a threatening nature was given to an inexperienced crew.
Duncan never fully recovered from his wound. He was alive, but mute. The fire in his eyes had gone out. He became a scribe in the Order of Ministers, helping with research on a cure for lycanthropy before succumbing to pneumonia about a year ago. And I? Once again, I fell into depression and, once again, Bradbury helped me out of it. He refused assigned missions to spend time with me. He would have been written up if the Keeper of the Flame herself hadn’t granted him indefinite leave.
Even after recovery, I shied away from any command position. Most of my missions thereafter were with Bradbury, and led by anyone else. For a while, we served under a cardinal who later turned out to be corrupt, which led to our first… encounter.
I know it’s not my fault. I know that mistakes are often without distinct blame. But I know myself. And I know that I will always blame myself for Bradbury’s death. The benefit of hindsight haunts me. I see so many things I could have done, that I should have done, that I didn’t do! When the Retriever turned him to stone I should have pushed him out of the way. I should have protected him better. Instead, I meat-headedly kept attacking the thing, not even using my brain. Not thinking clearly. Not thinking. And it doesn’t attack me. It attacks him! And he topples and crumbles into dust because it’s too late… because I didn’t think…
And it wouldn’t be so bad if, you know, there was a Flame for his spirit to go to. I mean, I’d still probably be emotionally distraught, but at least I wouldn’t worry about what happens to his soul. You gotta wonder, what happens to the spirit if there is no Flame to go to? Which leads to the bigger question of “Where’s the Flame?”
[Soundless stammering]
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I was basically running on autopilot after Bradbury’s death. He fell, and I was no longer doing anything. I was watching myself. I watched myself cry in rage and smite the demonic mechanical spider. I watched myself faint as I received the vision of the battle in the room of the rift. I simply watched. I didn’t act. That wasn’t me.
I observed the balor impale the Keeper through its own hand. I didn’t react, but I saw my jaw clench and eyes narrow; I heard my primal roar as my body charged the demon – a warcry full of hatred, anger, despair, exhaustion, defiance, and damnation – thirsting for blood, seeking assurance, swearing vengeance, wanting to hope – desperately, desperately wanting to hope.
I saw myself in the air. I saw myself gutted and dropped. I saw myself crack the masonry of the floor with the force of my impact, and I saw myself stand. I saw myself remove the obsidian blade from my chest. I saw the balor corrupting the Flame. I heard Bradbury tell me to throw the demon’s sword.
So I did.
Pierced by its own sword from a hundred feet below, the demon died in a blast of unholy energy, extinguishing the flame. The dark heart the Flame once imprisoned flew toward my body. By sheer force of will, I staved off its initial assault.
Now I see Khorvaire in flames. Countless dead bodies lie on a battlefield. On one side is a ragtag battalion of barely unified beings of Khorvaire. On the other side, clearly outnumbering them, is a hoard of demons. At the head of the demon swarm, preparing to lead them into battle I see… me. I hear a voice in my ear as the Nathaniel I see speaks the words: “You can’t resist forever. When I’ve taken you I’ll kill your friends to begin with, and then I’ll finish destroying Flamekeep and those wretched followers of the Silver Flame.”
I’m back in the chamber of the Flame, and I see a tiny flicker of the Silver Flame reappear. The voice in my ear is still talking, but I don’t hear it. Beckoning me, beside the Flame, I see the Keeper… and Bradbury… and Duncan… and Lycia. And I know what I have to do. I know my duty: to give all that I am to the Flame, and have faith.
I feel the cold iron in my gut. I feel the warm blood on my hands. I feel the cool flame lick my face and enter my body. The cool sensation starts at my extremities and works its way to the center of my body. The burning fiend within me is trapped, hissing in defiance as the walls of its silver prison creep closer and closer until the burning fire is squelched and replaced by a cool flame. I see my companions, my comrades, my friends smile at me and dissipate, and, as I slip from consciousness, I know I’ve made the right decision.
And yet, where is the flame now? Did it use the last of its strength to rid the world of the demon forever? Is it latent within my body? Can the Flame really be gone? Some scholars say the Flame existed in the world before it manifested itself through the valiant sacrifice of Tira Miron and the Coatls, that their sacrifice allowed for the pre-existent flame to communicate with the people. Is the Flame merely awaiting another voice? Did the Flame “serve its purpose?” Is the flame now unnecessary having purged the rakshasa rajah? What about all the Purified? What are we to do? Is it simply “game over, so sorry, try another god?”
I don’t know. I simply don’t know. Too many questions and too few answers. I want to hope. I want to believe. And I can’t. My world has been turned upside down and I can’t reconcile that which I perceive with my faith. The things I perceived as infallible, the things that I thought could never be lain low were sundered. I don’t know what to believe.
"Ah, Nathaniel! What’s with the disparity between this and the speech you gave at the citadel?"
[Something halfway between dark laughter and a sob]
I put on a good front, didn’t I? Can’t let the general populace lose hope. Even when there may not be any hope to be had.
I feel Thrane calling to me. I long to return to Flamekeep to tend to its wounds. To help it rebuild. That maybe if I spend enough time with people who believe in my words and have faith, I will be able to believe. And yet I sense destiny is not finished with me. She will not permit me to return to my beloved home just yet.
[NATHANIEL crosses his arms, leans back, and stares down into space for a while, then gives a single *hmrh* of laughter]
