Cecil resisted the urge to turn around and look at the wondrous being which had graced the infirmary with his presence. As a mere acolyte, he was not worthy of the task of guiding such an esteemed personage, but was resolved to give it his best effort.
He didn't know what brought the holy entity here, but was thankful to be a part of it. After all, it wasn't often one had the chance to see a Saint in action.
"Benevolent One, the area I spoke of is just up ahead. Although I dare not question your intentions, I must warn you that it is...not in the best state at the moment." He was having a hard time explaining that the holding cell for Tenundian prisoners was little more than a fenced-in pasture land near the wall that had been hastily converted to the purpose with Earth Magic, once the sheer number of captured soldiers became clear. To keep things simple they focused on making an inverted cone, but this just added to the misery.
Of the thousand or so Tenundians who had entered the city in one capacity or another, only a little more than a hundred remained, and the vast majority of those were injured. Cecil had only seen the "Pit" in passing on his way to the infirmary, but he had been disturbed by such a concentration of human suffering in a single area.
Although nominally secure against escape, the prison did little to protect its inhabitants from either the elements or the spite of the locals, who pelted the captured soldiers with all manner of refuse and insults. The guards, many of whom had lost friends, family, or comrades to the invaders, stood by without helping. It seemed that the only thing left for them, was a short period of suffering while waiting for the release of death.
It pained the young acolyte to think of people being subjected to such agony and humiliation, even if they had invaded his home. Then again, he had always been softhearted, part of what had attracted him to the clergy in the first place.
So, when the Saint asked for additional patients, Cecil understood at once. This merciful envoy of the gods had been sent to provide succor for all the sufferers in this city, regardless of their allegiance. It was an act seemingly torn from the church's legends.
"It matters not." The Saint replied, his steely voice sending shivers down the acolyte's spine.
"Yes, Benevolent One. Right this way." Cecil answered while forging a path through the sparsely populated streets. The assault had only come to an end a few hours ago, and the remaining citizens had emerged to take stock of the damage.
However, as they approached the makeshift prison, the crowd grew thicker and more agitated.
[This isn't good.] Cecil thought to himself. Evidently, word had gotten around about the presence of Tenundian prisoners inside the city walls. He hoped that nothing unfortunate had yet occurred, but the mood of the Almirans around him was growing darker.
They finally broke through to the road in front of the converted pasture. A mob, for lack of a better term, had formed in front of a thin line of guards, and was pressing up against a rudimentary barricade that was the only thing preventing them from getting their hands on the prisoners.
While things hadn't gotten violent yet, the young priest could tell that it was only a matter of time. Any second now, the Almiran citizens would get fed up, and simply overwhelm the guards. At which point, this street would become the scene of a tragedy.
Cecil was still trying to figure out what to do, when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and with it came a wash of calming warmth. Suddenly he was relaxed, peaceful, and rested, as if he had just finished an afternoon nap while bathing in the summer sun. For a young man who'd spent the majority of his life inside musty libraries and temples, the feeling was new and refreshing.
The Saint stepped past him with a simple nod in his direction, and slowly moved out into the street. It didn't take long for members of the mob to take note of the newcomer, since his trademark mask made him stand out. Their response, however, surprised Cecil.
"The Dragonknight!" A young woman yelled, looking astonished.
"He's here to finish the job!" Another man announced, eliciting a round of cheers.
The Saint, or perhaps Dragonknight, Cecil was no longer sure, ignored the response of the crowd, and took advantage of the path that formed naturally, allowing him to approach the guards. The priest did his best to follow along.
A man dressed in the uniform of a sergeant of the Almiran City Watch stepped out to meet him, a look of deep concern on his face. "Sir Dragonknight, it's an honor, but I have to ask, what's your business?"
"I'm here to see the prisoners." Came the straightforward reply. Nevertheless, it carried a weight that made any argument impossible.
The sergeant paled, but nodded. "I couldn't stop you, even if I wanted to, but these prisoners are under my care. I have to protest against their maltreatment." His eyes took on a slightly shifty cast, before leaning in close. "Just for appearance's sake anyway."
Then, without another word, the man moved to the side while ordering his soldiers to clear a path for the Saint, who strode forward into the 'Pit.'
In the few short hours since Cecil had last seen the prison, it had grown much worse. Crowded into a teeming horde by the steep slope of the cone shaped enclosure, the Tenundian soldiers were a sorry lot. Most were still covered in the dirt and gore of battle, and many were baring fresh injuries and stains from thrown rocks and garbage. The former of which gave the already foul air a heady stench of rot.
Due to the angle of the steep depression, the prisoners were forced to stand in uncomfortable positions, or simply collapse on top of one another, crushing the unfortunate soldiers underneath. From Cecil's perspective at the rim of the prison, he could tell that the most severely wounded people were crowded near the center, where the accumulated garbage and debris had formed into something that resembled a flat plane. From the looks of it, many of these were on the threshold of death, if they hadn't reached it already.
The Saint took a moment to survey the group. They were a ragged bunch, eyes filled with sullen resentment and despair. These were people that had given up already, and were now simply waiting for it all to end.
Cecil felt his stomach twist in sympathetic pain. While he was still trying to control his trembling hands, the divine being next to him went to work.
By simply raising his hand, he drew the pit back up to the surface, bringing it to the same level it once held and erasing the work that had taken a team of Earth Mage's nearly a half hour to complete. In doing so, he brought the Tenundians into clear view of the mob, causing the angry citizens to erupt into a bloodthirsty roar. The guards were forced back by a sudden surge of motion, barely holding onto the semblance of a formation. However, it was clear that they would soon buckle.
Either not noticing the change in the mob's demeanor, or not caring, the Saint stepped forward until he was was standing just in front of the Tenundians. While a few of them had enough courage to issue hostile glares, the majority of the prisoners averted their gazes, passively awaiting for whatever misery was in their future.
The Saint whispered quietly in a voice that was just a little too soft to be understood, but the soothing and musical sounding words that flowed from the man's lips spoke to something deep within Cecil. He sensed that something wondrous was about to happen.
A warm light began to suffuse the clearing, growing stronger every second until it became painful to even look at. The priest could hear gasps of surprise, as the noise of the crowd died down completely, until the only sound that could be heard was the soft hum of energy seeming to come from the air itself. After a few moments, the strange light vanished.
Cecil blinked in the sudden darkening, and started staring around at the clearing, surprised to see how dreary and unpleasant the area seemed to be after being exposed to the Saint's illumination. He was so confused by the change, he almost missed it as the divine being passed by him, heading back towards the crowd.
Whirling in surprise, the priest asked. "Benevolent One?"
The Saint paused, glancing back. "I'm done here, so I will be moving on. There is still much I need to do." With that, he turned once more and vanished into the befuddled crowd.
An excited cry arose from the prisoners behind him. "Lawrence! You're alright!"
Other, similar exclamations followed as the Tenundians realized that their injuries had vanished, and those who had been on death's door mere seconds ago were now well enough to stand. Cecil marveled as their despairing faces morphed, almost as if by magic, into ones bearing joy and hope.
He heard the guard sergeant fall in beside him, speaking in hushed tones. "He healed them. All of them. In an instant." He paused sounding confused. "But why? Aren't they the enemy?"
Cecil glanced back at where the Saint had disappeared, somehow knowing that the esteemed figure would not return to defend his reputation. He was starting to understand his purpose here. He was not meant to be a mere guide, for surely a divine being would have no need of mortal assistance in that regard. No, his role was a much simpler and more difficult one. He was to be a voice.
"Sergeant, I understand your feelings." Cecil began, speaking loud enough for the crowd to hear as well. "To see the ones responsible for killing our comrades and endangering our home being blessed in this manner, inspires mixed emotions. Knowing that the Saint has seen fit to heal the soldiers of an enemy nation, one which seeks to destroy the great city of Almirn, is hard to bear."
The young priest focused on his words, striving with every ounce of his being to not fail the one who had given him this task.
Although he did not realize it, the clearing had lapsed into silence, with every person, Almiran and Tenundian alike, straining to hear his next words.
"However, we cannot let our hatred destroy the very thing that gives rise to our greatness. As the Goddess Aminatrea said during her appearance before the first of the Pyrathien emperors, 'All that lives and breaths in this world stands beneath the same sky. All that dies, returns to the same earth. Let the boundaries between you remain nothing more than lines in the dirt, and embrace each other as siblings.'"
He paused to take a breath, and realized that everyone was watching him, their faces largely unreadable. A tension hung in the air, and Cecil knew he had to finish strong or risk becoming a target of the mob's ire.
"Though the Tenundians have wronged us, they are still men and women who have been born into this world. They live and hope and dream just as all of you have. They are brothers and sisters, daughters and sons, fathers and mothers, whose families will mourn them once they have gone." Sweeping his gaze across the mob, Cecil smiled. "Let us not be dragged down into the depths of depravity by our hatred. Instead, show them the greatness of our spirit. Show them that, despite the conflicts of our two nations, we see them for what they are, fellow inhabitants of this world and beings deserving of our mercy."
Silence fell on the clearing as the mob digested this. For a moment Cecil was afraid that he had failed, that the anger would return and nothing would stop the crowd from tearing the captured soldiers apart. However, a young boy, no older than ten, slipped past the guards and made his way towards the Tenundians.
By some unspoken agreement, neither side moved to prevent him from doing so. Obviously embarrassed by the attention of hundreds of adults, the boy fidgeted for a few moments before drawing something from his pocket and holding it out to one of the prisoners, a young woman in a torn and bloodstained uniform. Numbly she reached out and accepted the item.
It was an apple.
Perhaps misunderstanding her shocked expression, the boy blushed in further embarrassment. "You looked hungry, so you can have that. This kind is my favorite."
Mission accomplished, he turned and ran back towards the Almirans, slipping into the crowd as swiftly as he'd arrived.
With that simple act of generosity, the mood changed for the better. The locals began bringing forward food and supplies, and grudgingly handing them over to the astonished Tenundians, who had the wherewithal to look guilt-stricken but grateful.
As the guard sergeant started discussing the possibility of moving the prisoners into a more sheltered location, Cecil decided to take his leave. The crowd parted around him, the citizens treating him with the respect normally reserved the highest level of clergy. Clearly his actions and his relation to the Saint had elevated him to an exalted position in their eyes.
Once that would have pleased Cecil greatly, but now he found himself dominated by a single concern.
[Did I do well, Benevolent One?]
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Mike ducked into a back alley before removing his disguise. He glanced around nervously, but sighed once he saw the coast was clear.
[So, that was a thing.]
He had been caught by surprise by the appearance of the mob, but quickly realized the nature of the situation once faced with the prisoners in the pit. He had been, quite frankly, at a loss about what to do.
In the stories he'd read on Earth, this was when the protagonist would do something to inspire the crowd and take charge of the event, bending public opinion in the most favorable direction. However, he had neither the desire, nor the inclination to do so.
Quite simply, there was nothing to be gained from it, especially since Mike wasn't an actual saint who'd be willing to forgive his enemies that easily. A part of him wondered if it might not be easier to simple bury the lot of them.
After pondering the issue for a few moments, he finally decided to just practice his spell and leave the Tenundians to their fate. It might harm his overall image, but at this point he didn't really care.
He slipped away after he was done, not wanting to bear witness to the group being torn apart by the mob. He did feel a bit guilty about the young priest he'd left there, but figured a member of the clergy probably had enough authority to protect himself.
[Hopefully, this doesn't cause too much of a commotion.]