Tristan went inside the building with the Pathfinders allied to the Flors. Well, he thought, looks like I've made my choice of which side I'm going to be supporting. He looked around the room and saw that the chairs and tables had been put to use barricading the handful of windows, and near the front doors he just came through. The Pathfinders quickly put the barricades back in place.

Obadai was sitting on a chair in the center of the room, "We've got a group of hostile Pathfinders somewhere out there-"

"They are almost here," Tristan replied.

"Shit. And another forty. That makes fifty."

William raised his hand, "Don't worry about the other Pathfinders. Us fighting each other happens sometimes!"

There were murmurs of assent through the group, and once more Tristan was struck by the fact that this organization he thought was devoted to the pursuit of righteous and just causes were effectively mercenaries with a world-spanning network of support. Pushing the thought aside, he glanced out one of the slits in the barricaded window. "We have thirty outside. They are keeping a distance."

Felicity came flapping down the stairs in the back of the room and landed next to Tristan atop a turned over table leg. "The upstairs windows are open for shooting out if needed."

"I'd rather negotiate. We've got their leader, and twenty of them captive." Tristan went to the stairs and ascended, heading to the open window. Glancing down, but staying inside the structure as to not present a target for archers, he yelled out. "Hey! We have twenty of yours including the lieutenant captive. Not to mention we have an Archon with us."

"You're not the only essence-weavers!" one of the Pathfinders shouted. She began chanting in Beast Speech, and a flame appeared in her hands.

That's not good! Tristan ran downstairs, "They are going to light the place on fire!"

The Archon let out a barking laugh, "If I had enough essence…" he glanced around, "The barriers are still at full strength, except yours, Tristan."

"How can you tell?" one of the allied Pathfinders asked.

"How thick they are," Obadai replied. "I am afraid I only have enough essence to get myself to safety. I'll teleport myself to our anchored vessel and have them come close enough to provide ranged support."

"And save your own skin," Felicity replied with a dour expression.

Obadai nodded, "I never said I'd die for you, Tristan. Just that we would travel together, and I'd do my best to teach you. Take the port, capture or kill the soldiers as you see fit." The Archon vanished with a glimmer of gold.

Tristan turned to the Pathfinders, "Make sure the prisoners are secure. We are going to-" he was cut off as the room got incredibly hot, and he heard the crackling of wood. "Scratch that. Get them up! We use them as human shields." Tristan grabbed the sergeant who had first accosted them on the docks, hauled him up, and put his maul away to swap to the dagger. He held the dagger against the man's neck and gripped his arms that were tied behind his back.

Kicking open the front door, Tristan was met with shouts of anger, and a few arrows were loosed at him – but found the man he was holding instead. Sliding to the left of the building, he saw the flames flickering above him out from under the eaves of the building. In the distant harbor, he could see the ship begin to raise anchor and knew that support fire would be coming soon enough to hammer the soldiers and hostile Pathfinders from behind. The crackling of the now-alight building behind and above them was prominent, as was the essence-weaver who had lit the building aflame.

He kept sidling sideways as more arrows thudded into his human shield, and the man went slack in his hands. Sorry, Tristan thought, as he did not intend to kill people while on this side quest. But, it is a war, and I've picked my side, apparently. He saw the allied Pathfinders coming out of the building with their own human shields, and they spread out in an arc.

A few scattered arrows came into the scene, but the few shots stopped as the two groups squared off. Ten Pathfinders with their human shields, versus fifty total enemy combatants with archer support. Felicity flew out of the building – still invisible – and over to some distant rooftops as she began to do her grisly work of blinding the archers with savage claws. The screams of pain and cursing caused several of the soldiers and hostile Pathfinders to look back.

Now! Tristan charged forward with a shout, dropping the corpse he had been holding as he drew his long, thin sword. I still have a little bit of essence, he thought as he mulled over pushing it into the sword to make it deadlier and increase the reach. But, ultimately, he decided against it. No, I need the armor to be fully active.

The Pathfinders on his side took the cue and charged forth as well, shouting battle cries. Tristan made a beeline for the essence weaver; a Demihuman who took after a fox. She had a dagger in one hand, and the other was flickering with flames that she launched at him. Tristan let the attack hit, and the barrier around him thinned out slightly; as if it was a candle whose wax was slowly melting away.

The woman raised her dagger to deflect an incoming blow, but another Pathfinder got in front of her to engage Tristan. He stabbed forward, which the man deflected, but Tristan's forward momentum brought him into close range, and he stabbed his foe in the gut; lifting him up slightly as he kept pushing forward. He bowled into the essence-weaver and shoved the man he had stabbed on top of her – both went sprawling to the ground.

Tristan could not capitalize on the opening, however, as the soldiers closed in around him, surrounding him and probing him with attacks – each one slowly draining away the barrier. Rapidly sheathing the dagger, he whispered the spell phrase for Command and used his now-free hand to make the gesture of moving his index and middle fingers to his lips, then moved them down to his throat. "Lukekaa sanat huuliltani ja noudattakaa käskyjäni niin kuin parhaiten osaatte." (Read the words upon my lips, and obey my orders as you are best able).

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Obadai's barrier became even thinner, but Tristan finished the spell and shouted out, "Kneel!" He felt incredibly weakened, and he had to stop fueling his armor with his essence as he was almost tapped dry.

The spell did its job, and every hostile combatant kneeled down – that brief instant was all it took. His allied Pathfinders slaughtered thirty troops in a few seconds, and Tristan swapped to his maul as he elected to try and take prisoners by breaking limbs. Plus, the weight of the maul meant that he could let momentum do some of the heavy lifting.

That five seconds felt like an eternity as he lifted and brought the hammer down on shoulders and knees. Screams of pain kept echoing out, and the gurgling of men choking on their vital fluids filled the air. Tristan saw the remaining soldiers shake off the effects of the Command spell as they took up arms once more.

His hands were sore, his breath coming to him in short gasps, as three men approached him. But three became two, as one of them was flung past him and went crumpling into the ground in a heap. A huge, ballistae bolt was sticking out of him. A human skewer.

The Tideskipper's Crest had gotten into range, and it loosed a barrage of ballistae bolts that impacted the soldiers. Panic began to spread as the numbers, through the combination of a potent enchantment spell and a barrage of ballistae bolts had turned the tides.

Soldiers and Pathfinders on the other side threw down weapons and raised hands in surrender. William let out a shout and raised a bloodied mace, "We won! I can't believe we actu-" He was cut off as an arrow pierced through his neck. He glanced down, seemingly in shock, and tried to say something else, but gurgled and collapsed.

Tristan ran over to him as he crashed to the ground. He made to pull the greater healing elixir from his bandolier…but the young man was gone, his eyes glazed over. Damnit, Tristan thought as he looked for the source of the shot. The melee was over, but the archers had seemingly not gotten the message that their side had given up. Tristan felt rage and regret surging in him, and he shouted out, "Surrender or die!"

The few archers that were visible on the roofs scattered, vanishing from sight. But Felicity shouted from above, "I'll get them! Eye gouging for everyone!" as she flew in hot pursuit.

Tristan looked to the group that had surrendered, and felt a heat in his chest. William might not have been a subordinate, but he was an acquaintance, and Tristan was furious. He walked over to one of the soldiers that had surrendered. "Lay down," he ordered. He glanced down the line, "All of you! On your bellies!" his rage was palpable in his tone, and the now-broken soldiers laid down, spreading their arms out. Tristan looked to his allied Pathfinders, "Strip them of weapons!"

They did so, and took some coin pouches and other odds and ends. Tristan went to the essence-weaver, and squatted next to her. "Where is your spell book?"

She grunted, "Hip pouch."

Tristan reached around her waist and pulled the square-sized pouch off of the belt. Reaching inside, he found the small notebook – all written in Beast's Speech. Can't use that, he thought. Maybe someone on the ship can translate. He put the book into his pocket and stood up.

"I am Lord Tristan, for those who did not have the chance to meet me. I am allying myself with Prince Merrill of the Flors house in this conflict. Those who surrendered, and do not resist, will be spared…But," he hefted the maul up onto his shoulder, "I cannot risk you being a problem in the interim. Here is what will happen. You will extend your arms. I will break one of them at the elbow. You will recover, eventually. Once your arms are broken, we will send you to this Prince Roland's territory. You will not fight for him."

"What about our brethren?" one of the allied Pathfinders asked.

"Them too," Tristan replied. "They took a contract, and now they are dealing with the consequences of being on the losing side of a conflict." He nudged the essence-weaver with his foot. "Come on, arm out. I'll even let you choose."

With a shaking hand, she extended the arm out, and Tristan brought the maul down onto her elbow, eliciting a scream of pain as she passed out. He moved down the line in a numb state, still replaying William's sudden death over and over in his mind. Mechanically, in a way, he crushed arm after arm. Only when he reached the end of the line did he come out of the fugue state.

Felicity rejoined him, landing on his head. "I got all the archers. They are stumbling around blind – should be easy to find."

"Harsh," Tristan muttered. He looked over at the Pathfinders and raised his voice, "Get them all together, and lets make sure they are escorted to the edge of town and sent on their way. The dead we will throw to the flames…except William, and any of our own who fell."

The Pathfinders nodded and began to disperse to their tasks. Tristan put the hammer through the loop and scanned the area. Tiredness drew on him, but he mustered the energy to spin his essence crucible and slowly channel the power into his ring.

An hour passed, and the prisoners had been rounded up, grouped up, given a small store of food and waterskins, and sent on their way. Weaponless, armor-less, and all of them crippled or blinded. They would not be combatants any time in the near future.

Tristan was sitting on a crate on the docks. Both of his ships were docked, and repairs were underway for both vessels. The minor repairs for the Tideskipper's Crest, and the more intense repairs needed to fix Destiny's Prize. Obadai walked over and sat next to Tristan. "What is your plan?" he asked softly.

Tristan was still staring at William's now-covered body. One of the Pathfinders had done the courtesy of putting some oilcloth over him. They had lost two more of their own and had laid them next to the young man. "I seem to have chosen a side in this war already," Tristan muttered. "And all for what? Some stupid contract to sell mead. So much unnecessary death."

Obadai sighed, "The political influence you would wield with that contract and being a Maladonian trade representative…you could do a lot of good. More than any of those three would be able to do in their lives."

Tristan smiled wryly, "I don't think William thought about that. And it does not bring calm to me."

Felicity was sitting on a barrel next to the crate Tristan was seated upon. She spoke, "People live, people die. That's life. At least he went quickly."

Tristan nodded, "The Pathfinders said that their allies had no burial rites in mind. Obadai, I would ask that you set them alight."

"I'll take care of it," the man replied as he patted Tristan's pauldron. "What is the plan after that?"

"I got a glance at a map," Tristan stated. "I would estimate that it takes three days for our prisoners to reach their camp. Another three days – two with haste – to reinforce the docks. By the time they get here, the ships will be long gone. My plan is to go to the Fey Realm tonight. Get the trade goods for both ships. And then, I'll send Destiny's Prize on its way. Tideskipper's Crest will stay off the coast, nearby, in case I need to get off Maladonia quickly."

"And then we're heading to the Flors faction," Felicity added.

Obadai nodded, "Well, I will make sure to set up guard rotation with the crew while you are gone tonight." He stood up, coordinated with some of the sailors, and began moving all of the corpses to the still-burning building that had begun to settle down. They began the grisly task of throwing all of the bodies into the impromptu funeral pyre, and Obadai cast a fire elementalism spell that lit it aflame once more with renewed fury.

Tristan stood up and went to the blaze. He stared into the flames, and watched them slowly devour the young man who had shown such enthusiasm, delight, and drive. "Gods speed, William."

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