Glyph

Epilogue

Merov trudged amongst the corpses of the battle. The camp's blackened remnants stuck out like rotten teeth.

It was a good thing he had switched sides. After all, look what would've happened if he had not! 

Unfortunate, really that the Royal Army would only take him if had information. Still, the left wall's weakness had saved many lives. The fact that these lives belonged to soldiers of Cirthond did not bother him, although it probably bothered the Redvale soldiers. 

But who cared about them? They were dead! Besides, the Redvale camp would have fallen eventually anyway. He had just made the process that much quicker.

He kicked a helmet. Battlefields were good places for loot. Not gold, but new weapons and armor. Some supplies. Unfortunately, that idiot Agesvedin had ordered the place burnt to the ground.

He grimaced. Even when he had brought the information, he still had reneged on their agreement. First he burnt the camp, destroying anything of value.

And still he hadn't even managed to bring in Dirk alive. A glyphwarden was worth a lot. Both for military and financial reasons. Dirk would be able to keep more of his men alive in battle, and his presence would raise the reputation of his company. Yes, if the boy was still alive and he could find him, everything would be worth it.

But that fool had not even been somewhat lenient in his treatment of him. Forget just stabbing the poor boy, the thrice-blasted cur had fried him with a bolt of lightning from what he said!

One day soon, that oathbreaker would get what was coming to him.

His musings on revenge were interrupted by the voice of one of his men.

"Sir," he called. "We found him."

Merov sped up his pace, trying to control his mounting excitement. They may have the wrong man, he told himself patiently.

But as soon as he arrived at the site where his men had clustered, he knew they were not wrong. 

"Good work, Engeir," he said, tossing the man a coin. 

Then he leaned in closer. The young mage lay as if dead, his face pale and his eyes half closed. No, no, no. Not after all he had gone through! He couldn't be dead.

He leaned in closer. Breathe, breathe, he prayed silently.

"Finjon, fetch water," he ordered. "Helfin, use some spears to build a stretcher."

As his men rushed to follow his orders, he allowed himself a grin as he looked at the slowly expanding chest of the glyphwarden.

He was alive.

***

Under a ragged piece of cloth, a figure stirred. He silently watched Dirk be taken away on a stretcher. His unflinching eyes never glanced away from the helpless figure. William glared at the survivor. His eyes reflected the smoldering flames of the camp. And he smiled.

***

Greetings, readers. If you enjoyed this chapter, please don't forget to vote and/or comment.

I am going to be taking a break for some time from writing. 

I will still check messages and comments, though, so feel free to shoot a pm if you want to talk.

I don't know how long this break will last, so until that time, goodbye.

-DogEaredPages916