Be Thou My Good: Chapter 2 (Patreon)

This is a chapter of this story that was not originally posted on patreon. I am backposting it and several others now so that the complete story can be viewed on this site. To read the complete story, check the collection link below.

Chapter 2: Fire​

"Do we kill her anyway, Apprentice?" Squire said.

After she'd sworen, the atmosphere on the hill had only grown more  stilted. Something that was helped along by the plumes of smoke drifting  through the air. In the battlefield below, green fire still burned.

I'd heard the soldiers calling it "Goblin Fire."

The whole scene felt thematic, maybe even a bit too dramatic for me,  given that I'd already reached the end of my story. On the other hand, I  wouldn't mind a more elaborate send off this time around.

Masago, the 'Apprentice,' hummed. "Uncle Amadeus would suggest that  burning her and scattering the ashes across a stream would probably  still do the trick. How fortuitous that we have one close by."

Squire groaned. "If that was another attempt at humor, Masago, you still need more practice."

The boy huffed, crossing his arms, but the gesture had no heat.  Likewise, the Squire did a poor job of disguising her smile. It sent a  lance of nostalgia through me.

I could see how close they were already, a bond that would only grow.  Well, I suppose there was always the chance of betrayal, in stories  about villains, but these two didn't have the look for it. They were  both painfully earnest, no matter what kind of front the Squire tried to  put on.

When did I start to feel so old?

"Don't have anything to say, Ms. Soothsayer?" Squire asked me.

I pushed up my glasses. "If you put a sword through my chest, I'll die."

She scoffed. "Not making this easy on me."

I allowed myself a smile.

"Well, whatever, we'll put you with the rest of the prisoners for now,"  she said. "Aisha, make sure she's taken care of. Actually though. Not  whatever you wasteland types think that phrase is supposed to mean."

Tribune Bishara just saluted.

"The implication is that the residents of the wasteland take care of  people differently than in the Kingdom of Callow," Apprentice mused. "I  have seen some evidence of this, the lack of crocodiles west of  Summerholm, for one." The Squire turned to look at him, before shaking  her head, a more serious cast coming over her features.

"We can talk about obscenely large reptiles later," she said. "For now,  we need to get ready to march before goblin fire starts threating out  supplies."

One of the orcs at the table pressed a fist to her breastplate. "It will be done, General."

"And don't think I don't see you over there, Hune!"

I turned, stepping to the side as Tribune Bishara came over to me. In a  moment, she'd escort me away to my new 'accommodations,' but before  that…

A short distance away I saw two new legionnaires. One was another orc,  but larger than the others I'd seen. He was speaking to a runner, his  expression furrowed. The other was larger still, a mountain clad in  armor.

The Exiled Prince had mentioned ogres before, but even still her size made me blink.

The attention on the hilltop shifted away from me and towards the new arrivals.

So, I'd like to think we were all equally surprised when the orc officer  roared, backhanding the legion runner away in a spray of spittle and  blood. He turned, spittle flying and eyes red with rage.

And his gaze locked on me.

"Proceran!"

I had just enough time to blink before the massive creature charged. He  had a war hammer in hand, already mid swing and large enough to reduce  me to red mist in a heartbeat.

But it wasn't the first time I'd fought a brute.

"Nauk!" Squire yelled.

I leapt before the blow came down, but even then, I felt the ground tremble beneath my feet. If I stumbled, I was a dead woman.

I rolled under the sweep, coming up behind him

The orc roared. It was only a quick backpedal that saved me from a wild swing.

My hair whipped across my eyes.

Then the Squire hit him like a train.

There wasn't, I'd though, much weight behind the tiny slip of girl. But  she folded the orc's gut over her should without breaking a sweat. I  danced back another few steps. In the end, however, there was little  need.

A moment's hesitation and the girl was on the orc's shoulders. She  heaved a soldier maybe 4 times her size off his feet and into the mud,  pinning him down face first, hand on the soldier's wrist, until he  snapped out of whatever blood rage that had gripped him.

More telling, however, was how no one looked surprised at this display.

I'd never seen the exiled prince fight, I realized. In the  stories, heroes and villains were always larger than life, with  incredible strength, skill, or intellect. I'd taken magic as a given,  and perhaps even preternatural skill.

But I hadn't been expecting a brute rating to come with it.

Idly, my gaze flicked to the Apprentice, even as Squire and the orc in  the mud started to talk. I listened enough to get the gist. A close  comrade had been killed in the press.

Perhaps closer than just a comrade even, given the way the orc had reacted.

I sighed, remembering how many of my own had died under my control, or  even before that. My memories had been returned to me when I'd arrived  on this world. Part of me wish they hadn't been, so that I wouldn't have  to recall…

Tribune Bishara placed a hand on my arm. "Come," she said. "We'll get you squared away with the rest of the prisoners."

I made no move to resist as we left the hilltop. But I still heard  Squire's last remark, to her retinue. "Juniper," she said. "Ready the  goblin companies for pursuit in the dark." The was a sharp pain in her  voice. "I'm no longer interested in taking prisoners."

Is that who the Squire was, underneath?

She cared about her people, but that could be a vice as much as it was a virtue.

I would know.

On the other hand, my battles had been fought in ones and twos.  Leviathan may have killed thousands of civilians in Brockton, but how  many of the actual combatants had died in the end? Barely even a  hundred? I'd never been involved in something that could be called a war  until Golden Morning, and it had changed me.

I wondered how this war would change the Squire in turn.

I wondered if I would be there to see it.

In any case, Aisha handed me off to another soldier, who then passed me  off to a different 'tenth.' Around us, the camp was scrambling. Goblins,  short, and squat things with teeth like knives and noses you could  mistake for a doorknob, scurried around underfoot. Orcs and humans  packed up supplies and munitions.

Somehow, I ended up getting lost in the shuffle.

On one hand, no doubt the frenetic energy of the camp played into it, as  soldiers tasked with escorting me fell out and were drafted into other  tasks. My demeanor didn't help either, as people who looked like they  belonged were often left alone, even in a military camp. The soldiers  were tired and bloodied, no doubt at far less than their best.

But at the same time, I found it very difficult to believe it was chance that dropped me next to the legion's funeral pyre.

Somehow, I'd been taken to the edge of a large clearing, where the  bodies and wood were being stacked, and told to wait there until someone  came to fetch me.

That had been about an hour ago, evening was upon us, and I stood half hidden at the shadowed edge of the clearing.

In the center, a massive bonfire rose high into the sky. The  legionnaires had laid their dead out in orderly rows, as disciplined in  death as they'd been in life. And at the top was a young man, lying in  repose between the Prince and the Page.

A hero's send off, as ironic as it was.

I wasn't surprised when the Squire meandered into the clearing. She  didn't see me, even when she came to a stop only a few yards away to  watch the fire burn.

From the side, I could see how her brow furrowed, her lips pinching down  ever so slightly. But she didn't speak, didn't do anything other than  watch the flames feast upon her offering of lives.

For a moment, I wondered if I was supposed to go up to her in this  moment. If that was the story this world was spooling out. The air  seemed ripe for conversation. But…was that the story I wanted to step  into?

I'd been ready to die, before. I still wasn't sure if I liked the idea  of coming back to life in the middle of someone else's war.

Before I could make my decision, another legionnaire came over to where  the Squire was standing. She was a short thing, though still taller than  Squire. With bright red hair and curves, she reminded me of Emma for a  moment. The thought brought a wane smile to my lips.

The redhead slipped in next to the Squire, hands brushing. I saw Squire  glance over, lips twitching into what could almost be called a smile.

"Killian," she said. I heard her words clearly, despite the distance between us. "…thanks for coming."

"I heard it's been a difficult day," Killian said. She ran a hand  through her short cut red hair. "Something about the Exiled Prince's  paramour?" They shared a quiet laugh. "I just wanted to make sure that  no foreign hussy came and sunk her claws into you."

Squire's head tilted in. "Those pesky foreigners," she murmured. "with their feminine wiles. Whatever shall I do?"

Killian gave a sad smile, though it was tinged with something else. "They're just the worst."

"The absolute worst."

I looked away.

I now had a whole new understanding of what Aisha went through on a daily basis.

A short time later, the two of them pulled back slightly. I heard a soft  breath, and the rustle of armor, and I risked a glance. The two were  staring at the fire, looking like they'd been doing nothing more this  entire time.

I waited.

After a moment, the silence proved too heavy once again. "We were taken  into Rat Company at the same time, you know," Kilian said. "Back then  Nauk scared me – always loud, always looking for a fight – but Nilin and  I always got along. We bought books at the same shop in Ater, traded  them when we were done."

Her smile turned melancholic.

"I suppose I'll have to find someone else to talk history with."

Squire squeezed her hand, silently. She had a complicated expression on  her face, as legionnaires continued to trickle through the clearing. To a  one, they all stopped by the pyre, leaning in to whisper something to  the flames.

"What are they saying?" The Squire asked after a moment.

Killian let out a breath. "They're giving Nilin a secret or a promise," she said. "Something to bargain with on the other side."

At that, Squire's let out a chuff. She wasn't from the same stock as her  soldiers, I realized. Even though she had dusky skin, it was different  from the deep black of many of the human legionnaires. They looked at  her differently too, I thought. Though I couldn't tell yet if it was  respect behind their eyes.

Maybe even they didn't know.

Squire pecked Killian on the neck, before letting go and striding  forward towards the bonfire. What few soldiers there were slipped out of  her way. All except the orc from earlier, Nauk, who hadn't moved since  they'd lit the pyre over an hour ago.

It was full dark now, and the fire seemed all that much brighter.

The flames outlined Squire, almost as if they were about to reach down  and swallow her whole. She was a lone sunspot against a sea of  flickering yellows and reds. She leaned in, and the flames and the night  seemed to lean in as well, as if craning for what secret she had to  share.

Then the fire flickered. The moment passed.

Squire stepped back from the flames. She and Killian seemed restless after, quickly leaving the clearing.

And still no one saw me.

The fire seemed to beckon, and I thought, is this how the story would go?

I found myself walking forward toward the pyre, Squire's slight form  still shining darkly in my mind. She was not one to let her men die  without repaying them. That I already knew.

What secret had she given to the dead?

What bargain might still be struck?

I came to a stop in the same spot she'd stood, far too close to the  flames. They pushed physically against me, pricking at my skin, searing  at my eyes.

But I leaned in closer all the same.

"I'll offer you a bargain now, soldier of the legion," I said. The words  only seemed half mine, like they'd come from somewhere deep inside.  From the girl who used to curl up and read novels for days on end, who  always wanted to be part of a story.

I was not that girl. But…

"I will trade you a secret that will shake this world to its roots, one  that has no equal." The fire seemed to quiet at that, leaning in closer,  or was I only dreaming? "For the Squire's secret, I shall give it to  you."

The air seemed to still, the fire quieting, waiting…listening.

I felt my lips curve into a smile. "Judging the worth of my words?" I asked. "You'll find them true."

I held a hand to the side of my mouth. It seemed fitting, even as my  voice lowered to a whisper over the story I was about to tell.

"There are more worlds than there are stars in the sky," I breathed.  "Worlds with towers of glass and steel. Worlds that have never touched,  that are always touching." I paused, the heat licking at my skin.  "Worlds with no gods." The fire popped, rising up over me.

"Well, not quite," I said, as the fire leaned in close. "I guess there  were two." I allowed myself a small smile. "I killed the other one. And,  in doing so, saved every world from destruction."

"Including this one."

With a sigh, a took a step back from the fire, waiting for a moment.

The fire continued to crackle as if it was just a fire. After a minute I  shook my head, laughing at myself. "Look at you, Taylor," I muttered.  "Already getting caught up in your own story. Rest in Peace, soldiers."

I turned, eyes blinking against the darkness.

Then the fire hissed, and the wind whispered.

And though those things should never form words, still I heard them speak. The Squire's voice echoed, for me and me alone.

"I'm the one who started all of this."

My gaze snapped back to the fire, but it remained unchanged. My gaze  narrowed. But then, this is what I had asked for, wasn't it? "Thank  you," I murmured.

All of this?

Did she mean this war, I wondered? The Battle? There were a million  different things she could be talking about. The possibilities whirled  within my mind, as I sat there, looking for an angle.

Then I caught myself.

I didn't know how to stop, did I? It had only been a few days, and  already I was getting involved, getting invested. Trying to find out the  truth of a story when I didn't even know all the characters.

I glanced over to the side, where Nauk stared into the fire. He hadn't  so much as moved during my whole whispered exchange. Even if he couldn't  hear, I'd have expected him to come over, to say something. But he was  lost in his own world.

I could see the dried tear tracks on his face.

I suppose, it didn't matter who this Nillin had been to him. Not really.

Slowly, I picked my way over to his side. The Squire's words could wait for morning.

"Hello, again," I said quietly.

Nauk tilted his gaze to the side. He really was massive, almost the same  size as the ogres I'd seen around camp. Which, for reference, put him  at a solid foot and a half over me with maybe close to three times my  weight.

His armor looked Roman, which was a surprise in and off itself. It was a  bit of a jump from Legions of Doom to a Roman Legion. But I will admit  they looked like doom, when they'd stood shield to shield against the  Silver Spears.

"What do you want, Procer?" Nauk asked. His voice was low and hard, like a grindstone.

I shook my head, smiling wanly. "I told them to leave, you know."

Nauk turned, eyes narrowed. He seemed a moment from pulling out his hammer and finishing the fight he'd started on the hill.

But then, I wasn't a stranger to conversations with people who wanted to kill me either.

"When the Prince came up with his grand idea and got himself shot in the  throat," I began, "I told the sergeant at arms to retreat. That all he  could do was die." I felt a deep frown cross my face.

"That the only place we could end up was here." I gestured to the  clearing, to the pyre, with legion soldiers and heroes burning in a  single fire. "And then the idiots went and charged to their deaths  anyway."

Nauk growled. "And what does that matter to you? Dead Wastelander is a dead Wastelander."

I looked at Nauk again, really looked at him, trying to understand his  grief. It had been strange, at first, seeing orcs and ogres and goblins.  But on the other hand, I'd grown up reading stories about people like  these, no matter what 'race' they were.

"It's a waste is what it is," I said, scowling. "Running to your death, and why? So you can die hip deep in the mud with the honor of another person's blood upon your blade?"

The words came out before I knew what I was saying, but they felt right,  as if they were a truth I'd been carrying for a long time.

"Shut your dammed mouth," he said. "Some bleeding heart coming in here  and saying that we should all be friends and sing marching songs." He  spit.

I growled. "I've sacrificed more than you could ever know, soldier," I  said. Nauk blinked at the venom in my voice. I would have been surprised  too, but that feeling, the dissatisfaction that had lingered around me was suddenly crystalizing into sharp understanding. "If you have to sell your life, sell it dearly," I said. "Don't give it away for free."

"You think this is free, Procer?" Nauk said. "I'll show you free."

"What even is a procer?" I asked, shaking my head. "And if you  mean the battle, of course it wasn't free. But what did they earn, these  men and women who gave their last full measure of their devotion?" I  asked. "Did they stop or slow you? Did they fill you with dread as they  died? Did they even weaken you?"

I looked Nauk in the eye.

"Or did they throw their lives away for nothing?"

"We made them pay," he growled.

"And I'm sure they were thinking the same thing." I turned back to the fire. "But pay for what?"

I understood now, why this battle had put me into a daze, why now I was  so angry, at the death, at the strife, at the sinking suspicion  surrounding Squire's secret.

I'd given all I was for these people. I'd fought and bled and sent people to their deaths—felt their deaths crawling like sins upon my back—and no one even cared.

They just went back to bleeding and killing and warring upon themselves.

It made furious.

"We are all worth more than this," I said to Nauk then.

"We are soldiers," he said, but I could see my words were reaching him around the edges. "We die, you can't take that from us."

I laughed. "I don't have to. You already have, fighting over a  spit of land that no one will remember in a generation." Before he could  reply, I continued. "Tell me, was he born to be a legionnaire? Did he  come into this world with a sword in his hand?"

Nauk paused, looking to towards the pyre. "No…" he rumbled. "No, he was  born kind." He bared his fangs. "He cared about people, in ways I  couldn't."

"And who could he have been, if not for this bloody war?" I asked. "We'll never know, because now all he'll ever be is ash."

Nauk shifted, his face becoming pained. He was beginning to see.

"And the worst part," I said, "is that all these have died, and in that one, single generation, another army will walk these hills, trampling the ashes of the dead.

"That is what I mean, when I say that everyone here died for nothing.  Because this land has known a hundred wars, and unless something  changes, it will know a hundred more. A hundred pyres just like this  one.

"And it's a waste."

Nauk turned to look at me. His eyes were dark. "I was the one who shot the Exiled Prince in the throat," he said at last.

"Congratulations," I said, softly. "You won the battle with a single bolt." I gestured around us. "Does it feel like victory?"

"And what should I do?" Nauk growled. He pushed off the uncertainty, leaning over me. "You say that this is victory, so what should I have done!"

His roar shattered the silence of the night. I felt the gazes of other  upon us. In the background, I heard footsteps. It seemed out little chat  was coming to an end.

I let out a sigh. "I don't know," I said. "I just came here, to this war, a few days ago. I don't know."

Nauk snorted. "Coming in here, little foreign princess, and telling us how to run our war. Typical human."

With a jerk, I pulled up my sleeve, barring my burn scarred stump. "Do  these look like the wounds of a princess?" I asked. "I don't have an  answer for you, not yet. But you are all still worth more than this."

And then I turned away. A short distance away there was another soldier,  already reaching out to grab me. "There you are," the man growled.  "Seven Hells, why did they dump you here. With me, prisoner."

I glanced over my shoulder as the legionnaire hauled me away. Nauk  hadn't moved, but his gaze was locked on me, and our eyes met before I  was hauled into the night.


The camp had finished moving during my time at the fire. Not a full  march, just far enough away that the unquenchable green fires no longer  threatened the tents, and I was hauled back roughly to the main  encampment. My current jailor seemed eager to dump me off and wash his  hands of the whole affair, but we were intercepted before we could make  it to the tents.

Another orc came to a stop in front of us, one of the two I remembered  being with Squire on the hill. He was smaller than Nauk, but he felt  more solid, somehow. As if Nauk was boulder and this man a diamond.

Unfaltering.

"You're a difficult one to find," he said. His voice was deep as any  orc's, but he spoke differently. At my side, the legionnaire saluted.  "At ease. I'll handle her from here."

"Yes, sir!"

And after that, the orc waited, in a sort of implacable silence that I  had experience many times back in Brockton Bay. It was even a tactic I'd  used myself on occasion.

But it seemed like a night for conversations instead of interrogations, and I'd prefer if it stayed that way.

"I was exactly where you put me," I said. "It shouldn't have been such a trial."

His lips parted, showing a flash of fang. "Walk with me."

I nodded.

He led me away from the prisoner tents, toward the edges of the camp.  There was already a wooden palisade up, and I could see sentries on  watch even as the rest of the camp was quieting down as night fell.

For a while, we walked in silence. I was happy enough to have some space  to calm down, but my conversation with Nauk had lit a fire in my chest.  The detachment that had followed me since I'd arrived on this world had  vanished like mist.

Because I'd never be able to sit still.

At length, the orc broke the silence. "You never mentioned your name."

"No one asked," I said. "But it's Taylor."

"Hakram," he said. "of the Howling Wolves Clan."

I hummed. "I suppose it would be Taylor Hebert, then, of Brockton Bay."

"And where is this Brockton Bay?"

"Far away," I said. I tapped my thigh, thinking about my response.  Before, I'd been content to coast through the narrative forming around  me. But now I had a reason to pay attention to the way I had presented  myself.

How I would continue to present myself, in this story.

"If you traveled for a thousand and one nights, you would never reach it," I said.

"Do you wish you could return to it?"

"It was destroyed, my home," I said. "Which is part of the reason why  I've ended up here. My family is dead and gone as well, I think, though I  suppose a few of my friends might have survived." I took a breath.  "They're probably better off without me."

Hakram let out a rumble of laughter. "I often feel the same way."

"Do you?" I asked. "You don't wish to return to your clan?"

"If I did, I never would have left them in the first place," he said. "This is my home now."

I looked at him. He was calm in the night, almost placid, as opposed to  Nauk who had been all loud bluster and rage. Hakram didn't strike me as  an normal orc.

I thought over his words again, what he'd asked, and then I smiled. "You know, it's funny," I said.

"What is?"

"I thought the Apprentice was closest to the Squire, but it's probably you, isn't it?"

Hakram flashed a bit of fang at me again. "You've got an eye."

"I wonder if yours is better," I said, turning back to look at the sky.  The nature of this talk was finally clear to me. "Go ahead and ask your  questions," I said. "I'll answer them as best I can."

On the one hand, there was little reason to antagonize the army that  currently had me captive. But, on the other, I found myself liking this  Hakram a little bit. He was solid, reliable. I could have used more  people like him in my last life.

Hakram nodded, unperturbed. "What are your intentions towards Catherine Foundling."

"Is that her name?" I sighed. "I don't know. Earlier, I would have said I  had none, but that's changed now." Hakram said nothing. I turned to  look at him, again. "You can tell, can't you."

"Perhaps."

"What's your name?"

This time, his expression was clearly a smile. "Hakram of the Howling Wolves."

We walked in silence for a time.

"I'd rather not fight her," I said at length. "Not the least of which because she has a thousand swords to stab me with."

"Pragmatic of you," he said, chuckling. "You think you'd be a threat?"

"I don't know," I said again.

This time it was him who asked, "And what is your name?"

"Taylor Hebert," I replied. "And only that."

"And what," he rumbled, "were you speaking of with Nauk, Taylor Hebert."

I sighed. It made sense that he would catch wind of my conversation. For  one, he seemed to be the one standing behind the Squire. Like a Vizier,  but not a scheming one, for once. If he was her leg breaker, this  conversation would have gone very differently.

Also, Catherine Foundling seemed rather capable of breaking legs for herself, thank you very much.

I looked back up towards the stars. They seemed so bright here, almost  as bright as they'd been at the end. Now here I was at the beginning.

"The Exiled Prince was an idiot," I said. "But at least he had a plan,  the rest of them, they just attacked and died. Even though the story was  already written. Even if there could only be one Ending." I looked  Hakram in the eye. "I wonder what the ending is going to be this time."

He said nothing.

I sighed, at once feeling tired. There'd been so much talking tonight. I  felt like I understood, a little better at least, the person who  Catherine Foundling was. What her goals were.

'I'm the one who started all of this.'

She didn't seem like the type. Not with the people she'd gathered to her side.

She also struck me as a terrible actor.

"So what happens now?" I asked.

Hakram folded his arms. "Now I'll see you to your accommodations," he  said. Seemed like I'd given him plenty to mull over as well. At least it  wasn't just me that was lost in the dark.

"I hope it's not with the rest of the Spears," I said. "I doubt they have the best opinion of me at the moment."

"The Legion has regulations for prisoners," he said. "They'll be observed."

Which told me precisely nothing at all. Still, I fell in step behind him as he led me back toward the center of the camp.

All the while, I parsed my way through all that I'd learned today.

I'd find the truth of the Squire's words.

And then I'd decide.