That is one war over.
Once it was understood that Geroldine had no answer, or didn't bother to find one to a more aggressive response, the tide turned. All played their part. Yes, all. My doubts about May Celine were unfounded.
It was not without losses and hard fighting, but with every victory and underhanded scheme, Zhentarim support for Geroldine's personal crusade faltered.
The Dreadfleet was trapped in ice out on the lake, and they were out of the fight long enough for everything to conclude with Geroldine's remaining forces and what allies his "friend" Palehand could muster.
Though their numbers were intimidating, Isolde soon brought word that most of Palehand's number were undead, and their master likely was, too. It still would not be easy, but that gave some hope. Many undead can be powerful, but undead in those masses usually are not.
The hours before the great clash were chilling. All the leaders of our allies had gathered in a clearing. Orders were repeated, though everyone knew their part. After, they all huddled in small groups, with friends and the allies that they would have to count on most. An uneasy silence settled on the gathered. A silence buzzing with hushed conversations and the awkwardness that falls over fighting men and women before their final defiant roars. That fleeting moment where you must come to terms with the reality that you might not return.
Truth is, I did not think I would, either. The Star's gaze felt heavy, even if it was obscured. The weight of that gaze and the weight of the words that came with it. Heretic. Apostate. Cursed. Doomed.
As we stood at the center of that clearing and I could see all the people of our land united, surrounded by the savage beauty of our home, I figured that would be it for me.
To leave my life on that field, given to defend all I hold dear, and never return lest I burn it all down. There are worse ways to go.
We visited each of the groups. We wished them luck, not farewell. Pretending it would not be so.
We had a few words with each of them, each of us eager to speak to our friends what might be the last time.
For my part, it was good to see Thadeus. A beacon of confidence and grace. He might have been worried, as he always is, but there and then he shone with pride. His friends, Temperance's friends, were terse, wondering out loud if it would be worth it, but seemed pleased enough to have us there.
Berlinne, handing off a package to Rey. It would make for a harsh verdict, but not undeserved. Raring to fight for her beloved city. For once, she did not warn me to be careful.
Sir Henry Cade, like a man possessed, thinking only of restoring the good name of his church. Something else finally shone through. A worry about Barton Cade. It was good to see he did not have a one track mind after all.
The two most important to me that night, however, were two women of faith.
The Lady Alicia. I had not spoken to her since the day I asked the church of Helm to stand with us against the Zhent. The rumours about me preceeded that, but they had only become more widespread. She certainly knew of them by the time we spoke again. Yet, she did not cast me out, or cast me down. "I know why you burn, Sir George. Take care not to let it consume you." And that was that. No Rite of Excommunication. No cries of monster. No abomination. Leave it to Rey to pick up on the "sir" and call me a paladin, though.
And May Celine. I don't think she and I will ever be able to walk through a door together, but if I'm being honest, two simple words from her were what steeled my nerve the most that night. "Not yet". Not yet completely doomed. Not yet forsaken. She sent me off with a warning not to reach for the flame, regardless of the consequence.
The Geese would be sent to where the worst fighting was expected. A central location that, if held, would force Palehand's troops to scatter to find less ideal paths. And hold it we did. If we'd have faced off against that same number of Geroldine's elites, we would have received a thorough thrashing. Palehand's minions were a pale imitation, however. That's not to say it was an easy fight, but burning through enough wands, potions and spells we prevailed. Then came the hard part.
Once the undead started to shamble towards other chokepoints, we started receiving word from them. Calls for aid.
Battered, bruised, and going through our magic like a hungover sailor through water, we did not have the resources to be everywhere at once, so there were choices to be made.
The Siamorphians or the Helmites. The Tuigan or D'Cameron. The King or Thadeus. And on and on.
In the end, we lost Berlinne. The elves lost a number of their own. Things that will likely hinder Rey's effort of a greater Narfell kingdom. Celine and hers saw to Thaddeus, thankfully, as we aided our King who got embroiled in a fight with the Endless in the middle of the battlefield. Who does that? Interfere with a war to have their own little fight. Rude.
Cormac split from us to help the Tuigan as we headed for D'Cameron. The right decision, if you ask me. His responsibility towards the Tuigan was far greater than that towards Norwick. He lived, and so did his riders. The rest of us ensured D'Cameron's survival.
I did not split from the group as we chose the Siamorphians. It might seem strange to think I would not join the Helmite ranks, but there and then, I could not let Henry Cade die after the promise we made Barton. And die he would have, determined as he was.
It seemed to me my brethren would be more prudent, even if they are unyielding in the face of Banites, and would be more likely to survive.
We did save Sir Henry. In a fight against some shadowed monstrosity that tried to freeze us all to death or suck the life from us. It recognized me, and I could not shake the feeling it had in fact been looking for me, assuring me that Palehand could remove my little parasite problem.
Everything about it goaded me, blasting me and everyone around me with a cold I knew I had the power to ignore. The power to stop. The power to overwhelm. As though it wanted to see me reach for the fire it knew I possessed.
Yet I did not. Thank May Celine. The smallest sliver of hope held me back. I fell back and changed one amulet for another, one that wards off the cold. It was enough. Every little trinket I had, I threw at it. It was enough.
I needed more than steel, to be sure, but what I had was enough.
One thing the day taught us was that everything comes at a cost. My perseverence there was no exception. Perhaps if I had used the fire, that fight would have ended in moments, and I would have been on time. But that would have come with a cost of its own.
The price I paid instead was a friend. When we reached May Celine and her knights gearing up for the final assault, the stragglers started showing up. Of the Helmites, there were none. Not a one. I learned later that Alicia, at least, had pulled through, along with a handful of knights. At that moment, though, when all showed up except for them? Even surrounded by my friends, I felt utterly alone.
Still, some survived. Just not Tiberius. The man that taught me the bastard sword. The man that stood by me as I knelt by Helm's altar. Helm's hand shelter you, my friend. I will see you on the other side.
Bad enough to lose him, but believing I had lost them all? That I had sent them all to their death?
Somewhere in the chaos of it all, we had thrown hands with Palehand and some of his strongest. Tired, wounded, dangerously low on magic, but still feral about driving him and his from our land. I barely recall the fight. I remember sacrificing the magic in the angel's feather. Perhaps it exposes me further to Miranda. Everything to not need to reach for the fire that day.
I remember we were winning, somehow. Not just surviving against a lich but winning. Of course, a lich is not Reyhenna Jorino.
It froze me in my tracks, at some point. Then it took hold of Rey and had her cut me down. Then he had her do it again when I was getting back on my feet.
By the time I came to, the thing was gone.
It appeared again right as we were preparing to make our final push. It wanted to make a deal. Its phylactery, held by Geroldine, in return for it standing down and letting the undead legion that stood between us and Geroldine crumble to dust. Its freedom for dozens if not hundreds of lives. Its freedom to ensure Geroldine did not find the time to escape. Given the heartache many of us already felt, is it any wonder we agreed? If my duty was to end the Zhent's hold and Geroldine's reign, can I be forgiven?
I do not even remember who agreed, if anyone. So tired was I. I just remember crossing that bridge, thinking to reach their elusive commander or join my brethren, only to find row upon row of long dead creature, unmoving as they should be.
As for the elusive commander. High emotions have surged through me in my lifetime as an adventurer. From great joy, to great rage, to unspeakable horror to disgust. Geroldine takes the crown for disappointment.
The prattling, sniveling wreck of a man, at once trying to threaten us, cajole us and bargain with us for his own safety. Not even the safety of the one lieutenant still standing by his side. It was pitiful. The Zhent's great Second Eastern Commander. Whyte at least took her own life in defiance. Rhodes near wiped Narfell from the face of Toril out of spite. Geroldine wept and begged. It was all bluster.
He died to a black steel knife, and the Zhent were cast out. Later communication would have the Zhent pretend Geroldine had been a rogue element.
Our King came to us, and removed his ancestors' crown, though not without parting wisdom. As we had suspected, the crown had been what had guided him, but it went much farther than I had expected. Young Thalaman had not just been inspired, but possessed by the first Fisher King. Caleb, too, was a silent witness. Dressed as a young squire, his face hidden in his helmet, assigned to follow the king around. And as Thalaman removed the crown and withered away into a worn out husk, alive but unresponsive, all saw the price he paid.
A noble sacrifice, though it and the ancient king's words hammered something home.
Long have I thought that the senate's days were over. That the people have failed to govern themselves, and that the rise of a new monarchy was a testament to that. The Siamorphians would agree, no doubt. But doesn't Thalaman's desperate gambit show that the crown may be too heavy for one man alone? That he is just as vulnerable? And now that we have lost the one man, what's next? Again we will be a city in turmoil, governed by nobles and commoners together, but few willing to make choices that they know the king might disapprove of if he returns, with gods only know who will come to accuse Rey of being a usurper this time.
The Cleimants seem to think Caleb could have succeeded, but could he? To lose a brother they way Thalaman did, then to see your city thrust into calamity after calamity, without that loving support? I doubt the pup is that strong, regardless of his lineage.
There is strength in noble blood, and a place for it, too. But we are all mortals, fallible and fatigueable. Perhaps we asked too much.
There are other ways. Lands where the people are governed by a senate, but still have a king. Some have two kings, even, to curtail one another. Lands where a king only rises in times of crisis and war, while the rest of the weight is borne by its citizens.
An absolute monarchy is stable, but only so long as the king lives, and the wellbeing of its people highly dependent on the king's disposition.
A republic is less likely to lose its stability, but it is slow to change and the wellbeing of its people is highly dependent on a low degree of corruption. Would a combination give us the best or the worst of both worlds?
Ah, Berlinne. What have you done to me? Maybe we will see each other on the other side as well.
