3 bar menu

Vol.5, Ch.7, P.3

“Fie, fie…!” rasped Anette as she trudged along at the tail-end of the 2nd’s retreat. Southwards the knights wended, down the bloodsoaked and body-strewn slopes and out into the barrens. By now, the last light of dusk had snuffed itself out, but plain to see even in the vesper were the furrows of chagrin graven deep into the under-mareschal’s face.

Her memory burnt yet bright with that last fray within the fane. There in the Dēlūbrum basilica had she done battle, and against whom but allies erstwhile: to wit, the spellweaver Alfred and the hammerhand Malena. Indeed, it had been a mere two Salvator traitors that barred Anette’s way and that of her knightly detachment’s.

Long had they vied, the knights thronging to break through, only to be frustrated time and again by masterful magicks and honed hammerwork, till dim grew