Years went by, and though Roland was a few years younger than Argyll’s sons, he was almost as high as his stepbrothers, and he definitely matched them in strength and dexterity. Different rumors were spreading around the Iron Nest about lord Argyll’s stepson. Once old Argyll came back home from a council, which took place in the Iron Nest. He saw two slim figures in the shadowy garden behind the house. Slowing down, Argyll looked closer and recognized both of them. These were Roland and Briena, his daughter, who, despite very young age, was already a beauty just like her mother, milady Galena. The young people were standing too close to each other, and Roland was whispering something to the girl’s ear. Argyll seethed with indignation. His first impulse was to punish both of them, but in a minute he suddenly had another idea. Looking at young Roland, he saw in him his brother, of which the fellow had no idea, even more clearly…

On the next day, when he was going to the Iron Nest, lord Argyll took Roland with him. It was rather unusual, as he never took even his older sons to the citadel. When milady Galena asked why he did this, lord Argyll kept silent. Neither did he explain anything to Roland himself while they were on the way.

In the citadel Roland spent several hours locked in a small room on his own, waiting for the war council to end. Then lord Argyll came to him accompanied by a robust grey-haired gentleman, whose face seemed vaguely familiar to the youth, notwithstanding the rough net of wrinkles.
– This is him, — Argyll said, talking to the gentleman. – The one I told you about, Your Majesty.

The gentleman’s squinting eyes stopped on the youngling’s beardless face. He examined Roland for a long time, as if he was stunned by something unusual in his appearance, and then he spoke to lord Argyll:
– You didn’t tell me that he resembled his brother so much.
– Your Majesty, this is one of the reasons why I cannot let him stay under my roof anymore. The resemblance is too obvious…
– Perhaps, you should have been more cautious and solved the problem much earlier, — the gentleman said, rapping out the words, as if knocking steel nails to the wall.
– I could not act without your direct order, Your Majesty.

Roland still couldn’t understand what was going on and why he was there. He turned to his stepfather pleading:
– Please, lord Argyll, explain, what did I do wrong?!

The silver-haired gentleman answered his question instead of Argyll. He took Roland’s hand and calmed him down:
– You did nothing wrong, my boy. If one of us is at fault before the Only God, it is me. For giving birth to you.

That day Roland met his real father — emperor August. Between his endless wars August managed to get married twice. The emperor’s first wife, Eleonora, turned out to be barren, and August, as a resolute man, divorced her against the will of the church. The emperor got married again, and his new wife Drusilla, who was twice younger than August, gave birth to his long-expected heir, Maximilian, in a year.

Though the new empress was young and beautiful, August never truly loved her. August barely waited for the heir to be born and immediately started preparing for the next campaign. Drusilla’s character was the reason for this. She constantly tormented her husband with jealousy scenes and nagging. Drusilla seriously thought that August wanted to divorce her, and that’s why he was willing to kill Maximilian, their only heir. The boy was under continuous supervision of numerous Praetorian guards and almost never left the Iron Nest. The future emperor was growing up in the atmosphere of suspicion and distrust. In order to provide for the safety of her son Drusilla ordered the Praetorians to hunt all the children who could be August’s bastards, while her husband was away.
Many innocent souls lost their lives due to this cruel order. The emperor, indeed, had quite a few of illegitimate descendants: such things were not considered to be something outrageous for a ruler. Only two children survived as a result of Drusilla’s bloody hunt. One of them was Roland, whose life was saved by lord Argyll. And Argyll carefully kept the emperor’s secret. For many years Argyll was bringing the bastard up at his home, following the emperor’s request. When the boy matured, he started resembling his brother, prince Maximilian, very much. Keeping this secret any longer was too dangerous. At Argyll’s advice the emperor took the young man in and assigned him as his cellarer.
– Let him be always near you, Your Majesty. This is the only way for you to keep him safe from Drusilla’s intrigues. Camp life is very rough, it can easily kill him. If not, he will harden his body and mind in battle and become a useful tool for the empire.

Soon emperor August departed for the next campaign in the East across the sea. The empire was leading a cruel and tough war there. The military expedition lasted just over a year, and August never regretted that he took his bastard with him. Roland never left the emperor’s side and endured all the difficulties of camp life without complaint. After their return to the capital all the noblemen were already gossiping about the bastard of the martinet emperor. Different rumors were spreading, including some insisting that August is so attached to the young man that he can officially recognize him and even appoint him as his successor.
Lord Argyll visited the Iron Nest often, and he knew that malicious tongues, especially those from the church, had already whispered these rumors to Drusilla’s ears. The empress was beyond herself with hatred for this boy. But she was afraid to cross her husband openly, so she didn’t show her displeasure on the outside.
Upon return to Venovia emperor August beknighted Roland and even made him the youngest centurion in the army.
– You know whose blood flows in your veins, Roland, — the emperor said to the youth. — I spent my whole life torn between the necessity to be here and lead war campaigns. But you can completely dedicate yourself to war and protecting the borders of our empire. Let your brother entertain all those noble people in the capital. You can truly test yourself only in battle, with blood and sweat.

Roland didn’t mind such a destiny. Emperor August was an example of a true ruler to him. He took part in every campaign. The talks about Roland were dying out in the capital, and if August was disparagingly called the Martinet, his bastard was considered nothing more than the old man’s favorite toy. By everyone except empress Drusilla.

– As soon as my restless husband breaks his neck in one of his campaigns, I will order the Praetorian guards to execute his beloved bastard immediately, — the empress was sitting in an armchair and sipping red wine from a goblet.
– As your advisor, my lady, I will take a liberty to say that this might not be the best decision. Roland could be much more useful to you alive as a powerful ally than dead as an enemy, — the Lord Advisor bowed before the empress.
– Useful? What are you talking about?
– One shouldn’t enrage the gods striking at their chosen one without a worthy reason, my lady.
– Why do you think that Roland is a chosen one, and he is marked with the seal of gods?
– Unfortunately, I am almost sure of this, my lady. Roland fought in many battles and has never been seriously wounded. Legionaries who saw him in battle swear that the will of gods protects him.
– Roland grew up in your house, lord Frederic, and you should have more accurate information than tales from ever drunken soldiers.
– You are right, my lady, — the advisor nodded. — But you know that the seal of gods on a man is often unseen until the time is ripe, and it reveals itself in the most unexpected moments, as it happened with Saint Ignatius. The Church sentenced him to fagoting for his insubordination and audacious words about the Pontiff, and only when Ignatius was put on fire – everyone saw that the flames could not scorch his skin, not even a little.
– Roland is definitely not a saint, — Drusilla cut his speculation short with irritation. — And he will never become one, if we don’t let this happen. Everyone can be killed, even the one chosen by the gods.
– As long as Roland acts up to your benefits, he is not dangerous for you at all, — Frederic bowed even lower, almost to Drusilla’s ear. — Pardon my words, but he is a martinet just as your husband. Legionaries love him because they are used to seeing him next to the emperor in battle or at the camp fire. His death at the hands of Praetorian guards will only infuriate them, and we don’t know how it will affect the rule of your son Maximilian. You’d be better off having the bastard tamed. He serves the interests of the empire perfectly now, and he will serve your son in the future as well. You don’t want Maximilian to risk his own life in campaigns, do you?
– Of course not! — Drusilla was indignant. — Camp life is not for my boy. Let the bastard do this. So be it, I will follow your advice and spare his life, but if I doubt his loyalty even for a second, I will send Praetorians for him.

Argyll was not lying when he told the empress that Roland was known and loved in the army. The young man had already participated in the most sanguinary battles, and he was never even wounded. There were rumors that the bastard is the chosen of the gods, and that is why he comes out of the very heart of combat without a scratch. And those rumors were actually spreading among legionaries. Emperor August saw for himself a real value in his military talents and promoted Roland to general. Perhaps there was no younger and more popular commander in the whole empire.

In a few months emperor August suddenly caught a cold and faded away rapidly in Roland’s hands during one of his northern campaigns. This was an irreparable loss for the young man.

Lord Argyll was sitting in an upright armchair; his figure was hiding in the shadows, except for the hands on the arm-rests. His right-hand fingers were impatiently knocking on the wood.
– And what about Briena? — Frederic suddenly asked.

Roland became strained as a stretched bow-string:
– She is a good girl and as a sister to me…
– Don’t lie to me, — Frederic cut him off rudely and slammed his dead hand on the dead wood. — I saw how you looked at each other, how you looked at her! You might spend all your time in war campaigns, but this couldn’t have made you a eunuch!

Roland lowered his head:
– I am ready to protect her.
– She has her older brothers and me for this, — Frederic cast away his words. — The question is whether you are willing to take her as your wife! And what can you, a bastard, offer me for her?

Roland looked obviously lost after hearing such an unexpected question:
– All I have is my sword, my armor and my good name. I have no castles or broad lands, if this is what you mean.
– You won’t need them if you do everything right.
– Do what? — Roland was surprised.
– Take what belongs to you by birthright.
– But I am a bastard and I have no right, — Roland rapped out.
– You are the emperor’s son! — Frederic said. — Many men started their struggle with less.
– What struggle?
– The struggle for power and the throne, dumb head. For the empire that you want to protect. Now is the best time to strike. Listen to me, and I will help you. You have no allies apart from me here, in the capital. But you are well-known in the army, and many officers will follow you gladly. We can bribe the Church. Templars are a powerful order, but their power is concentrated mainly outside the empire. Conquer the throne. All you need to do for this is to kill Maximilian. I can lead you to his private rooms. When you are finished with him, you will become the new emperor and will be able to marry Briena. She will bring me many little grandsons — princes.

Roland stood shocked by the words of treason. Then he said:
– I swore to Emperor August that I would devotedly serve the Empire and his heir, prince Maximilian, and I will not break this vow.
– You, fool! Dead men don’t need vows and stupid promises. I am offering you a great future, do not lose your chance. You only get one.
– Lord Argyll, you had better leave my suite until I throw you out myself, — young Roland’s voice was as cold as his gaze was. — Only your injuries save you now, and the memory of the emperor who considered you to be his friend. He was obviously wrong.

Lord Frederic didn’t need to be asked again. He left Roland’s suite, gritting his teeth with spite.
– This is not a military camp, this place is much more dangerous, — he hissed under his nose. — You will not last a day in the Iron Nest without my protection, you’ll see.

The next day, when Roland came to the war council, which gathered in the citadel, emperor Maximilian with his mother Drusilla were already waiting for him. Roland darkened when he saw lord Argyll at the council.
– Ah, victorious general Roland himself! — Maximilian was sardonic when he met him. — You decided to honor us with your presence after all?
– My emperor, I am ready to serve you just as loyally as I served your father! — Roland bowed before the young monarch.

Lord Argyll whispered something to Drusilla’s ear.
– Get up, general Roland, why this pretended obedience? Better remember what you said about my son to our friend and adviser, lord Argyll, yesterday, — Drusilla said.

Roland cast a gaze full of hatred to the treacherous cripple:
– He is not a friend of yours, Your Majesty, rather the opposite: he tried to persuade me to commit treason and betrayal.

Lord Argyll stepped forward and addressed the emperor with a bow:
– Your Majesty, I will not tolerate some bastard smearing my good name in your presence. I served your family loyally for many years, and I was even crippled fighting for your father. Yesterday in a conversation with bastard Roland I started talking about succession to the throne and to found out the plans he was hatching against you in secret. And this ungrateful man described to me very colorfully how he would take away your life gladly to usurp the power and sit on the throne by himself. Of course, before that he would kill your mother.

Argyll cast a speaking eye at Drusilla.
– Kill him! — The Empress Mother screamed.

Roland grabbed his sword, but the Praetorian guards were on the alert. Several sharp spears were aimed at him from different sides.
– No! — Roland shouted in rage, and his eyes seemed to flash with blue light.

Lord Argyll had never seen anyone fight with such perseverance. Though, only the strongest and most experienced warriors became Praetorians, none of them could defeat him. Points of their long spears just ripped through the air around Roland. More and more guards ran into the hall hearing the battle. Roland alone was fighting a dozen warriors. He was wounded several times, but this did not impair his ability.

Emperor Maximilian and Drusilla watched this fight in a daze.
– Do something with him at last, lord Argyll! — Drusilla ordered in fury.

Lord Argyll, who used to be a skilful warrior, snatched a spear from one of the Praetorians and forcefully threw it at Roland. The spear whistled across the hall, found its aim and pierced through Roland’s side. The young man fell to one knee, but did not lose his sword. Notwithstanding the huge wound, he was still trying to protect himself. Several guardians attacked Roland’s back at once; they forced out his sword and knocked him down on the blood-covered floor.
– Finish him! — Drusilla demanded.

Lord Argyll stopped her:
– Don’t do this, my lady. Look!

He pointed at multiple scratches and wounds covering the young man’s body. All of them were glowing weakly and stopped bleeding right before everybody’s eyes; the smallest ones were already healed.
– Sorcery! — Drusilla exclaimed.
– This is a clear sign of gods’ favor. Roland is their chosen one.
– But which of the gods could choose a bastard as their hero and reward him with their favor? — Astonished Drusilla asked.
– We do not know the will of the gods and their intentions, my lady, — lord Argyll answered. — I can only advise you not to execute the bastard right now, so that you do not bring down the anger of one of the gods upon yourself and your son. If the wound in his side does not kill him, there are at least a thousand ways to destroy a person with a more slow and painful death, even if he is a chosen one.

At the behest of emperor Maximilian, Roland was declared a traitor. He was shackled and thrown to the dungeon below the Iron Nest, where he was waiting to be sent to the galleys as a slave. The wounds on the young man’s body were actually healing rapidly. He still looked pale and was extremely weak because of blood loss, but still his life was in no danger.

One day, which was no different from night in the dungeon, a visitor came to see him. Roland recognized the hobbling gait of Frederic Argyll. Approaching the cell, the lord directed the torchlight at the prisoner.
– You regret that declining my offer, don’t you, general? — He asked with a smirk.
– The only thing I regret is not breaking your neck when I had a chance.
– No need to be so rude, Roland. I am here to say goodbye to you. Your incarceration here will soon be over, and you will go to the galleys. A quick death there is better than slow fading away here.

Roland kept silence, and lord Argyll commented:
– Proud till the end! Commendable, but stupid, — Argyll sighed with fake compassion. — You know, I actually saved your life. The Empress Mother craved for your death from the very beginning. But I persuaded her not to do it. Though it turned out to be in vain.

Roland clenched his fists.
– You don’t believe me? — Argyll pretended that he was upset. — But you should. I am telling you the truth now. Do you want to know why I didn’t let them execute you?

Roland remained silent.
– Because of poor Briena, — Argyll admitted. — She could not bear the news of your execution. Of course, death on the galleys will be much more painful for you, but at least you will have time to think about what you have lost, until the sea swallows your bones.

Soon after this conversation Roland was taken from the Iron Nest to Sagunt, a large port at the south-east of the Empire, where he was chained to an oar on a galley as a slave.

It seems like in the end, he actually fainted. But he didn’t fall into the water to sharks. This is how Roland found himself aboard a ship. It was a pirate schooner. Roland was immediately recognized as a slave from a galley by his exhausted look and chain remains. Usually pirates did not spare the lives of crew members from the empire ships. But slaves were a different matter. Pirate captains often suffered heavy losses during seizure of enemy vessels, and they happily enlisted reinforcements from amongst former oarsmen. This saved Roland’s life.

After becoming a pirate Roland soon gained the trust and respect of the whole crew. In memory of Roland’s miraculous rescue he was nicknamed the Son of the Sea Witch. His combat experience and courage helped them win one sea battle after another. Very soon the crew elected Roland as their captain, and he became the most famous buccaneer of the southern seas. Argyll’s betrayal, separation from his beloved and hard labor at the galleys hardened Roland’s heart. And only due to the bloodcurdling events, which almost destroyed the whole world of Signum, Roland didn’t wind up as the majority of pirates — with a rope around his neck.

***
Ancient ritual of the Ophidians, which almost summoned Vortirus, the great dragon of chaos, to the world of Signum, turned into a terrible catastrophe. Ethereal flows of magic, which connected Signum with other worlds even before, were overfilled with turbulent energy. The whole continent was shaken with destructive earthquakes. Water in the seas and oceans was boiling, giving birth to new lands with great pains. The skies were split apart with huge lightning bolts. Storms and hurricanes played havoc on the shores. The invisible border between worlds became thin and broke in many places. Gods, who were exiled once and were scattered around other worlds, felt that their connections with their chosen avatars were strengthening, and some gods even started coming to the world of Signum by themselves, through their avatars.

The cataclysm that battered Signum found Roland and his crew far away in the sea. For over a week their ship was thrown from side to side on the crests of gigantic waves. Gradually the sea calmed down, and water and sky returned to their rightful places. But the real shock was waiting for the pirates ahead: the familiar shore outlines were changed. Well known islands disappeared in the ocean waters, and new archipelagos rose instead of the sunken shores and plains. The buccaneers had to lay new routes and chart the seas anew.

Of course, the rumors about all the disasters that pummeled the continent reached Roland. But now he considered the sea his second home, and he was hardly interested in the events ashore.

Carefree days came for pirates and smugglers. The imperial fleet was not a threat anymore, in fact, neither was the empire per se, which was now in ruins and torn apart from inside. The notions of governance and law were left in the past. Pirates were new rulers at the sea. Roland named his swift-sailing ship The Sea Witch. For several years Roland roamed the southern seas on it. A single mention of the Son of the Sea Witch inspired fear in the port cities that survived after all the calamities and in captains of the imperial fleet.

Once the pirates encountered a large imperial ship at sea. It used to be a flagship frigate. Moreover, Roland noticed the emperor family symbols on it. The ship looked rather tattered and seemed to sail without any direction. The pirates usually avoided skirmishes with military ships, but now Roland couldn’t fight his curiosity.

The pirates attacked blatantly and swiftly. Roland led the boarding party on the flagship himself. Sailors from the imperial ship and a handful of legionaries fought with amazing courage, but they were massively outnumbered. Besides, they were led by the Son of the Sea Witch himself. After a half-hour melee corpses were piling up on the deck covered in blood. Only two Imperials were still standing. Judging by the hacked up armor, both of them were knights. The pirates, who didn’t wish to enter a direct confrontation with them, already had several crossbows and a couple of muskets at the ready. The knights were standing shoulder to shoulder, guarding the entrance to a small cabin at the stern.

Respecting their bravery, Roland addressed them:
– Lower your swords. There is no need for you to die today. Your Only God has already received enough souls of your warriors today. If you surrender now, we will spare your lives and even let you out at the nearest port where we are making a stop. I give you my word — the word of the captain.

The knights didn’t move. Iron helmets with pointed griffin talons were covering their faces.

The pirates couldn’t wait to get their hands on the countless treasures the path to which these two madmen were blocking, but Roland was dawdling.
– I am the Son of the Sea Witch. Have you heard my name?

One of the knights — judging by the crosses, he belonged to the Templar Order — nodded subtly.
– Then you know who I am, — Roland continued. — I am not used to repeating myself. Surrender or die.
– We will not surrender, sir pirate, — the second knight answered, and his voice clearly belonged to a young man.
– But why? — Roland was astonished. — Do you value a handful of baubles more than your lives?
– We value our honor and the vow we made. Though you, being a pirate, cannot understand this, – the older templar replied. — If you are looking for treasure, you have the wrong ship.
– Let’s finish them off, captain, and call it a day, — Red Parset suggested. He was the boatswain on the Sea Witch, and all the pirates feared and respected him.

Roland raised his hand, making it clear that he was the one making the decision.
– Once the concept of honor and dignity was familiar to me, until I was crudely deprived of both. What is this thing you are protecting that is so valuable, if it is not the emperor’s gold?

The templar lowered his sword covered in deep dents with difficulty.
– The thing we are protecting will not bring you anything but a feud with the master of the Iron Nest and the most powerful man in the Empire — lord Argyll. You can see it for yourself, sir pirate.
– Don’t trust them, captain. It’s a trap! — Red Parset warned him.

But Roland’s eyes flashed with furious fire when he heard the name:
– You mentioned lord Argyll? I have already been his enemy is my past life, and I am not afraid to be one again.

Roland left his weapon outside and entered the cabin alone. Very soon he emerged again, carefully carrying a bundle of some sort. When the pirates came apart, Roland unwrapped it and, to everyone’s astonishment, a baby was inside it.

At the sight of the child both knights dropped on one knee, and the templar hurriedly explained to Roland:
– This is prince Demian, great nephew of emperor Maximilian, the last of the Dornells.

Maximilian alienated this powerful order himself. He preferred the sweet words of the church clerics more. The emperor became a close friend of Pontiff Pius the Thirteenth, head of the Church of the Only God. The people in the capital were saying that this bogus saint was just an old philanderer and that he organized orgies with nuns to win over the emperor who loved such carnal pleasures.

Lord Frederic Argyll was one more prominent figure at the court, he became the emperor’s new adviser and his gray cardinal. Thanks to the favor of Drusilla, the Empress Mother, this man succeeded beyond belief, and many important imperial affairs depended on his decisions. Indeed, Maximilian was almost a worse politician than he was a military leader. His arrogance cost the empire many former allies. He virtually severed trade relations and war alliance with the Kingdom under the Mountains. He deemed the centaur tribes from the plains, savages not worthy of his attention, forgetting that their help in protecting the borders of the empire had always been priceless. In the end, on the advice of Pius XIII, he broke the agreement with elves — Dragon Riders and builders of airships.

All Maximilian strived for was glory and gloss. His way of dressing exquisitely and decorating himself abundantly with gold and jewels resembled that of his mother Drusilla. The empire citizens named him the emperor of Two Suns. Maximilian depleted the state treasury at astonishing rate, flinging enormous sums of money around on luxuries and entourage.

When the catastrophe caused by the breath of Vortirus befell on Signum, the empire was just a shadow of its one-time splendor. Numerous earthquakes, hurricanes and tsunamis in a day turned the majority of the large cities and fortresses into ruins. Maximilian took refuge in the Iron Nest citadel under the protection of his loyal Praetorian guards and ordered to pray to the Only God day and night in order to mollify his anger. But singing the prayers and burning precious incenses could not feed the common people and give them shelter. Riots started in every corner of the shattered country. The emperor ignored all the requests and even refused to deliver a motivational speech to his loyal army. Legionaries, who stopped getting their allowance, began to desert. Murders and robberies became the usual thing. This had been happening for over a year.
The desperate people blamed the lustful Pontiff for these events. A crowd of townspeople burst into the temple during a service and ripped Pius XIII to parts. Quite a few high-level church dignitaries died with him.

Maximilian, in fear of the same fate, ordered Niketor, the commander of the Praetorian guard, to bring the capital to order at any cost and to punish those guilty of the church leader’s death. The Praetorians entered the city with their weapons drawn and their banners unfolded. Hundreds of innocent people were killed in Venovia in one night. Some blocks were burned together with their residents. These events were now called the Praetorian Mass or the Ash Epiphany.

In the result the army and even the nobility, his closest allies, turned their back on the emperor. Noble lords openly expressed their disobedience to Maximilian. The garrisons and even whole legions that survived the cataclysm were inciting mutiny, not wishing to serve such an emperor anymore.

The following events were an obvious coup, in the knights’ opinion. Emperor Maximilian and his mother died in the citadel overnight presumably from a sudden illness. The head of the Praetorian guard, Niketor, also known as the Sooty, was declared the new emperor at a closed meeting in the Iron Nest. This rude and poorly educated bozo was the one who burned half the capital and drowned the second half in blood on Maximilian’s orders. Lord Frederic Argyll became his senior adviser. That very minute secret messengers were sent from the Iron Nest to every corner of the former empire with an explicit order: to take away the lives of everyone who had even a drop of the emperor’s blood in their veins.
Only the courage and personal loyalty of a handful of brave knights allowed them to save prince Demian, the great nephew of Maximilian. The whole fleet of usurper Niketor was dispatched to pursue the escapees, but a sudden incredibly powerful storm scattered the ships around the sea, and drowned some of them. The ship harboring Demian had been sailing as far away from the borders of the former empire as it could without any clear course for over a month. Baby Demian remained the last representative of the Dornell male lineage.

– After dark you need to lower the boat off the starboard and wait for me. I left all the necessary supplies in the boat. If the sea currents and the Only God are gracious, these supplies will be enough for us to reach the shore. We will pull out when the first shift of the night watch changes. This is our only chance to leave the ship unnoticed.

At the appointed time Roland descended to the boat with the baby in his hands, but an unpleasant surprise was expecting for him. Pirates met him instead of the knights.
– Going somewhere, captain? — Boatswain Parset asked, aiming a loaded musket at Roland. — I guessed that you ganged up with those two Imperials. You decided to swap out your ship for a soft job ashore? Not going to happen, captain.

Now Roland was not the captain, but a prisoner just like the knights. In the morning the pirates organized a trial, and Roland was facing death for his attempt to escape from the ship.

Red Parset was leading the prosecution, as he was the most probable candidate for the captain’s position. After hearing that Roland intended to leave them the crew roared indignantly.

After the accusation from the boatswain who already saw himself as the captain Roland spoke:
– Well, I won’t play cunning and I will tell you the truth. Yes, I, indeed, was going to leave the Sea Witch and return to the empire.
– Death to the captain!
– Let him hang!
Roland cast a heavy look around the crew and demanded silence:
– I am not finished yet. I admit I was wrong when I decided to take this chance all to myself when clearly everyone can benefit from it.
– Which chance are you talking about? — Red Parset asked. The crew behind him went quiet.
– To gain back everything we lost. With an heir to the throne we can turn from pirates to people of the law in emperor’s service in a day.
– You seem to have forgotten that this emperor is just a baby. And half of the empire is out there for him. Most likely, he will be killed before his first word comes out.
– He will be, — Roland agreed — unless we make a stand for him.
– Why in the world would we risk our lives for this little bastard? — Parset roared.
– The emperor will grant us lands and titles for our loyalty. We will not have to pillage and kill in order to survive anymore.
– Neptune’s trident to my liver, I’d better kick the bucket than become a shore loafer! — Parset grabbed his knife.

Roland cast a cold look on the boatswain:
– Think well, Parset, before you draw your blade.
– Duel! — The crew screamed excitedly.

The pirate custom allowed settling an argument between crew members by accepting a challenge to a mortal duel. Parset was a strong opponent and experienced pirate. No one could handle a knife better than him. So as soon as he had the opportunity he made an underhanded strike and threw the knife to Roland’s chest. Notwithstanding the severe wound Roland managed to pull the knife from his chest and went on fighting.
– Bloody bastard, it is true that you are one of the gods’ chosen ones! — Parset gritted his teeth when he saw that Roland’s wound miraculously stopped bleeding.
Having defeated the pirate, even though with some difficulty, Roland addressed the Sea Witch crew and urged them to join the banners of the new emperor. Most pirates agreed immediately. So the ordinary buccaneers turned into the emperor’s guards.

After roaming the nearly destroyed country pointlessly for a few months, Roland and a small group of his supporters stumbled across a strong fortress at the edge of western mountain offshoots. The fortress was called Zirta, and had a large garrison placed here in the past. Zirta was a strategically important post in the West of the country. By the time Roland and his people arrived, almost all the soldiers had left the fortress. Most of the garrison had deserted when the imperial regime collapsed. There was nobody left to protect the borders. Roland decided to set a base in this fortress. And from now on everyone called him ‘general’.
Realizing that good intentions were not enough in his struggle against usurper Niketor and his adviser Argyll, Roland considered looking for new allies. At that moment the people from a nearby settlement turned to the fortress for help. They insisted that some unknown monster was attacking and stealing their cattle at night, condemning the peasants to starvation. Sir Olid wanted to chase the irksome peasants away, but Roland stopped him:
– We need food and other supplies. If we take the neighboring villages under protection, they will provide us with everything we need.
– But we have just over a hundred people. This is not enough even to defend such a fortress if necessary. How can we help them? — The knight was surprised.
— I will come to their help by myself. This must not weaken the squad, and you can keep guarding Demian as you did before.

Despite sir Olid’s silence of disapproval, Roland went to the village alone, promising to be back soon.

From the incoherent story of the village chief he learned that the beast resembled a lion, a human and an eagle at the same time. Several hunters saw it in the sky over the forest. They thought that the monster settled in the ruins of a half-destroyed monastery at the foothill.
– A griffin? — Roland was surprised. — They say that the last of them died three hundred years ago.
– If it was a griffin, my lord, it was very unusual, — the chief shrugged his shoulders and added with fear in his voice, — Do you think they could be back, sir knight?

Roland decided to figure this out by himself. He set an ambush for the night guest and waited. After dark the knight first heard clapping of huge wings, and then he saw an enormous creature descending to the cattle pen. It resembled the griffins from ancient legends only distantly. Its upper half was human, and its lower half was one of a beast.
Drawing his sword, Roland launched into attack. Despite its impressive size and remarkable strength, the griffin was forced to retreat before the knight’s charge. Roland managed to wound the night guest before it grabbed a cow carcass and tried to disappear, flying towards the forest. Roland jumped on his horse and rushed to pursue. The griffin was burdened with his heavy load and could not fly fast. The pursuit lasted throughout the night. And at dawn Roland found himself at the foot of a large hill, crowned with partially destroyed walls of the monastery. Lots of animal bones were scattered around the hill.

‘Either the griffin has an incredible appetite, or there are several of them here’, — Roland thought.

It was too late to retreat, so he approached the monastery ruins. There the knight found the lacerated cow carcass and the creature he mistook for a griffin. In the rays of the morning sun he was able to take a better look at the half-human and half-lion with angel’s wings. The beast was down on its front paws, breathing heavily. Another creature of the same kind, but female, was bent over him. The half-griffin girl turned her face to the human and said impatiently with a lash of her tufted lion’s tail on the ground:
– You need the cow, human? Take it and go away.
– I am not leaving, — Roland replied resolutely, drawing his sword.
– And what do you need?
– Before I go you will swear that you will back off the human settlements. Otherwise, I will have to wipe you out.
– Are you sure you are capable of doing that? — The half-griffin girl asked with a cold smile.

Roland noticed at least ten of the same creatures, but armor-clad and well-armed, appear from behind the ruins. The knight clutched the hilt of his sword even firmer.
Suddenly a magnificent maiden descended from the sky in front of him. She was wearing a brilliant white robe, and a crimson cloak was blazing on her shoulders. When she appeared, all the other half-griffins lowered their heads and bowed before her. The leader seemed not to notice this. She addressed Roland:
– You are a brave man.
– I am a general, my lady, and I serve my emperor.
– And you came here for your master?
– These lands belong to emperor Demian, my lady, and I will not allow any transgressions here.
– I am Zenobia, the queen of grypharims, and I would be glad to meet the emperor, who is served by such a valiant warrior.
– I am afraid you will have to defer this meeting by fifteen to twenty years, queen.
– Why so long?
– Emperor Demian is still a baby, and he has to learn a lot to rule his country properly. Before that you can deal with me. My name is Roland, and I gave a vow to protect the emperor until he comes of age.

Queen Zenobia clearly liked Roland’s answers, so she offered him her friendship. At her invitation Roland stayed with the grypharims to know these people better. In return, Zenobia bombarded Roland with hundreds of questions about the world of Signum and the creatures inhabiting it. Grypharims escaped to Signum seeking salvation from Siris the Black King, the king of manticores, who swore to destroy every grypharim. Now they were looking for a new home for themselves. Grypharims have never been conquerors and oppressors – on the contrary, they were notable for their wisdom and spirituality. The time he spent with the grypharims just flew by for Roland, and with every day he was more and more convinced that he had finally found worthy allies for Demian.

A squad of armed people arrived to the monastery ruins on the tenth day of his stay with the grypharims. A knight in shining armor was leading it. The warriors arrayed at the foot of the hill. Grypharim warriors also grabbed their weapons, but Roland beat them to it. He rode toward the humans and addressed the knight:
– Save your spear and people for future battles, sir Galahat. There is no need to fight today.

The young knight on a prancing horse lifted his umbril and looked at Roland in astonishment:
– Sir Roland, you are alive?!

At that moment queen Zenobia descended from the hilltop accompanied by steel-clad grypharims. The young knight moved backwards confusedly.
– It’s fine, sir Galahat. These are our allies, not enemies, — Roland calmed him down.

The alliance with the grypharims helped to strengthen Demian’s power. The emperor was a symbol of the resurrecting empire. Day by day his legitimate power and his influence was growing. Rumors about Demian were spreading at an amazing speed in the nearly destroyed country. People started coming to Zirta — those who survived during the catastrophe by some miracle and those running from tyranny of the local lords. There were also some deserters, former legionaries. Thin streams of people were coming together and forming a full-flowing river. Soon a little town had risen next to the fortress. Roland found a spot for everyone. He established severe, but righteous laws. The two knights — sir Olid and sir Galahat — became his closest lieutenants. They were recruiting and training the new army. The fortress garrison grew manifold. The former pirates, who arrived to the fortress with Roland in the beginning, became the first officers. These were tried-and-true people, whom Roland could rely on. Gloomy Beth, who used to be a pirate on the Sea Witch, was one of them. Knowing how courageous and resourceful this woman was, Roland trusted her with the most important task — watching over Demian. The boy was growing fast and needed a bodyguard.

Real griffins were one of the priceless gifts of queen Zenobia. The grypharims used their powerful magic and managed to revitalize several dozens of ancient eggs of these creatures that they found high in the mountains; soon those beautiful and graceful animals were flying around in the sky above Zirta. Roland ordered his people to start training griffin riders. He was also trying to master this art, long forgotten among humans, himself.

The residents of the Iron Nest soon became aware that the nephew of the deceased emperor Maximilian was alive and could be found in Zirta. Several attempts on Demian’s life by the most deadly assassins were made in three years, but they all failed. Roland had foreseen such danger. He had the time to get a deep insight into the ways of lord Argyll, who, without a doubt, was the mastermind behind these attempts. The rooms of the infant emperor were guarded vigilantly day and night by the most loyal and devout people. The grypharim guards also watched over Demian. Each of them possessed some simple magical powers, so tricking them was a very hard endeavor.

Presence of the grypharims in the fortress inspired awe of the new emperor’s power. People were whispering that angels themselves descended from heaven to protect the baby. Roland was well aware of the rumors, and he didn’t mind them.

He hoped dearly that he could enlist the help of the most powerful weapon of the former empire — the Templar Order — in the standoff with the Iron Nest. To do this he sent several messages to the Grand Master of the Order, sir Joseph Hightower known as the Old Master, urging him to throw his weight behind the true heir to the throne. Sir Olid, who served Roland loyally, was a member of the Order himself, but he lost his touch with the brothers, when he rushed to rescue baby Demian. Lord Argyll didn’t trust the knights’ order, so the Templars were banished from the capital and forbidden to return under the penalty of death.

The Grand Master didn’t send any response to Zirta, and sir Olid was very concerned about this.
– Something happened to the Order, — He concluded. — In the past days they would have never stayed on the sidelines if the future of the empire were at stake. Of course, sir Joseph, Grand Master of the Order, is very old, and he has always been overly cautious, but I think it’s about something else. Something is going on in Tartus, and something I’m not aware of.

Meanwhile, the Iron Nest once again attempted to get rid of Demian with a cunning attack. A squad of specially trained assassins of the Illuminati religious order was dispatched to Zirta for this purpose. These fanatics were ready to give their lives to reach their goal. Their attempt almost succeeded, but the resourcefulness of Gloomy Beth and the priceless help of the grypharims saved Demian’s life yet another time. All the Illuminati, who infiltrated the fortress masquerading as servants, were killed, and the little emperor came out of it unscathed.
Seeing that the previous tactics of stealthy strikes did not pay off, the Iron Nest decided to attack openly. Usurper Niketor announced a rally of troops for the campaign against Zirta.
– Well, we have been finally recognized as a worthy opponent! — Roland exclaimed after he learned about this.

He immediately instructed sir Galahat to get ready for the battle. They managed to raise about three thousand of swords together with the fortress garrison, while Niketor’s army boasted over ten thousand and was armed much better. Nobody believed they could win.

Sir Olid tried to talk Roland out of doing it:
– It is complete madness, we don’t stand a chance against Niketor afield, general. We had better sit it out in the fortress.
– Trust me. I have been in many battles with emperor August, and he taught me that numbers don’t win battles, skill does.
– These are fine words, but nothing more. And you’ll realize it tomorrow when it is too late and our army is defeated.
– I don’t think usurper Niketor suspects that we have an army at all, — Roland noted.
– But this doesn’t make him less dangerous. Besides, you sent Galahat instead of yourself! At least let me take his place!
– I need you here, sir Olid, — Roland admitted. — As for me, I still need to figure out how we win this battle.

Roland himself was riding a feathered griffin — a creature which remained just in the vague memories of people since ancient times. Queen Zenobia gave one of the griffins by the name of Galmarat to general Roland as a gift and a token of their alliance. She was taking part in the battle herself. Her white and gold armor sparkled dazzlingly in the rays of the Two Suns — rising Karm and declining Callihorm. At the queen’s orders the grypharims attacked the usurper’s army. The horror-stricken legionaries were running away, not listening to Niketor’s curses and threats. In a few minutes the formidable army was defeated, and the usurper himself perished at the hand of valiant sir Galahat. Victory in this battle marked the beginning of emperor Demian’s rule.

***
Niketor’s death did not put an end to the war. The Iron Nest, the citadel of all ancient emperors, was still in the hands of lord Argyll, who declared himself Marshal-Protector of the Empire. Argyll could easily enthrone another marionette impostor, but all he needed was time; time to gather a new army against Demian. Besides, now when the grypharims, Roland’s secret weapon, were known to the enemy, he could act with much more caution.

Victory over Niketor cost Roland dearly. Almost a third of his people was lying on the battlefield dead, and if the grypharims didn’t come there on time, his troops would have been completely defeated. That’s why, while people in Zirta and its namesake town were celebrating emperor Demian’s first victory, the general stayed in his tower brooding over the map of Signum. That’s where queen Zenobia found him.
– General, you have a reason to celebrate the victory together with your people, dont you? You look like you lost the battle and not the other way around.
Roland bowed to Zenobia:
– We won the battle, my queen, largely due to your help. And now I am scratching my head over the question of how we win the war.
– I understand. You resemble my husband in some way. He also hadn’t lost a single battle — until he was treacherously murdered, — Zenobia said sorrowfully.

She came closer and looked at the maps stretched over the table with interest.
– I am not familiar with the world of Signum. What is the land in the center of the map?
– These are lands of the empire, my queen. They are pulled apart now, and dangers surround us. People, coming to Zirta, bring terrible rumors about threats from the west, north and east. Here, — Roland pointed his finger at the south-western part of the map, — a darkness that goes by the name of Aheron, the Kingdom of the Cursed, has spread. Foul-smelling swamps occupied once flourishing baronies and turned rich meadows into foggy gravesides. Now one can find there only death and warlocks whose hordes of walking dead are eager to flow into our lands.

The general’s finger moved to the north.
– The army of Wildlings captured all our lands in the north. The knights of the Templar Order and our dwarf alliances were not able to stand against them on their own and were defeated by the opponent surpassing them in numbers and ferocity. And, finally, the east. — Roland circled a large yellow spot with dark gray inclusions of mountains, dry river beds and green blots of oases, — Another country — Caliphate of the Sphinx — has emerged and is rapidly gaining strength there. People say that they already control most cities and oases of the Great Sakhara desert and are within a hair’s breadth from fortress city Tartus, the headquarters of the Templar Order. I sent several letters to sir Joseph Hightower, Grand Master of the Order, but I didn’t receive any reply, which is rather strange. I think they have their own problems in the desert.
– So many dangers everywhere, — Zenobia concluded.
– But right now the main one threatens us from here, — Roland pointed at a spot in the very heart of the empire. — The Iron Nest citadel is controlled by Demian’s enemies. They want to destroy him so that the memory of the Dornell imperial family was completely wiped out. If they succeed, the lands of the empire would be swallowed by darkness forever. When I was a pirate I had no idea about all these threats. But now my head is splitting when I think about tomorrow.
Zenobia placed her hand on Roland’s muscular shoulder to give him a tiny bit of hope.
– General, you can always count on my support.

When the last-minute preparations for the campaign were finished, sir Olid informed Roland that two monks had arrived from the capital in secret and were waiting to see him.
The Church of the Only God, which worshiped Emrys as the only true god, was one of the pillars of the empire. Roland saw the ministers bringing blinding flames to the enemies of the empire or making the legionaries fearless and insensitive to wounds with their litanies to the glory of Emrys on the battlefield more than once. Besides, Roland himself was considered blessed with the favor of the Only God. At least, many people thought so, including lord Argyll. Roland used to not believe it — anyhow, he never prayed to Emrys, — but they say that gods do not choose their chosen ones for prayers.

After the tragic death of Pius XIII, the authority of the clergy among the people wavered. The church didn’t have a new leader yet— a pontiff —, but it still remained a serious force, so Roland was interested in their support.

The two messengers were expecting Roland in a dim room with stone walls, as if the words they were going to say here had to be reliably concealed from everyone, god or human alike. The first monk introduced himself as father Conrad. He was tall and lean and had sharp features. His strict posture and manner gave away brother Conrad’s passion to preaching his religion. A supple mind and something Roland did not recognize at once gleamed through his ardent eyes.

His companion, brother Morgen, matched father Conrad: witty, in a coarse gray robe, with a crazed look and shaved crown. Brother Morgen didn’t even feel compelled to look at Roland when he entered; he was completely absorbed in examination of the opposite stone wall.
– Do not take it personally, general. Brother Morgen has not been very eloquent since he bit off his tongue in a prayer ecstasy, — father Conrad explained.

Roland was not surprised. The Church of the Only God demanded fanatical devotion from its followers. But he preferred to stay away from fanatics ever since he served emperor August.
– You requested a meeting with me.
– Do you believe in Emrys, the Only God, general? — Father Conrad asked.
– Father, did you make such a long and dangerous journey just to ask me this question?
– More than that, general, but this question is important to us, — father Conrad’s face was amiable and soft, as if he was forced to explain almost obvious things. – The Church of Emrys, the Only God, — he continued, — is having a difficult time, general. I suppose you are aware of the fate of our last pontiff, Pius XIII. An angry mob tore him apart together with several high-standing prelates right in the middle of a solemn liturgy. The fools blame the church for their misfortunes and are stubborn in their refusal to admit their sins.
– As far as I know, Pius was a frequent guest in the Iron Nest, where he engaged in much more than a prayer with emperor Maximilian. Why would common people love him?

Father Conrad was not as amiable as before anymore.
– General, the church still retains enough influence in the empire, and our enemies still tremble in fear when they hear the name of the Illuminati Order.
Roland knew the secret order serving the church very well. They were well-trained and deadly fanatics willing to make any sacrifices for their goal, while totally brain-washed by the church.
– Then why didn’t the Illuminati protect your pontiff? Any person in the empire and even beyond it can become their target, but they are helpless against the crowd. You know this well, father. That is why you are here.

Roland noticed that the second monk stopped examining the wall to no end and was now drilling him with a heavy unwinking gaze. He resembled a watchdog ready to sink his fangs and claws to anybody’s throat at his master’s orders.
– Lord Argyll, who seized the power in the Iron Nest, is unreasonable. He unleashed the people on us on purpose and had already laid his hands on a large part of Emrys treasures. We are concerned that if it goes on like this, the church will find itself high and dry.

Roland could hardly refrain from a snide remark: ‘Shouldn’t the church be like that?’
– Well, I can cheer you up. I am sending troops led by sir Galahat to the Iron Nest. I think they will lay siege to the citadel soon.
– No one has ever succeeded in taking the citadel by storm, general. And a siege can last months and even years. You don’t have that kind of time and men. I’d say that your current advantage is temporary, and if you don’t capture the Iron Nest fast, lord Argyll will gather a new army against you. We can help you strike from the inside, with the help of our brothers from the Illuminati order. But we have to be confident in our alliance.
– What do you want in exchange for your ‘friendship’? — Roland hadn’t believed in the church’s self-forgetfulness for a very long time.

Father Conrad put his hands together as if in a prayer.
– A mere trifle. Firstly, you will return all the treasures and lands lord Argyll unjustly took from us.
– Is that all? — Roland asked.
– Almost. Secondly, you must cut all the ties with these ungodly beasts that call themselves the grypharims, and especially with their queen Zenobia.

Roland was surprised when he heard this demand:
– I thought that the church should welcome the grypharims to our lands. Yes, they worship the goddess Aria, and not Emrys, but they are obviously creatures of light, not darkness.
– Worshipping the so called ‘goddess Aria’ is heresy, general. And I even heard that there were some people among your forces who started to follow the example of these grypharims and worship Aria.
– My people are free to believe in any deity they wish to, — Roland said. — We were able to stand up to usurper Niketor only thanks to the grypharims’ help.
– General, rumor has it that you are marked with the seal of Emrys. Isn’t it enough for you to believe in the Only God?
– You asked whether I believed in the Only God, father. Well, you have my answer. I saw these intelligent winged creatures come to our world. They are so like us and at the same time unlike us. I believe in multiple worlds and many gods, father, and your god Emrys is not in any way better than the others. If I am, indeed, marked with somebody’s favor, there is no evidence that this is a favor of Emrys and not goddess Aria.

Once brother Morgen heard such words, he jumped up to his feet and hissed angrily at Roland, opening his mouth with his cut-off tongue.

Conrad said gloomily:
– Beware, general. Many people were burned instantly for much less.

***

Sir Galahat hadn’t had time to properly set camp under the city walls yet, when an offer to conduct negotiations came from the citadel, directly from lord Argyll. General Roland warned him about his cunningness and treachery. Argyll, former adviser of two emperors, turned into a power-hungry traitor.

‘Well, I will not fall for his tricks. I must meet him to demand his surrender. If he refuses, I will give the order to start the storm’, — Galahat decided.

At daybreak next morning sir Galahat rode Dagrim to the arranged place. Lord Argyll was supposed to wait for him alone on the right bank of Neda river, in the midst of destroyed city quarters. One person or a hundred could hide in these ruins without effort. Galahat realized that an ambush could be waiting for him, but he relied on his griffin. They could easily fly from there in case of danger.

Soaring in the sky above the city he could clearly see how much Venovia had suffered in the catastrophe several years ago. The wide fortification wall encircling the city was mainly brought down. It was repaired only partially. After the Praetorian Mass — a carnage organized on orders of deceased emperor Maximilian — all the western blocks on the right bank of Neda were deserted and now looked like a black decayed tooth in a tramp’s mouth. But the Iron Nest, the imperial citadel, was still towering against the blue sky as a grey solid cliff — a secure stronghold, an embodiment of the imperial power. Trying to take it by storm seemed a complete madness.

Lord Argyll was rather surprised to see Galahat on the griffin. Nevertheless, he made an effort to keep his cool on the outside and addressed the knight with the following words:
– I am sir Argyll, the Marshal-Protector and the first adviser of the Empire. As you can see, I am not a monster as many people claim, and I don’t want to spill any unnecessary blood, that is why I summoned you here.

Indeed, the elderly lord didn’t look like a monster at all. He was a robust grey-haired man with an austere and spirited face. He was wearing a magnificent cloak lined with silver weasel fur. Masterfully executed artificial limbs filled for his left leg and left arm.

Galahat replied without dismounting his griffin:
– I am sir Galahat, commander of emperor Demian’s troops. Surrender to me, sir, and I swear on my honor that you will receive an unbiased and fair trial.
– Trial by Roland, the oath-breaker, sentenced to hard labor on the galleys by emperor Maximilian? — Argyll smiled wryly. — I know the verdict that awaits me in advance.
– In this case why are you here?
– As I said, to prevent bloodshed. This country has suffered too much, has been through too many hardships.
– How are you going to do it, sir?
– Just a minute, sir commander, — lord Argyll said.

He turned slightly and called out to someone behind him:
– Verus, Gottard!
In a moment, silhouuettes  of two armor-clad warriors emerged from the ruins of the nearest houses. They approached and stood motionless next to Argyll’s side.

Galahat put a hand on the hilt of his sword, wary of a sudden attack.
– These are my two sons. Unfortunately, I am not what I used to be, — lord Argyll said and knocked on his metal arm with a note of a spite. — So I suggest that you select one of my sons for a duel instead of me. Defeat him in fair combat, and I’ll put my life into your hands. But if my son wins, you’ll raise the siege of the city and return to where you’ve come from.

Galahat thought these terms were justified. He could capture the Iron Nest without losing a single man.
– I will fight them both at the same time, sir. The two of them together will at least have a chance against me, — the knight said bumptiously. — Let them select their weapons and name the day for the combat.

***
The arena of emperor August was selected as the venue for the duel. Sir Galahat was completely calm and confident before the battle. He had already participated in knight tournaments in the past and he had never been defeated. He was rightfully called the First Spear of the Empire. It looked like lord Argyll made a mistake when he decided to propose him a duel as a solution for the problem. Both of his sons were known as good fighters, and the older one, Gottard, even became the commander of the Black Praetorians after Niketor. But still they were no match to him.

Galahat wore his best armor for the combat. He entered the capital riding his griffin and accompanied by many esquires with fanfare. Dagrim could transport him to the August’s arena over the air, but Galahat wanted to demonstrate the power of a battle griffin to all the residents. The show was a success: the people of Venovia had never seen a griffin alive. Galahat felt like a victor entering the city he conquered. Hundreds of exultant girls were throwing flowers to his feet when he was riding past them.

Lord Argyll and his sons were waiting for Galahat in the arena. Praetorians in black and gold armor were guarding the duel venue in a tight circle. After the night of the Praetorian Mass they were officially named Black Praetorians. Common people were habitually nicknaming them ‘the sooty ones’. None of the capital residents were particularly fond of them.

Gottard, Argyll’s older son, entered the arena in his black armor of the commander of the Praetorian Guard. He was leaning on a formidable weapon — a morningstar, the long iron-bound shaft, which ended with a spiked ball on a chain.

Verus selected dark blue and yellow armor — the colors of the Argyll house. The younger Argyll decided to fight Galahat with a spear and on horseback.

Appearance of the griffin in the arena caused a stir just as much as in the city itself. Even the Black Praetorians opened their mouth and seemed to forget their duty.
– Are your fighters ready? — Galahat asked, approaching the main loge where lord Argyll was sitting. The lord looked at his sons closely. Both warriors saluted their father with their weapons, so Argyll nodded with satisfaction and announced:
– Let the combat begin!

Verus was the first to attack. He was young and very hot-tempered. Verus was not scared of the griffin and behaved rather boldly. He saddled an especially fierce raven-black stallion for this battle. He aimed his spear right at the griffin’s head. Dagrim didn’t like it and tried to take off. Galahat held him down on the ground with difficulty.
– Stay calm, my boy! We will fight fairly, standing on the ground, so that no one could call us cowards.

Gottard was already approaching Galahat from the other side, swinging his morningstar over his head with a whizz. Understanding that overcoming both his opponents at once would be a challenge, Galahat selected Verus as the target for his first attack. The griffin spread his formidable wide wings that touched the ground, and moved at the mounted knight. In response Verus dug in the spurs to the sides of his raven stallion and tore toward Galahat. They made their strikes almost simultaneously. Galahat’s spear smashed Verus’s shield in pieces and threw the rider to the far end of the arena. The horse, wild with terror, sensed freedom and shot around the arena, dropping wisps of bloody foam from his face.

The Praetorians lifted Verus and took him away from the arena swiftly.

Verus’s spear just scratched the griffin’s steel breastplate, but one of its shards inflicted a deep wound under Dagrim’s wing. Blood was trickling down the beast’s noble chest, and the griffin began screeching plaintively. Galahat dismounted quickly and left the wounded griffin to the care of his esquires. He decided to fight the Black knight on foot.
Here the advantage was with the older Argyll, who was taller and stronger. Galahat drew his sword, and they met on the sand of the arena. Heavy strikes of the morningstar swished in the air. A few times Galahat managed to avoid terrible blows by a hair. He couldn’t approach his opponent enough to reach him with his sword.

Realizing that he could not dodge forever, Galahat made a desperate attempt. He dodged another morningstar blow and ran his sword through his rival’s leg. In a moment the heavy ball fell on his shield and knocked Galahat down to the sand. His sword was thrown far away from him. This was the end. Despite his leg wound, Gottard could finish the duel with one well-placed blow.

Limping visibly, the Black knight came closer and took a swing to finish off the man lying on the ground, but Galahat managed to shift and strike his wounded leg. Gritting his teeth with pain, Gottard lost his balance and fell. Galahat immediately jumped on top of him, grabbed the morningstar and pressed the iron shaft against his opponent’s throat. The Black knight tried to resist, but to no end. Galahat let go of the shaft only when he felt that his rival completely subsided.

Galahat stood up, staggering. The spectators cheered him, but the Praetorians silenced them very fast. Galahat approached the place where lord Argyll sat, bowed and addressed him:
– Sir, I have defeated both your fighters. You must comply with my demands and surrender the city and the fortress at once.
– I am Marshal-Protector, the master of the Iron Nest citadel and the capital of the Empire. No one dares to dictate me what to do! — lord Argyll replied heatedly and immediately gave an order to the Praetorians: ‘Kill him!’

Sensing the danger to his master, Dagrim broke away from the esquires and darted to help Galahat, but, unfortunately, he couldn’t take off because of the wound in his wing. Lord Argyll waved his hand and gave an order to the shooter who was ready for action. A shot from a long range musket rang out, and the griffin collapsed heavily next to his master.
– No, what are you doing? — Galahat screamed.

The next shot hit the knight in the back. In desperation Galahat grabbed his sword from the sand and rushed to the stands where lord Argyll was sitting. Several Praetorian spears impaled the young knight’s chest at once.

At that very moment the Black Praetorians attacked Galahat’s retinue and started a real slaughter.

The stands were in panic, spectators jumped from their seats in fear and started running about.

– General, you don’t have to blame yourself for a crime committed by another man.
– But I knew what kind of person Argyll was, and I sent the most honest and worthy warrior to him.
– You did this because you were afraid for the emperor’s life and you could not leave your post.
Roland shook his head glumly:
– Now, after so many years of suffering and hardships, the war is lost. We lost our army, and Argyll’s troops will be under the walls of Zirta very soon.
– That’s why we must strike first, right now, — the queen said firmly.

Roland raised his perplexed eyes to her:
– Strike? But with what? Our army has been destroyed.

The queen took his hands.
– My general, don’t forget that you still have the grypharims. I will order Kiros and Deimos, the captains of my Celestial guards, to get the celestial warriors ready, and we will descend upon Argyll’s citadel like a bolt from the blue.

Following the plan offered by Zenobia Roland gathered all his knights and legionaries, including sir Olid. Every grypharim could carry one warrior in full armor. This was enough to prepare a squad to seize the Iron Nest.

They attacked at night, when no one could notice them in the sky above the capital. The grypharims quickly killed the guards in the towers and on the walls of the Iron Nest. Roland personally led the squad that burst into the citadel. The Black Praetorians that were guarding the citadel were caught by surprise, but they still put up a fierce resistance. Roland was stepping over corpses, ploughing his way to the suite he remembered well since the days of his youth. In a few hours the citadel, which no one could capture by force before, fell because of such a small party of warriors delivered by the grypharims by air.

Roland entered the hall where the war council meetings used to be held. The map of Signum was drawn in the centre of a large table. Now it looked different as compared to the one in Roland’s memory. The cataclysm changed the coastline beyond recognition.

Roland looked at the map of the world, then at the little soldiers scattered around the table for a few minutes. The figures used to mark invincible legions of the empire. Now all these troops passed into oblivion.
– Did you find them? — Roland asked sir Olid, standing next to him. — I want to see them.

Sir Olid, whose right arm was fixed in a sling, bowed his grey head before the general:
– Your word is my command.

Lord Argyll was the first one they brought. He was wearing his nightgown, and it was obvious that he was taken out of his bed. In all appearances, he couldn’t believe this was happening in reality. Roland’s armor was covered in blood from head to toes, and he looked like a night ghost who came to punish the villain in the utmost cruel manner. After all these years they finally met: Roland and his arch-enemy.

Sir Olid returned to the hall, and bodies of two warriors were brought with him. Roland easily recognized Argyll’s sons.
– We found them amongst the dead. This one, — sir Olid pointed at the Black Knight, — killed a lot of our warriors. Nobody knows, who would claim victory had it not been for the help of the grypharims.
– It’s a fitting price for valiant sir Galahat, — Roland said.

At the sight of his dead sons lord Argyll fell on his knees and groaned savagely. Roland waited a bit, giving him some time to lament his loss, and then addressed him:
– I used to respect you as a father, now I can’t stand looking at you. But you can still save your pathetic life if you tell me where she is.

The unyielding master of the Iron Nest could hardly be recognized in the crippled old man sitting on the bare floor. Frederic Argyll was casting crazy looks all around him. Seeing the queen of the grypharims he started whispering a prayer to Emrys and making the triangular sign of the Only God fervently.

Roland was losing his patience:
– Well, Argyll, where is Briena, your daughter? I haven’t heard anything about her since you betrayed me and condemned me to hard labor at the galleys.

The kneeling lord laughed deliriously. Roland exchanged glances with Zenobia and frowned. He waited for Argyll to stop laughing and asked:
– What was funny about my question?
– Briena! You took her from me. You did this, Roland. Oh yes, your revenge was terrible. You took Briena from me many years ago.
– What are you talking about, old man? I didn’t do anything!
– The little fool preferred to lay hands on herself than to marry someone else. She threw herself from the wall right onto the sharp rocks, — lord Argyll was having a fit of crazy laughter again. — You will pay for her death, bastard. Do you hear me? I swear by the name of our sacred emperor — you will pay for everything!

Roland bent over and grabbed the old man by the scruff of his neck with his steel gauntlet.
– You killed your emperor, don’t you remember? — Roland said through his teeth to his face, but Argyll shook his head in desperation.
– You are wrong! It wasn’t me. It was him, all him… — The crazy old man was repeating through laughter and tears.
– Who are you talking about? — Roland shook the mad man again, hoping to find a grain of sense in his babbling.

Queen Zenobia was near him, a mix of pity and disdain in her eyes looking at the old man in the nightgown.

Having drawn nothing from the insane old man, Roland let him go, and the man rushed to hide under the table, clutching the heavy table leg. He was swaying back and forth, repeating again and again: ‘I didn’t kill anyone, it was all him, he ordered me, and I didn’t dare disobey, I didn’t, no’.
– This nonentity had been your dreadful enemy? — Zenobia asked.

Roland turned to face her:
– He was different when I knew him, — the general looked pensive and sad.
– What is he talking about? And the girl whose name you mentioned, Briena, did you love her? — The white, almost marmoreal face of the queen, which was usually very calm, was now full of concern.

Roland could not answer her, for he was overwhelmed with feelings, he could only nod. He was suffocating in this room which smelled of blood and fire. He wanted to breathe a chestful of fresh air. He stepped to the side and suddenly felt his fingertips itching, as if filled with some kind of energy. Not yet realizing what was going on, he raised his palms to his face.

A horrifying blow behind Roland’s back threw the massive table far to the side. Roland managed to turn around even before the heavy table crashed on the floor. The general was already holding his sword. He could draw it though even the fastest and sharpest man would not be able to see him doing it. And still Roland was late.

Lord Frederic Argyll was standing in front of him, and his mouth was twisted in a demented smile. Lord Argyll snatched the sword blade with his iron hand that suddenly came alive and easily broke it in the middle. The air around Roland seemed to gain some real weight and be crackling with the energy flowing in it.
– It is magic! — Queen Zenobia screamed, but Roland couldn’t hear her any more. He was looking at the one towering above lord Argyll. A ghostly figure cloaked in light and fire.

Looking at it was painful, but averting one’s eyes was impossible.
– Emrys! — Roland moaned, kneeling before the god, because he couldn’t stand.

Lord Argyll remained unbending. Overfilled with divine favor and energy, he turned from a crippled old man to a god’s chosen one in this world. Roland finally discovered who had been Argyll’s true master for all these years, whom he served and to whom he owed everything he had. The god had his own agenda here, in the realm of mortals, and he fulfilled it, using Argyll as a puppeteer would use his favorite toy.

Argyll moved forward paying no attention to Roland anymore. His face was still distorted with wild grimaces, but his body was completely under control of the awe-inspiring god. Apparently, Argyll stopped obeying his orders after he went insane, and Emrys was forced to manifest himself to make the ‘puppet’ act as he wished.

Several guards, including brave sir Olid, darted across Argyll. The chosen one was easily tossing them around and parrying sword blows with the blade shard clutched in his iron hand. The god’s favor animated his metal artificial limbs temporarily.
– No, no, no! — Roland realized where Argyll was going.

All gods were jealous, and Emrys was no exception. He could not allow creatures who threatened his limitless power over people into his realm. Argyll was going to kill the queen of the grypharims on the order of Emrys, and no one could interfere with the god’s will. No one except Roland.
– No! — The general roared again. He jumped to his feet, dashed towards Argyll and reached him when he was already swinging the shard of Roland’s sword to kill the queen. Roland thrusted his half of the sword to Argyll’s neck with all his might.

Hot blood gushed forth. The ‘puppet’ froze as a mechanism that broke mid-step. Then unbearable weight fell on Roland. He felt the god’s fierce look on himself. Blood streamed out of his ears and noses. And if his sword hilt wasn’t stuck in Argyll’s neck, Roland would run it through his own belly without any doubt.

An eternity seemed to have passed with the god’s gaze directed on him. And then everything just stopped. Argyll’s dead body collapsed on the floor with a loud clank of its metal limbs.

Roland felt immeasurable relief. He could breathe and think again. And his first thought was: ‘Am I still alive? How is this possible? Thanks to what or, maybe, who?’

Many people considered Roland a chosen one of gods, and he ascertained it more than once, emerging alive from pickle after pickle. Even old Argyll believed he was a chosen one. But the latest events suggested otherwise.

In the last encounter Emrys was clearly on Argyll’s side, and the fact that Roland managed to kill a chosen one of a god was nothing short of a miracle. Who can act against the will of one of the most powerful gods of Signum and come out of it alive?

Roland turned around and saw everyone kneeling around him. Queen Zenobia was the last to go down. Everyone was looking towards him, but not at Roland himself. They were looking somewhere above his head. Then Roland raised his head and saw a young and beautiful maiden wrapped in dazzling iridescence. Her shape was already fading over him, but Roland still noticed the long magnificent wings hugging her from the back.

When the last thread of the golden iridescence disappeared, queen Zenobia whispered reverentially:
– Rejoice, Roland! Apparently, you have always been her chosen one. Even before Aria brought us to this world, she imbued you with her favor.

***

However, Roland didn’t stay in the Iron Nest after capturing it, and returned to Zirta. He considered it would be safe to bring emperor Demian to the capital no sooner than in a year. Venovia remained a rather dangerous place. Roland was concerned that the army of rebellious lords who used to report to lord Argyll would try to attack the capital. Without enough men to defend Venovia Roland could not risk Demian’s life.

He left a small garrison led by sir Olid to guard the Iron Nest and promised him that the knights from the Templar Order would join very soon:

– Lord Argyll exiled the templars from Venovia when he seized the power. But now they will come back, and with their help we’ll finally be able to bring the much-needed peace to these lands.

Roland took a warm farewell of his old friend. He said he would arrive to the Iron Nest with emperor Demian as soon as the boy would be ready for such a long journey.

After the Iron Nest was lost the alliance of the rebellious lords existed for a very short time. Earlier this alliance was based mainly on their fear of lord Argyll. After Argyll’s disappearance the rebels got into a feud with each other very soon, and all of them hurried back to their domains. Roland considered that no one would dare to challenge Demian’s power after the emperor was back to the citadel.
– You have won, general, — queen Zenobia told Roland when messengers from the rebellious lords started coming to Zirta one after another to make oaths of loyalty to the young emperor.
– I wouldn’t have a chance without you, my queen.
– I am very sorry that you didn’t see your beloved, Briena.

Roland shook his head sadly:
– I have buried her in my heart long ago. Now all I have is the duty to the young emperor.

Queen Zenobia touched his unshaven cheek, and Roland covered her hand with his warm palm.
– Enemies of the empire will tremble in fear at a mere mention of your name, general. They already call you Roland the Proud.
– My queen, we will build a new empire where grypharims and humans will live in peace and true harmony.

They stood like that for some time and then separated silently.

In a few months a message intended personally for Roland was delivered to Zirta. This was a usual basket wrapped in a soldier’s cloak. When Roland unfolded it, his stomach squeezed from the smell that blasted up his nose. A severed head lay at the bottom of the basket. Roland took a close look at it and hardly recognized it.

He found a note under the head: ‘This awaits everyone who does not acknowledge Emrys the Only God’.

Zenobia arrived to the fortress even before he had the time to send for her. The queen was pale and anxious.
– General, I have bad news.
– The Iron Nest has been captured, — Roland said gravely.
– How do you know?
– I received a parcel with the head of sir Olid inside.

Pontifex Conrad turned out to be a very power-hungry person; he decided to seize all the power for himself. Using his zealot monks and assassins from the Illuminati order he prepared an attack on the Iron Nest. The small squad of knights led by sir Olid could not hold the citadel. All of them were killed, and Pontifex Conrad announced the creation of the new Theocratic Empire of the Only God. From now on the leader of the church ruled the country. Conrad made a residence for himself out of the Iron Nest.

After defeating lord Argyll in a painful struggle general Roland immediately made a treacherous and dangerous enemy. Inquisition courts were working all around the country, ruthlessly rooting out any heterodoxy with fire and sword. Pontifex Conrad created lengthy lists of enemies of the church, to which he included all the undesirable noblemen. Being heretics they were subjected to immediate trial of the inquisition. A fire was waiting for those not willing to repent and swear allegiance to the church. This was more fast and effective than any sermons. The noblemen that survived the trials obeyed the will of the Pontifex.

But even this was not enough for Conrad. He declared all ‘non-humans’ — representatives of other races — enemies of the church. Manhunt on the grypharims was opened in the empire. This threatened to break up the alliance of queen Zenobia with emperor Demian. Roland wanted to avoid it at any cost, but he could do absolutely nothing about the actions of the church while staying in Zirta.

So when he was informed that two messengers of the church arrived to the fortress, Roland hurried to meet them.
– This is you! — Roland was astonished to see the new Pontifex.
– You didn’t expect to see me here, general? — Conrad sneered.

The same silent monk Morgen accompanied the Pontifex; now he looked even leaner and shabbier. His body with marks of self-torture was covered with nothing more than a red cloth with heavy chains wound around him. The monk was diligently sharpening the ragged edge of his two-handed sword.

Catching Roland’s glance, Conrad explained:
– Brother Morgen accompanies me in my missionary travels. The church needs protectors.
– Tell this to sir Olid, whose head you sent me in a basket.

Conrad put his hands together on his chest with put-on sadness.
– It was a forced measure, general. Your man would never agree to surrender the citadel to us, and we really needed it. Besides, it was to help us convince you…
– Of what? — Roland interrupted him impatiently.
– Of the fact that we are better at being your allies, not enemies.

Roland looked at brother Morgen, who continued to absently sharpen his sword, with disgust.
– Your way of convincing people is very interesting, pontiff Conrad.
– Well, it is effective.
– You declared yourself and the church to be leaders of the country. And I have only one emperor I serve.

Pontifex Conrad put his fingers on his chest — this was the most common prayer gesture in the Church of Emrys.
– Very well! Demian’s life is in no danger, and I will even leave him his emperor’s title. He will be accepted to the church, and he will rigorously follow its laws. When he grows up, he will be able to participate in all important matters of the empire.
– As your obedient brain-washed puppet, — Roland couldn’t restrain himself any longer.

In a second brother Morgen raised his sword and moved towards him. Pontifex stopped his fanatic servant with a short wave of his hand.
– It is not necessary, Morgen. The general got a little worked up, that is all, — Conrad said, looking at Roland. Then he added — I will spare the life of your boy, but nothing more. You will be permitted to stay at his side as long as he wishes so. But you must immediately lay down your weapons, surrender the fortress and the town and swear loyalty to the Church of Emrys the Only God.

Roland dropped his shoulders heavily. He realized that he had absolutely no chance against the church.
– I agree, — he said dully.
– And one last thing, the most important one. The queen of the grypharims must face the holy court of the inquisition.

– Is everything all right, general? Has anything happened to the young emperor? — She asked.
– Thanks to the heaven, the boy is all right, my queen. He is alive and well.
– Then why are you pale as a ghost?
– I am sorry, my queen. The last thing I ever wanted wass to do any harm to you or your people. But I am a soldier and the good of the emperor comes first to me. There is absolutely no excuse for what I am going to do.

Roland hardly finished talking when figures in long monks’ habits with weapons in their hands spilled to the landing. Crossbows went off softly, and the grypharim warriors accompanying the queen were beating their wings on the cold stones. Roland saw spots of garish blood spreading in the puddles of water.
– Not the queen, not Zenobia! — Roland screamed, trying to shield her with his body. — We had a deal! Not the queen!

One of the monks knocked him senseless with a blow to the back of his head, and someone dragged Roland away from the place of the bloodbath.

Roland agreed to this deal with Pontifex Conrad only for the sake of emperor Demian. Under the terms of the deal Roland had to give Zenobia to the inquisition. Conrad agreed to a fair and just trial, and for this he sent his closest acolyte, inquisitor Atticus, to the fortress. Try as he did to lie to himself, Roland was waiting for the sentence with fear. Roland hoped he would be able to speak at the trial and tell everyone how much the White Queen and her grypharims did to rescue the life of emperor Demian.

But Roland started shivering when he saw the cold piercing gaze of the inquisitor’s colorless eyes. Every night since the inquisitor came to the fortress Roland had nightmares in which he was taken to the inquisition torture chambers, where Atticus conducted long and painful interrogations with him. These dreams were terrifying, but the reality was even worse. Roland was given the right to be near the emperor, and the boy seemed to be safe. But in practice he felt that the shadows in long robes — eyes and ears of the inquisitor — were following his every step and every breath relentlessly. Roland had no doubt that whatever Atticus knew was instantly conveyed to Conrad.

After Zenobia was captured by the inquisition, Roland didn’t have a single chance to talk to her privately. He caught a glimpse of her a few times and he knew she was kept in the castle dungeons, to where sunlight or fresh air never made their way. It was especially agonizing for a celestial creature. Roland came to the inquisitor several time determined to obtain his permission for a short meeting with the queen, but each and every time he received a cold refusal.

Finally the day of Zenobia’s execution was announced in the fortress. Roland was infuriated. He came to inquisitor Atticus with a single question:
– What is this supposed to mean? Pontifex Conrad promised me that the trial would be fair and open.

The colorless and almost lash-less eye were looking at Roland without blinking.
– The holy trial has already taken place, and she was found guilty.
– And what was she accused of? — Roland still could not calm down.

Inquisitor Atticus just shrugged his shoulders, as if he was asked to explain something absolutely obvious:
– Of not being a human.

***
The execution was supposed to be carried out in ten days. A large fire was built in the yard beforehand. Atticus decided that Zenobia would get almost royal honors during the execution. So many fagots were prepared that it seemed as if the inquisitor wanted to burn the fortress along with the queen. At the sight of these arrangements Roland drank himself into oblivion. As a captain of the Sea Witch he often took part in plundering rum stores at captured ships, but even then Roland never drank that much. Now no one could watch the general without shivers and disgust.

As per Atticus’s direct order Roland was being followed in the fortress constantly. Atticus was worried that the general could pull some trick, like instigating the legionaries to attack the dungeon guards and set queen Zenobia free. He still had wide support among the soldiers, and they were willing to obey his orders without question. So every word the general uttered, every look he cast and every move he made were conveyed to the inquisitor himself.

The appointed day of Zenobia’s execution felt just like the day of his own execution for Roland. He was restless, hardly ate a thing and virtually lost sleep. The general was wandering around the fortress as pale as a shadow. He reeked of booze from a mile away. That never happened to him before.

After hearing the next report from his spies on the eve of the execution Atticus frowned.
– Take me to him, — the inquisitor ordered.

A cold rain was falling. Despite this, the general was lying in the middle of the yard stinking drunk. With his beard growing up to his ears, in filthy clothes that hadn’t been washed for a long time, covered in fresh puke, he rather resembled a hopeless drunkard than a legend of the empire.

Atticus scrutinized him for some time and then said:
– This is the man entrusted with guarding the emperor’s life? Looks like he needs a caretaker himself.

He turned around to the monks and ordered:
– Take him to his bedroom and leave him alone. Zenobia will be executed at dawn tomorrow. He will be better off if he stays in blissful oblivion till that time.

As he was leaving, Atticus was thinking about Pontifex Conrad. It looked like His Holiness was wrong when he considered Roland a serious threat to them. The man lying in a pool of his own vomit tonight could not be a menace to the power of the Church of the Only God.

***
Many people gathered to watch the execution of the queen of the grypharims. The fortress could not accommodate everyone, so some of them were even standing at the other side of the gate. Soldiers and officers who used to serve to Roland could be found in the crowd. The general himself was not to be seen anywhere. As Atticus reckoned, he was still sleeping off after last night’s drinking session.

The inquisitor was sitting on a separate platform next to the execution spot. Today he was reveling in his own power. After Zenobia’s execution he would enjoy such an authority within the church that Pontifex Conrad himself would have to reckon with him.

Silent zealot monks in bloody red robes were standing motionless around the execution spot and along the path the queen was to take. From time to time Atticus looked at the sky above the fortress with concern. The inquisitor was wary of a grypharim attack, so he put his people on every tower. They were supposed to give a signal in case of any danger. The watchmen were silent, so everything was just fine.

The inquisitor nodded as a sign for the execution to begin. Drums rolled in the fortress, and the door to the dungeon swung open. The queen of the grypharims, who could barely stand, was led out of it. Her wings, once splendid, were dragging on the ground pathetically. During her incarceration she grew unaccustomed to the light of the Two Suns, Callihorm and Karm, so she was squinting and covering her face with her hands. Her legs were shackled with heavy chains. The people were looking at the captive queen of the grypharims silently. At that moment someone pointed at the other side, and the spectators’ heads turned. First Atticus didn’t recognize Roland in the warrior standing opposite him. The general was wearing sparkling armor, he was clean shaven and was not staggering due to being drunk for the first time in the last few days. For some time Roland was watching the queen as if he wanted to make sure that she was all right.
‘Kill her, — the inquisitor wanted to cry out, — kill her now!’

Roland slowly raised his heavy gaze at Atticus, and he understood everything in an instant. The scream was stifled in his throat. A sword glistened in Roland’s hand, and the general jumped to the stairs where the monks in red froze at a loss.

At that same time disguised legionaries rushed at the monks, and a battle cry resounded from the sky; grypharim warriors led by Kiros and Deimos descended upon the watchmen.

***

The zealot monks were fighting with rage of true fanatics, but they could not match battle-seasoned legionaries and grypharim warriors in combat mastery. Very soon the whole fortress was completely purged of inquisition. The legionaries seized inquisitor Atticus and were going to burn him at the stake that was already prepared, but the general did not let them do it:
– Let him go, — he ordered.

The legionaries did as Roland said reluctantly. Atticus looked at the general, kneeling and wiping blood from his split lips.
– How did you manage to trick me?

Roland frowned.
– I thought about what I should do for a long time. Surely if I opposed you openly, your men would have killed the queen at once. So I resorted to a ruse and gave you what you wanted to see. I pretended that I was broken so that I would put you and your men off guard. As you can see, it worked: the queen is safe now, and you will leave the fortress immediately.

Atticus spit a clot of blood from his lips and said:
– This changes nothing. You have just signed a death sentence for yourself and your people. You will not get away with the attack on representatives of the church. You all will be executed as heretics, — the inquisitor scanned everyone with his heavy gaze.
– I have no doubt about that, — Roland agreed with him easily. — But first you will have to take this fortress by force.
– Have you been told that pride is a sin, general? — The inquisitor said with disdain. — This pride will be your undoing.
– Let us not keep the inquisitor, he has a long way back in front of him. See him off through the gate, — Roland ordered his men.

The legionaries led Atticus away, kicking and pushing him rudely.

The general approached the queen and bowed his head, dropping down on one knee.
– My queen, I have betrayed you. There is no excuse for me. If only I could make it up to you somehow!

Despite her frazzled look Zenobia listened to him with dignity.
– General, all of us are fallible. You thought that you were saving the life of the young emperor the only way you could.
– I was blind when I agreed to it.
– But now you will have to suffer the wrath of the Church of Emrys.

Roland clenched his gauntlet into a fist.
– I swear with all gods of Signum, my queen, Pontifex Conrad will pay for his treachery.

– My queen, I will tell you the truth: the fortress will most likely be captured, — Roland shared his concerns with her. — You’d better leave Zirta and not spill the blood of your warriors in vain.

Zenobia still looked pale after her imprisonment in the inquisition dungeon.
– I once swore to protect the baby emperor with you, general, and I will not back away from my oath. We have nowhere to run in this world, so the grypharims will stay and fight next to you.

Roland bowed to her, feeling grateful, and touched the edge of her white cloak with his lips.
– My queen, fighting and dying next to you is a great honor for me.

Roland was running defense of Zirta mounted on his beautiful griffin, Galmarat. The rider and griffin, both armor-clad, were working in harmony. Flying around the fortress walls on the eve of the battle, Roland could see the spots where the opponent could breach their defenses in advance. When absolutely necessary, he rushed to the besiegers himself, preventing them from anchoring on the wall, or blowing his horn, calling in legionaries. The enemies were showering Roland with arrows and throwing spears, but they couldn’t reach him at such height. The defenders led by Roland successfully repelled the first few attacks.

Pontifex Conrad sent his soldiers and squads of zealot monks to rush after rush in fury, and every time the next wave of stormers broke at the unassailable walls of Zirta. The grypharims were throwing heavy stones from the sky to the heads of the attackers, and pushed the ones that managed to climb the lean-to ladders from the walls.

After he made sure that the fortress defense was reliable, Roland descended to the top landing of the North Horn tower. Galmarat needed rest. Carrying the armor was constricting its movements and the rider in his full battle gear was not easy for the griffin.

Officers with reports were already waiting for the general. Roland listened to them and gave several orders as he went. Seeing the gilded armor of Demian’s personal guards, he summoned their commander. Roland created this squad just recently, and he selected the best fighters for it. He appointed Gloomy Beth to lead them: she could get on well with more than just pirates, and people gladly obeyed her orders.
– Why are you here? I ordered all the guards to stay at the emperor’s side.

A girl whose face he couldn’t remember was the guard commander. She bowed to Roland without taking off her helmet and pressed her fist to her chest:
– General, we are sorry, but you have to come to the emperor’s suite right away.
– Did something happen to Demian? Did Beth send you?
– General, you’d better see everything by yourself.

‘Are the Illuminati pulling something again?’ — Roland thought and hurried up after the guards. In his absence he could trust queen Zenobia with the fortress defense completely. Walking by, he noticed several legionaries and three guards talking to a sergeant near the gate. Roland wanted to ask what they were doing there, but he decided to find this out on his way back.

Following the guards, he ascended to the emperor’s suite. The soldiers hadn’t said a single word for the whole time. Such reticence seemed strange to Roland. When he already was at the door to the emperor’s rooms, Roland noticed something dark at the floor. He bent over and saw a drop running from under the closed door. He touched it with his finger, rubbed it and saw fresh blood.
– What is going on here? Why is blood here? Where is Beth?
– Beth is waiting for you behind this door, general, — the girl guard replied and pushed the door to the emperor’s suite. The door swung open and Roland saw Gloomy Beth. She was sitting on a chair with her head thrown back unnaturally; her throat was cut from ear to ear. Naked dead bodies of legionaries were lying near her. That very moment the girl guard stepped toward Roland and launched a blow to his right side, under the cuirass. It all happened so fast that Roland hardly had time to see a narrow blade flash in her hand. Something hot was streaming down his side. Three other guards had similar daggers in their hands. They attacked Roland from different sides, but his heavy armor didn’t let them finish him off at once. Roland started a deadly dance with them. He didn’t feel any pain and continued fighting despite his multiple wounds.

Roland remembered that he saw guards near the gate. No doubt, they were also disguised Illuminati. While Roland was fighting, defending himself with his elbows and knees, breaking bones and hitting with his forehead, one thought was spinning in his head: ‘I have to be at the gate on time!’

He grabbed the ‘commander’ first. Roland squeezed her throat and twisted the stinger dagger from her hand.
– You are not a human, — she groaned, feeling her end coming close.
– I am not, — Roland exhaled. He crushed her throat, looking in her eyes wide with fear. Then the turn of the others came…

When it was all over, Roland saw that his hands were covered in multiple cuts. He could hardly feel his fingers.
– To the gate! — spitting blood, the general traipsed back, stumbling on every stair. After climbing on top of the wall he leaned against the banister over the inner court. The bodies of gatewards were stretched near the gate. The disguised guards had already managed to push the bolt back by half. Roland tried to scream, but his voice left him as did his strength.
‘I still have time to prevent them from opening the gate and letting enemies into Zirta’, — he thought.

He began stumbling downstairs. His legs were faltering, and he had trouble with every step. Roland had only covered a third of the way when a shadow flew above him. It was Kiros in his knight’s gear. The grypharim landed next to the gate and attacked the Illuminati. As he was blacking out, Roland saw other grypharims descending from the sky.

***

Roland was dreaming of his mother. She was with him, stroking his head. He didn’t remember the face of this woman, as he was taken to lord Argyll’s household when he was at a very tender age. Was she still alive? Most likely she wasn’t, and neither was everyone whom he considered his friends and comrades.

When Roland opened his eyes, he saw queen Zenobia near him.
– The gate? — It was everything the general was able to force out of himself. He was surprised to hear his own weak voice.
– We came in time and locked the gate right in the face of the clerics, — Zenobia answered.
– The emperor? — Roland made an effort again.
– The boy is alive, just scared. The Illuminati killed the guards but didn’t touch him. Apparently, that was the order of Pontiff Conrad. Demian would be more useful for him alive.
Roland wanted to ask something else, but was interrupted with a severe fit of cough.
– Be silent, general, you lost too much blood. It’s a miracle that we were able to save you. When your armor was removed, I counted eleven deep wounds. Even your gift may not have been able to save you. He wanted to smile, but sunk into sleep again. His mother was not there anymore. Instead of her he saw his father. Emperor August was standing next to him and stared at Roland heavily. Roland tried to say something to him, but he couldn’t. Because of this he moaned, gritted his teeth in his sleep and tossed about, dislodging his bandages. Before disappearing emperor August raised his hand and pointed at Roland:
– You weren’t able to protect your brother. Don’t you dare die now, when my grandson needs you. He must ascend the throne.

Roland woke up feeling much better. Zenobia was not there, but the grypharim did everything she could. Roland tried to sit up in his bed. This took several attempts. He was really dizzy, his mouth was dry, and the floor was dancing under his feet as if it was the deck of the Sea Witch.

Roland, still very weak, managed to get to the fortification wall. Legionaries greeted their general with a burst of cries. Roland’s recovery instilled hope in the fortress defenders.
Since that day Roland’s health started improving. He appeared on the wall almost every day. He talked to the officers, encouraged common legionaries, gave advice and enquired about the number of wounded soldiers. The grypharims gave him significant support in defending the fortress, but their help was obviously not enough to win the war. Pontifex Conrad gathered impressive forces at the walls of the fortress and persevered in his attempts to take Zirta by storm. Daily skirmishes were wearing the garrison out, and Roland realized that this could not last forever. Their forces were dwindling day after day, and Conrad was receiving new reinforcements from the lords’ council in the Iron Nest.

***

Queen Zenobia found the general when he was putting on his battle armor. Two esquires were helping him. Roland grimaced with pain while they were tightening the belts.
– You shouldn’t fight, general. You are too weak.
– I am strong enough to thank you, my queen. You have truly saved my life.
– Do not thank me, general. I have never seen such terrible wounds that heal so fast. Looks like Aria herself keeps taking care of you. It’s her favor you need to thank for being able to talk to me now.

Roland tried to smile, but his smile rather resembled a tortured grimace:
– Fanatical followers of one god are striving to kill me, and an emissary of another goddess is healing my wounds. It appears that I cannot hide from the gods anywhere, though I don’t need anything from them.
– Who can apprehend gods’ plans, general? — Zenobia shrugged her snowy shoulders and continued, — I see you have made your decision already?
– Yes, I will lead my people beyond the wall, and we will fight our last battle there, — Roland replied, taking his sheathed sword.
– It is time for the gods to intervene.

Roland wanted to answer something, but he heard the sound of bugle signaling danger from the wall. In a minute the general was on the viewing platform with everyone. The legionaries were pointing somewhere behind it. At first Roland saw nothing except the camp of the Pontifex, but then he discerned a cloud resembling a dust storm at the edge of the valley, near the horizon. The cloud was growing fast, and soon separate outlines could be distinguished in the dust they were raising. Then Roland heard a growing roar, as if the ground itself was shaking from the roll of thousands of drums.
– Damn me, if it is not the cavalry of knights, — said one of the veteran legionaries standing next to the general.
– But where would it come from? — Another one was amazed.
– Perhaps, this is reinforcement for the pontifex’s army? — One more legionary suggested.
– Doesn’t look like it, — Roland said, watching a panic arising in the Pontifex’s camp as soon as they noticed the approaching cavalry.
– I can see the order symbols! — Someone shouted. — These are the Templars! I can see their banners!
– Looks like the gods finally heard us. We are saved! — Roland exclaimed.

Pontifex Conrad was forced to ask for peace. General Roland, as the emperor’s regent, arranged the meeting of the Pontifex with commander Ajax, seneschal of the Templar Order, in the presence of queen Zenobia.
– I demand respect for the Church of Emrys within these walls… — the Pontifex stated.
– You demand? — The templar interrupted him again. — How dare you demand anything from the people here? You should humbly ask for forgiveness for your treachery! I am well aware of your conspiracy against the young emperor, and I regret only that I didn’t come earlier to give you what you deserve, you, two-faced preacher. The Pontifex folded his arms on his chest and pointedly addressed Roland:
– General, I thought I came here to make peace, not to listen to the endless insults. Please, protect me and the Church of Emrys from the harassment from this person. Roland raised his hands in a calming gesture:
– Commander Ajax, with all due respect to you, please, sit.

The templar lingered a bit and sat down, still frowning and clenching his fists.
– Your Holiness, Pontifex Conrad, — Roland spoke, — I accept your peace offering, but before we conclude it, I want to warn you, —Roland’s voice was starting to sound steely, — that if you even try to deceive me in any way or you continue promoting your hidden agenda, I will destroy you and all traces of the Church of Emrys in the empire. Besides, you will have to accept all our terms unconditionally.

Hearing this the Pontifex grew pale as if a cup of poison was thrown to his face. He looked at the cold and dispassionate face of queen Zenobia, and though, she looked icy and calm on the outside, her single gaze was enough for the Pontifex to drop his head obediently.
– Give me your terms, general, — the subdued leader of the church uttered in a hushed voice. — You know very well that I have no other choice.
– I was in this very place not long ago, Your Holiness, — Roland continued. — There is always a choice. The question is whether you are willing to die for your choice.

Conrad turned away and was waiting in silence.
– So you are not, — Roland concluded.

That very day Demian was declared the emperor of the new empire that was named the Holy Grypharim Empire. Thus, Roland consolidated the alliance of the two peoples — humans and celestial grypharims. On behalf of Demian, Roland expressed his deep gratitude to queen Zenobia and all the grypharims who gave the emperor a helping hand when he needed allies more than ever.

A Regency council including general Roland, queen Zenobia, commander Ajax and a representative of the church was to rule the empire until Demian came of age. Religion underwent one more serious transformation. From now on worshiping other gods without fear for one’s life was permitted in the empire. Goddess Aria, who was worshipped by all the grypharims, was declared one of the main gods along with Emrys.
At the suggestion of queen Zenobia Roland received the highest and most honorable title in the empire — the title of Marshal-Protector — apart from his permanent spot in the council.

The Iron Nest would become the residence of the emperors once again, and Zirta fortress was turned into the headquarters of a new order — the Order of the Grypharims. Despite the name, both humans and the grypharims could be members of the order. Queen Zenobia drew up the Rule of the new order herself. Studying different healing and divination methods was declared as its main objective.

Emergence of the new order, and practicing magic that used to be prohibited, too, was a real blow for the Pontifex. Conrad left Zirta in a hurry, as if the monsters of Aheron were at his heels.

Sir Joseph Hightower, Baldwin’s adoptive father, was the Grand Master of the Templar Order. Both enemies and friends of the Order called him the Old Master out of respect. He lived a very long time and saw several emperors change. Some people even thought that the Grand Master sold his soul to the cursed barons of Aheron in exchange for the secret of eternal life, but of course, he did nothing of this sort.
Sir Joseph Hightower competently ruled the Templar Order — a little state within the huge empire. That was happening for many years. Feeling the approach of his death he wanted the power and might to be transfered to Baldwin, his adoptive son and heir, to whom the Grand Master was attached so much. But when the boy came of age, sir Joseph learned that Baldwin had contracted leprosy, a ghastly and crippling disease. It was a wicked joke of the gods: one of the most powerful men in Signum was helpless when he faced his son’s sickness. Possessing every secret in this world, he was missing just the one — the secret of healing. Hundreds of shamans, traveling wizards and skilled healers visited Tartus castle, before sir Joseph finally became convinced that he couldn’t do absolutely anything. This was a devastating blow that affected the old man’s health which seemed so resilient. He didn’t want to accept the fact that Baldwin would hardly ever be able to rule the knights order.
Not long before his demise sir Joseph presented his heir with a living toy — a dark-skinned slave called Zari. Despite her youth, she already was a highly trained warrioress: the children of the desert were growing up quickly. The knights of the Order recaptured the girl and several other dark-skinned slaves during a raid in the desert. The templars attacked a caravan of a slave merchant from the Caliphate of the Sphinx who was moving his living goods for sale. And though, it was not customary to have slaves in the Order, all the prisoners were brought to Tartus.
The girl became a servant in the castle. Being almost Baldwin’s peer, she quickly became friends with the young man. Zari, with her panther’s strength and grace, was always near Baldwin, looking out for him. Some knights in the Order complained that it was unbecoming for the dark-skinned maid to guard the future Grand Master, but Zari proved them wrong very soon.
When the Old Master was gone, and terrible cataclysms befell the lands of the empire one after another, dark times began in the Order. Young emperor Maximilian and his power-hungry mother Drusilla exiled the templars from Venovia on a fake accusation from the church.
Fortress Tartus, the headquarters of the Order, was separated from the metropolis with the Inland Sea. Imperial ships used to scurry across it in both directions, providing reliable communication with the capital, but the Order was forgotten after the death of the last emperor. Rare ships brought contradictory and terrifying rumors. The cities and fortresses of the empire that escaped destruction in the cataclysm sunk into the chaos of civil war. The Order had to survive on its own and stand up to the growing might of the Caliphate of Sphinx without any help. The Caliphate warriors called themselves ‘sons of the desert’, and though, they were descendants of imperial residents themselves, they considered the templars to be invaders in these lands and their sworn enemies.
Ruling the Order in such circumstances was extremely tough. Though, sir Joseph Hightower taught Baldwin a lot, this knowledge was clearly not enough to command the Order, three quarters of which were battle-seasoned knights. The young Grand Master lacked experience, and his exacerbating disease required too much of his strength. He needed the support of the Order’s Chapter — the supreme council of masters. But the majority of the knights included to the Chapter saw him as some sort of sham wearing the order colors, a pathetic cripple and the last whim of elderly sir Joseph. Baldwin would never be able to obtain true support of the Chapter, but for sir Ajax, also known as the Temple Hammer, who suddenly stood on his side. Commander Ajax was the glorified seneschal of the Order. His name was on everyone’s lips, and his word weighed a lot in the Chapter. Other noble knights supported Baldwin following sir Ajax. All of them served sir Joseph faithfully and loyally in the past, and even after his death they didn’t want to betray his memory. These people created a party supporting Baldwin inside the Order.
But as Baldwin learned later, another group of knights emerged in the order. At first, they acted in secret from other brothers. This organization named itself the Blue Rose, and its roots could be found deep in the Order, and even in its Chapter. Its members had a blue rose tattoo between their thumbs and index fingers or on the backs of their heads, under hair. The members of the Blue Rose considered that the time of change had come for the Order, and that the templars had to make their choice, turn their backs on the empire in the west and form an alliance with the Caliphate of Sphinx in the east. One of the main goals of this group was removing Baldwin from power, because the young Grand Master of the Order was making every effort to hold back the Caliphate.
The Order’s forces were not limitless, and powerful genies and other creatures which seemed to come from ancient legends fought for the Caliphate. And if in the past, with sir Joseph, the Order led invasive wars in the south, in the very heart of the desert, now the knights had to defend themselves.

– Master, — she whispered in his ear, while he was lying with his eyes closed, and she was rubbing a healing balsam on his swollen wounds. — Now half of the iron men in the Order support you (she called the knights ‘iron men’). — If you send them overseas, you will not have this half anymore. You will be left face to face with the ones charmed with the Desert Rose. Do not do this, master. Do not send your iron men away overseas. If you do, you will ruin yourself and the Order itself.
Baldwin knew deep down that Zari was right. The Order’s forces were needed on this side of the sea. The Caliphate of Sphinx was a real menace in the south and in the east. All their might was required to fend them off.
Baldwin stayed in Tartus and continued his observations of the opponents’ action in the empire. He was especially interested in the grypharims — angel-like creatures, Roland’s allies. Baldwin dreamed of meeting them, but because of his health he couldn’t afford even to think about such a long sea voyage.
One day two winged creatures, in which the Grand Master unmistakably recognized grypharims, landed in the middle of the fortress court. Baldwin was extremely excited and went out to meet them personally. One of the celestial beings, who introduced himself as Goliath, gave him a message from queen Zenobia. After reading, the Grand Master immediately summoned commander Ajax and ordered him to get ready for a campaign overseas at once. When she heard about this, Zari tried to change Baldwin’s mind again, but he was adamant.
Commander Ajax and the best knights of the Order departed from Tartus port to help besieged Zirta fortress, where general Roland was heroically holding the last line of defense against the superior forces of the church.
– Your father would never leave the Order without any defense, — Zari said, looking at the ships sailing away to the wide blue yonder.
– I am not my father, — Baldwin replied through his mask. — And I regret not extending Roland a helping hand earlier.
A few months passed. Winged messengers of the grypharims were not seen in Tartus anymore. Commander Ajax also didn’t send any news. Danger was coming for the Order from the heart of the Great Desert. The Caliphate of Sphinx rallied a mighty army against the templars, and they were now steadily moving to the north, as if someone tipped the Caliphate off about the vulnerable position of the Order. Not a week went by without the Grand Master receiving unsettling news about one more fortress fallen or one more garrison lost. The remaining forces were clearly not enough to ward off the threat of the ‘sons of the desert’. The genie was out of the bottle, and there was no locking it back. Baldwin virtually lost sleep and welcomed every new sunrise with hope, squinting into the unresponsive aquamarine sea from the terrace of his castle. Day passed after day, but still nothing appeared on the horizon.
Zari, who was worried for her master’s health, also became very thin. Her dark skin seemed to be stretched on her bones. She didn’t know how long Baldwin himself would last. The leprosy that took up residence in his body long ago recently had been tormenting him especially severely. It looked as if he was rotting alive. But Baldwin seemed not to care at all. He was waiting for the ships or winged silhouettes of the grypharims to appear on the horizon. Zari didn’t believe that help would come. Sending the Order’s knights across the sea was a mistake, but a bigger mistake was hoping for their return.

But Baldwin was not going to sit out in the fortress and leave the city to the mercy of fate.
– We will protect the walls of Tartus to the end, until all the knights are defeated. As long as I live the sons of the desert will not enter this city, — he said to the small army preparing to face the enemy.
These words of the Grand Master were not to everyone’s liking. Some templars were looking at the sickly young man in a gilded mask with open defiance. They didn’t want to spill their blood defending the walls of the city that they already considered doomed.
A few survivors who came back from the desert told stories about powerful genies and fiery afreets. Legends had it that they could create a whole city from thin air, and that no high walls or sturdy towers could hold them off.
The sun was on the decline when the last ships and even rickety fish boats left the city harbor. Baldwin came to terms with the fact that help was not coming and turned to Zari:
– I want to ask you for one last favor.
The maid bowed to her master without saying a word.
– Zari, all these years, while sir Joseph was alive and after his death, you have always been with me. You have looked out for me and cared for me better than my bodyguards from the order. You have been my friend. More than a friend, — the young man was uttering the words with difficulty, as if extracting them required an effort, and bursting out they were hurting him. Nevertheless, he continued, because he knew this was the only moment there could be. — I value this, and if I could repay you for all the things you did for me, I would do this without a single hesitation. But now, Zari, I would like to ask you for one last favor. You have to go. Right now, at once. There are only several secret passages that lead away from the city, only a handful of knights from the Order are aware of them. There is nothing left for you to do here. I have no illusions concerning the oncoming battle and our fate. But this is not your fate, Zari. You have never taken a knight’s vow and you mustn’t stay with me till the end. You did everything you could. And now it is time to go.
Tears were glistening in the girl’s large eyes. Kneeling in front of the Grand Master, she reached out to touch him, but Baldwin turned away from her.
– Go! Otherwise, I will have to order the knights to bring you beyond the city walls by force, — he said, trying to sound as strict as possible.
She left without saying a single world. Only after this Baldwin allowed himself to sigh heavily. He leaned on the back of the armchair weakly. Only Emrys knew how much strength was required for him to send her away.
The Caliphate army appeared at nightfall. The ground was trembling under the heavy hooves. Inconceivable wail and roar of a thousand voices reverberated above the desert. The dark canvas of the desert lit up with bright flashes of fires. It seemed that all the monsters of Sakhara gathered to take the city by storm this night. The knights said their last prayers before the battle and were fearlessly waiting for the attack on the fortress walls.
First the warriors saw a ball of bluish fire flare up in the deep darkness of the night. This was not an ordinary fire, but a sparkling lightning ball created by magic. The ball expanded rapidly until it was huge; and then it fell on the city walls with a loud cackle. The first wounded screamed. Dozens of other balls showered the city after the first lightning. The pulsing blue balls exploded with a deafening noise on impact with the stones. They couldn’t reach the city defenders directly thanks to the thick walls, but the explosions deafened and blinded many people.
After the softening-up bombardment the Caliphate army flung its first troops to the battle. These were the nukers — the ferocious guards of the Caliphate. This crowd of thousands rushed to the city walls with savage cries and squeals. Ropes with sharp hooks were thrown up, and the nukers climbed them to the very top adroitly. Others were hurriedly leaning lightweight portable ladders against the walls. The templars entered the fight. The swords and axes began their work. The stones of the walls became slippery of the spilled blood very quickly.
Due to his weak health Baldwin could not fight and be at the city walls with his other brothers. He remained in the citadel and ordered reports on the events to be brought to him every half an hour.
The nukers’ attack was repelled, and riders on stegodons — animals resembling elephants, but with four tusks and extremely brutal in blind rage — entered the fight after them. Stegodons were blazing through everything in their path with a terrifying roar. They went berserk and crushed into the city walls, sweeping the defenders off their feet with their long trunks. At that moment specially prepared siege teams were hopping on the walls. The templars used scorpios throwing heavy serrated spears with attached chains. During the flight the chain uncoiled, and when the spear hit an animal, the chain tightened and hindered its movement. The serrated spears were stuck deep in the beasts’ bodies, and the stegodons fell and got tangled in the chains.
In an attempt to finally break through the knights’ defense osirions launched into attack. These formidable warriors with jackal heads didn’t know tiredness or fear. Besides, the genies and afreets were showering the defenders with fire and lightning bolts. The battle was going on for a few hours already, and bodies of the attackers were scattered all over the city walls. The templar knights fought like lions. Each of them was worth a hundred enemies. Covered with wounds, they were relentlessly warding off the Caliphate attacks. The spirit of August, the glorified emperor-warrior, seemed to watch over them, inspiring courage and confidence in their victory.
When Grand Master Baldwin thought that the city had a chance to survive this terrible night, dreadful news was brought to him:
– The enemy is within the walls! Grand Master, the Caliphate warriors are in the city.
First he didn’t believe his ears, but very soon it was clear that a betrayal was in play: someone led the Caliphate warriors through one of the secret passages. Baldwin regretted letting the dark-skinned slave, Zari, go. He had no doubt that she bore a grudge and got back at him by leading the enemies inside the city. Soon the quarters of Tartus were on fire, one by one. Carnage began among the civilians who stayed in the city.
There was no use defending the walls anymore, and Baldwin ordered his warriors to retreat to the fortress.
The heaviest combat broke out on the stone bridge leading across the graff. The corpses were falling to the water, but there were still too many of them, and they were overfilling the bridge, forming an artificial rampart in the place where the battle was in full swing. The Caliphate warriors were trying to force their way to the fortress, pursuing the knights. When it seemed that the templars finally reeled, Grand Master Baldwin rode to the bridge. He was prancing on a white stallion, and his face, covered with a gilded mask, was shining in the light of torches like a sun.
– Brothers, tonight this bridge will become your path to heaven. It is time to put your vows to the test. The Order is in our hearts!
The battle went on with a renewed vigor. The knights, inspired with their commander’s address, rushed to attack the Caliphate warriors vastly outnumbering them. In the heat of the fight no one noticed three knights dash to Baldwin from different sides. Their clothes bore the templar crosses, but bare swords were shining in their hands. At the last moment a warrior, wrapped in a cloak from head to toes, appeared between the Grand Master and the killers. Despite his delicate build, the warrior was incredibly flexible and masterfully fought with two swords at once. His blows were deadly and precise. All three knights dropped dead on the bridge stones covered in blood. Baldwin was wounded severely and looked at his savior gratefully. Steadying himself against his shoulder in an attempt to stay in his saddle he asked using his last bit of strength:
– Who are you? Name yourself.
The warrior took off his hood, and Baldwin recognized Zari.
– You saved me! But who were they? — He pointed at the fallen knights.
Zari took off a gauntlet from one of the bodies and showed him the Blue Rose mark.

Roland nodded:
– I understand.
Grand Master Baldwin was lying on sheets soiled with blood and looked like a very stale corpse. Apart from his bandaged chest, his whole body was covered in awful sores and bruises. The dark-skinned maid was constantly washing them with clean cloths.
When queen Zenobia entered the suite, the maid sprung from her seat in a frightened manner, alert as if she was going to fight for her master’s life.
– Don’t be afraid of me, girl, — queen Zenobia said softly. — I came here to help your master.
– My name is Zari, — the maid replied. — You can’t help him, he is dying.
– Let me examine him at first, — Zenobia asked.
The queen spent a lot of time alone with the dying man. Roland and Zari let her do it. After long hours of waiting the queen told Roland:
– The problem is not his wound, it is his disease. We cannot heal him completely, but we can stop the disease and alleviate his suffering.
The treatment was hard and required a lot of strength from the queen and priestesses who were helping her. The young man’s body was exhausted with the long-lasting disease, so the deep wound on his chest just wouldn’t skin over. In a few weeks the Grand Master’s life was out of danger. Baldwin finally came round.
Roland told him that Tartus was saved. The Caliphate army hurriedly retreated to the desert as soon as the imperial fleet entered the port at sunrise. At the moment commander Ajax and other knights of the Order were restoring the nearby fortresses with support of the grypharims.
This reassuring news worked as the best treatment for Baldwin. The Grand Master looked at his bandaged chest and asked:
– What about the wound?
– Don’t worry, master, — Zenobia said. — Very soon we will take these bandages off you, and you’ll feel much better.
– I know you, — Baldwin uttered. — You are Zenobia, the queen of the grypharims. Your messengers visited me. They persuaded me to dispatch the forces of the Order and promised to heal me if I helped you.
At these words Zari and Roland looked at Baldwin in surprise. The queen dropped her head:
– I am afraid we were wrong, sir. The disease established itself in your body too deeply, and we cannot destroy one without harming the other.
– So I will die? — Baldwin asked calmly.
– You were severely wounded at the battlefield, and we healed you. Now your life is out of danger. But our magic cannot cure your disease.
Baldwin took this news philosophically:
– My father, or rather the person who called me his son, — Joseph Hightower, the previous Grand Master of the Templar Order — told me many times: ‘If there was anything capable of curing you in this world, I would get it for you’. When I heard about you for the first time, I thought that since you came from another world, you could be able to treat me.
– We did everything we could for you, sir.
– Well, so be it, I don’t harbor any bad feelings for you. And I am glad that I was able to help you in your struggle against the Church of Emrys and Pontifex Conrad. As far as I could learn from the reports, this man is a diehard fanatic and, moreover, he is ambitious, too ambitious.
– You are probably right, sir, — Roland couldn’t but agree with him.
– As long as I am alive you can count on my help and the help of my order. The templars have always served the emperor.
– And I am grateful for these words, sir, — Roland bowed to the Grand Master.

State affairs in the Iron Nest and Venovia, the capital, forced Roland to hurry back to the Empire. Besides, Roland was afraid to leave emperor Demian unattended for a long time. Before the Marshal Protector’s departure Grand Master Baldwin the Handsome invited him for a private conversation.
Silent Zari met Roland in the citadel. This girl with ebony skin was to take him to the meeting with Baldwin. Roland was surprised when the girl led him away from the fortress and living quarters, through covered underground passages somewhere deep into the citadel.
They reached the only iron door at the end of a long corridor. Zari pointed at the door with her eyes.
– Aren’t you going with me? — Roland asked.
Zari shook her head. Roland went further alone.
Having opened the heavy door, Roland found himself in a spacious storage room. Endless shelves, bristling with pieces of parchment and different things the function of which was unclear to Roland, were lining its walls. A massive armchair resembling a throne stood on a platform in the centre of the room. A bearded dead man wrapped in an Order cloak sat in the armchair. A small hearth with a fire could be seen next to the body.
At first Roland didn’t notice Grand Master Baldwin. He came forth from the nearest shelves like a lonely shadow. The young man scuffled to the corpse and touched the dead man’s half-decayed arm tenderly with his bandaged hand.
– Roland, meet sir Joseph Hightower. He spoke about you so much that he would be glad to see you, even after his death.
– What is this place? — Roland asked in a low voice, as if he was afraid to disturb the dead man’s sleep. — A crypt or a treasury?
– None, — Baldwin answered, — but I could say it is a bit of both. Of course, you have heard a lot about my father — the previous Grand Master of the Templar Order. People called him the Old Master. He was feared and respected by many even beyond the borders of the Empire. His power was not evident, but it reached every corner of Signum. The might and prosperity of the Order depended on this power. Have you ever asked yourself what this power was exactly?
– The Order has vast domains beyond the empire and impressive forces on land and sea.
As a reply Grand Master Baldwin snorted doubtfully:
– All we acquired across the Inland Sea is sand and endless wars for disputable territories. But the Old Master dreamt of conquering other lands. I am not talking about the lands of Signum. No, my father believed that sometime the might of the Order would spread to other worlds, parallel universes, which can be accessed from Signum. Just imagine: a knightly order with commanders in several worlds.
Baldwin took one of the caskets, put it on the dead man’s knees and opened it. A fragile sheet of parchment lay inside the casket.
– Roland, this room contains the true treasures of the Order, — Baldwin said, taking out the parchment. — These are secrets of the most influential families of Signum. Whole dynasties depend on keeping them concealed. These are ancient magic essays and all the forbidden knowledge. Everything the Old Master valued so much. Templar knights procured them in every corner of the continent and brought them here. The Old Master hoped to obtain unprecedented power and might with these.
Suddenly Baldwin tossed the scroll to the fire in the hearth and watched the flames devour it hungrily.
– Useless knowledge. They proved to be a mirage in the desert. The more time the Old Master spent learning from the scrolls, the more he wanted to know. It had no end. But the knowledge didn’t give him what he wanted. Only the ancient mages — gods — were capable of opening the gate to other worlds. Like legendary Emrys, for example. My father was not even able to find the cure that would heal me, his adoptive son and heir. Sir Joseph Hightower accumulated innumerable secrets, and they are all kept here. So after his death I gave instructions to bring his body here and to leave it in this realm of secrets.
Roland didn’t utter a word, shocked by what he just heard.
– You might ask why I am telling you all this. — Baldwin turned around to face Roland. Reflection of fire from the hearth was dancing on his gilded mask. — Sir Joseph had a secret for you too, Roland. Do you want me to give it to you?
Roland was starting to doubt the Grand Master’s mental health, and with each moment this doubt was growing stronger.
– Sir Joseph knew you were a bastard of emperor August the Martinet. This didn’t give you a direct right to inherit the throne, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t grab the power by force.
– I swore to emperor August that I would protect his legitimate heirs with my own life, and I will never betray them.
– This is commendable, — Grand Master Baldwin said. — But sir Joseph was not sure that you would be able to keep this promise. He regarded you as a threat to his plans. He warned me to watch out for you and said that sooner or later you would want to become a usurper yourself and drown the empire in blood.
– I was sent to slavery on the galleys for nothing, — Roland said coldly.
– I am sorry, — Baldwin replied. — My father knew that lord Argyll orchestrated all of that. I asked father to help you, but he refused. He said that if you returned to the empire I would have to kill you.
– But why? — Roland didn’t understand.
– Because you are my brother, Roland. You have been marked with the seal of the gods, as have I. Me and you are the only surviving bastards of emperor August. Sir Joseph dreamed that I would have the throne and create a Templar Empire. But my sudden disease ruined his plans. I was weak and feeble. And he could see the strength and might of the old emperor in you. That’s why he was so afraid of you.
It seemed to Roland that the dead man sitting on the throne motionlessly was looking at him from the deep of his hollow eye-pits, as if closely watching what he would do.
– I swore to serve emperor Demian, and I will not break my vow.
The gilded mask nodded:
– I didn’t expect another answer from you. Brother, none of us is destined to become an emperor, though we are August’s children. But let each of us serve the new empire in his own way: you in the Iron Nest and I — here, overseas. My home is in these sands. If you ever need my help, call for me, and I will come with all my warriors. Perhaps, our destiny is to stand guard for the Empire.
Upon this the Grand Master offered his narrow palm to Roland. Roland lingered a bit and covered it with his mighty paw.
– So be it!
Grand Master Baldwin kept his word, and in the next few years the Templar Order remained a dependable ally for the Iron Nest. These were hard years for the empire. Famine and epidemics, gangs of pillagers and mercenary squads of rebels rampaged in the ruined country. Empires are not born in a day, and marshal Roland had to put a lot of effort so that the Holy Grypharim Empire spread its wings over the whole Signum. He managed to restore peace and order, after which he immediately took to reinforcing its borders. In this time the valiant knight found himself within a hair of death more than once. Roland was nicknamed the Proud for his defiance of dangers.
Queen Zenobia told Roland that forces of which no one knew almost anything before had awakened on Signum. The Grypharim Empire would have to face these forces, and the outcome of the forthcoming battle would depend on how well they would be able to prepare for it.
The age of fire and iron was coming to Signum. And anyone who didn’t see and sense it was a real fool.

Bending over a large table in the shape of the updated map of Signum in the centre of the hall marshal Roland was contemplating aloud:
– As of now we have managed to reinforce our borders in the north-west. The seventh and twelfth legions went there. I am most concerned with the border to the south of the Griffin Mountains. The fourth and eleventh legions are there now. General Baras, you said that you had to double your garrisons?
One of the generals standing at a respectful distance from the table nodded his head:
– Yes, Marshal-Protector. Until recently we had to contain the influx of refugees from the western baronies, but lately the refugee flow suddenly dried out. Instead, the watchmen now report sightings of the walking dead in border-straddling forests and of flying beasts with lion bodies, huge bat-like wings and scorpion tails. So I deemed it necessary…
– That’s enough! Everything is clear to me, — Roland interrupted him. — Looks like things went really south in the baronies, if the undead can be seen on our borders. You did the right thing when you doubled the garrisons, general. Triple them if you think it is necessary. And I will redeploy our reserve sixth legion to you.
Queen Zenobia was not present at the council today. Roland would really like her to hear the general’s words. It would also be useful to dispatch the grypharim warriors to the western border to conduct reconnaissance as far as they could. Roland would definitely ask her for this after the council.
– Another very important goal for us, — the marshal continued, going to the regions to the north, — is to get on the good side of our possible allies. Our ambassadors have already met Duke Khan-Dir, the leader of the Free City of Vallor, twice. The power of this city grew a great deal after their victory over the queen of Akkary elves. This is a large trade port in the west of Signum, as well as an industrial centre. The Great Guilds of the city are the base of its economic power. They produce more goods than our whole empire. Besides, the banking services that Vallor provides have already made it the financial capital of Signum. I think we should send another embassy there…
– Marshal Roland!
Roland stopped. At first, he didn’t understand who dared to interrupt him. Turning around, he met the eyes of emperor Demian. For the first time the young man looked not bored, as usual, but rather interested.
– Yes, Your Majesty, — the marshal bowed in reply.
– Marshal Roland, you are saying that only one city manufactures more goods than my whole empire, and that its financial capacity is greater than ours.
– Yes, Your Majesty. Thanks to the Ortus Automaton Corporation and the Great Guilds Vallor has…
The youth asked a new question without hearing him out:
– You also said that ours is the largest and mightiest army in the whole Signum, didn’t you?
– I’d like to believe that, Your Majesty.
– Then I have a fascinating idea, — Demian stood from his armchair lightly and went to the table with the map. — Let me share it with you and the rest of the council.
– Of course, Your Majesty, — Roland was observing the young emperor intently. Demian’s questions and unusual behavior put him on the alert; he was afraid the youth would do something silly. The other noblemen froze in subservient anticipation.
Demian approached the map and announced:
– You’ve been racking your brain on the ways of persuading Vallor to become our ally. You have sent our ambassadors there twice, and with no result. Every time the council of guilds manages to refuse your most important demands, but they do it so artfully that you don’t even see you are being played. Your cautiousness is very commendable, marshal. But I think that it’s time for all of us to remember my glorified grandfather, August, the emperor and warlord. He would never send ambassadors for negotiations if he could send troops, — Demian drew a gilded dagger from his belt with one swift move and plunged it into the city on the map. — We will seize Vallor.
The hall suddenly went silent. The noblemen were looking around them at a loss, not knowing what they should do. Demian looked at them proudly, sticking out his chest, his chin in the air, as if he was waiting for praise. One of the noblemen started clapping his hands tentatively, and the applause was immediately taken up by the others.
– Excellent!
– Brilliant!
– Long live Emperor Demian!
Because of the loud ovation, no one heard the words uttered by marshal Roland:
– I knew your glorified grandfather well, Your Majesty, and he would never start a war on the opposite side of Signum just to accommodate a whim.
After the council on which a decision to issue the Duke of Vallor with an ultimatum to make a vassal oath was taken Roland met queen Zenobia.
– I wish you were present at the council, my queen. Perhaps your word could influence the emperor’s decision.
– I don’t think it could, marshal, — Zenobia replied. — I know everything already. Another war lies ahead of us.
Roland nodded grimly:
– Most likely, unless Duke Khan-Dir agrees to our terms.
– This one is also predetermined, my friend.
– Then all we can do is hope for the gods to help us.