The battle ended inconclusively. Hours had passed, many were dead, and as word of the Saint's death spread, moral became crippled on the side of Serudine.
The survivors on both sides, retreated and gathered together, with Highland having barely maintained the castle and border walls they were protecting. Their casualties were far greater.
Days would have passed before word would arrive that the crown had changed hands and that they had surrendered, but under the command of the prince, the command of the new king, King Jacob Lionhand, the witch had her familiar deliver the message without delay.
It was a raven, her familiar, which wrote with its talons dipped in ink, upon parchment of the events. It was the Duke of Cezarch who was acting as the general in command who received the news first. Of course, he was less than happy. "Bastard."
Word quickly spread through the encampment of their surrender, and the troops were forced to walk out onto the battlefield waving their white flags of their defer.
However, the news shook Erik differently, in a way that made him, for the first time in a very long time, infuriated.
"You must be disappointed." Said Devone, who had just relayed the news to him. "I mean... You defeated the Saint of Righteousness, even brought back his head, and now that we've surrendered... They won't be happy with you." He chuckled nervously.
"Devone." Erik stared at him deathly. "That bastard prince, surrendered...? What an ignorant fool... He has ruined everything."
"Huh?"
"The Seratholics have won the war, and they will not rest until I am dead. Everything I have waited and worked for has been robbed from my hands in an instant. Truly... Infuriating.
Silence suddenly befell the tent. It was just the two of them, and Devone felt his chest fill with fear for his friend, if only because he had never seen Erik worry before.
Suddenly, Erik spoke, breaking the silence.
"Devone. My horse. Go get it."
"What?"
"My horse." He said, an intense and unnerving look in his eye as he looked Devone. "I have no choice but to flee, to start again, so. Go get, my fucking horse."
Devone fell back onto his butt, a strange sense of fear overcoming him. He forced himself to crawl back through the dirt, to then jump up and run off, almost falling over again.
At that time, the Seratholics were marching to the castle, the soldiers of the lost Highland standing by on the side.
At the head, the two remaining Saints, the leaders of the Theocracy and the church.
Saintess Sylvia Shallamane was a truly beautiful woman, tall, a slender body, a modest and calm demeanor, and long platinum blonde hair as fair as her skin. On her person, she carried with her a divine artifact, yet another of legend of the same making as Egsrinar, a crosier; Sheollofall.
By her side, Saint Orlando Bendig, the wielder of the divine artifact, Lanhriek, a shield. He was not a paladin nor a priest as the two other saints were. He was a monk, a man of true dedication, shaven bald and largely built, with a far more serious and intense demeanor.
They stopped at the gate of the castle, at the sight of the deceased Gerald's head, piked on the handle of the Egsrinar.
"A fool." Mocked the Saintess, a cold tone, unlike her beautiful and welcoming face. "To have died to a muddler. A disgrace."
"Now, Sylvia. It is disrespectful to speak ill of the fallen." The Saint, Orlando, grabbed the head of the fallen Gerald, tossing it into the hands of a soldier behind him. "Return her sword to the Paradicy, and bury his head with the rest of him. Now then..." He turned back to face the castle, taking in a deep breath before shouting in intimidation to all the Highland soldiers. "Where!! Is the one who befell!! Saint Gerald?! Bring the criminal here!!"
The Duke of Cezarch, Gendal Chamber, dragged a body to the center of the gate, tossing it at the feet of the two saints. "This is the offender."
"He is dead?" The Saintess questioned.
"Yes. He tried to flee, but we caught him. He died in the tailing. I only ask that you spare his family, and leave it at this."
The Saint himself, Orlando, knelt down and pulled the body up by its hair, a face he didn't recognize, the face of a random man. "I already asked the name of the man who killed Saint Gerald. His name was Erik Chamber." He reached into the coat of the man, pulling out an ensign of a knight's helmet crossed with a sword, shiny and made of silver, despite the scuff and blood that stained it. "Good. The perpetrator is dead. Blessed is her holiness."
The body burst into a golden and divine fire, one that burned to ash the body and all, but not harming in the least, the Saint's engulfed hand.
It was then that Erik Chamber, the man who singlehandedly slaughtered hundreds in the war, going so far as to kill the hero of Serudine, a saint, was deemed dead, killed for his crimes. The truth was, however, that his grandfather covered up for his escape.
Already, he was passing through into the next county of Himrek'burk, approaching an intersecting trail that split three ways. There, he reigned back his steed to a stop and he got off.
There was a small waterfront at the edge of the roadway. He guided his horse to the water for it to drink, filling his canteen at the same time.
He knew night would soon fall and preferred not to camp out, so he set off for the nearest town of Juvelie, as guided by the sign at the crossroads.
He arrived near an hour later and left his horse at a stable before heading to the local tavern-inn. It was empty inside, the candles blown out on all the tables had been blown out. There was only one source of light which was coming from a room behind the bar.
He walked up, tapping on the wooden bar.
Moments later, a woman came around, holding a lit chamberstick and peaking over the corner of the door as if fearful for a trespasser. "Who's there?! We're closed!"
"I need a room for the night."
The woman raised the candle's flame up to see the face of the man at the counter. She looked flustered, glancing away, then back, then away again.
"Uh, uh, a room? Ah... Of course. I'll get that for you right away. Just... Follow me."
She parted her hair behind her ear and made her way out from behind the bar, making her way to the stairs at the left of the room.
Erik followed her upstairs to a hall of eight rooms, each one small and barely packed with a tiny bed and a chest.
"Take your pick. As you can see, not many patrons with all da men off to da war. ...Which... You look fairly young yourself, you makin your way over there?"
"No... In fact, I just came from the battle at the border gate. The Seratholics have won. The king was murdered by the prince, and the prince who just succeeded the throne surrendered and issued a conversion."
The innkeeper was surprised to hear about the outcome of the war. "Oh... Is that so... Guess I'll be convertin to Seratholism now then, huh?"
Erik didn't pay much attention to her, having picked a room and throwing his stuff atop the chest; the few things he carried with him: a sheathed dagger, and a pouch that was heavy with the sound of coin.
"So... That's some accent you got there, you must be from the city."
He took out a single silver coin and handed it to the innkeeper. "I am. Good night." He said as he shut the door on her.
She stammered on her words trying to speak out, but ultimately stayed silent and walked away, staring at the coin in astonishment. "A whole silver? Never seen a silver this pretty before..."
The bed was small, filled with hay, and only a thin and rough linen blanket to cover himself with. Needless to say, it was uncomfortable, but it was better than outside and better than the hard splintered floor.
The next morning, at the crack of dawn, he was awoken by the sound of a crowing rooster through the thin wall.
Chickens, and even a dog, roamed around the town openly. The only residents seemed to be women who upon seeing Erik, couldn't help but eye him curiously.
Out at the stables, he fed his horse some carrots and reigned it out through the gate.
It was then that he heard the shouting of a woman just outside the picket fence, angry at a man leaning on a crutch.
"Ya said ya'd deliver mah eggs to Bra'ton, now ya backin out?"
"My horse fell ill, I don't have a choice. What do ya want me to do 'bout it?
"Damn you, Chester! You know how hard it is with the war! If you don't deliver these eggs, I'll barely be able to survive another month."
"I truly can do nothing about it! I have no horse to pull my carriage!"
The woman scowled with scraped teeth before turning her head to Erik standing on the other side of the fence. Seeing him, she seemed to jump, a change of expression like a flip of a switch.
"You are a trader?" Erik asked the man.
"Huh..? Me? Y-Yeah..."
"My horse can pull your carriage, and those eggs." He turned to the woman. "I will purchase them all."
"All of them...? I... I mean I have over three dozen. A coin each."
"I'll pay a silver."
"Oh, oh!! Well then, I will go bundle them up for you, right away!" She scurried off in a hurry.
"Chester, was it?"
"Ah, y-yes."
"I want to hire you. I need to get to Orvick, to the west. A steady pace should mean we get there in three weeks' time."
"Three weeks?!" Chester yelped.
"I will pay for your services, of course. In fact, I would like to hire you as my personal retainer."
"Your retainer...? You look... Awfully young. Are you a noble?"
"...Yes. I am Erik Chamber."
"Chamber? As in, the, Chamber house?"
"The one and only."
"Do... Do you have proof of this?"
Erik took out his house crest, as well as a fine leather pouch he kept his coins in, tossing it in his hands. Seeing the crest and hearing the sound of what sounded like tens of coins being shaken, Chester's mind filled with anticipation.
"The average wealth a man procures is eight silver a year. An abysmal amount. I will give you ten times that, but I expect you to do as told without question."
"Of, of course! My, lord?"
"Good. I want to leave right away. I have some other things I want to get before we do though."
"Of course. I will do my upmost."