Chapter 60: Ch. 060 – (Now) Aftermath

Jonathan drew his sword as he walked through the gate, though he doubted that he would need it. As the dust cleared, it revealed the horrors of what he had done to his fellow men. Seconds ago, there had been a unit of almost 50 brave warriors. Now it was just a field of wounded men and silent corpses. 

The only kindness of such a terrible weapon, is that it was mostly self extinguishing, as the blast snuffed out most of the flames, but there were still enough scattered bits of fire here and there that Jon could see as he walked towards the only men that were still standing towards the center of the formation. 

The only people that had come out of the explosion relatively unscathed turned out to be the herald, and the men closest to him. He was One quick look at his blond hair and Jon knew why. The lad had sensed the danger and blown away the dust from him before it could do its terrible work. Even with his quick thinking he was still bleeding out of one ear, and he was a bit scraped up from where he’d fallen off his horse when it bolted, but he would be fine, especially compared to so many of his comrades. Even the men that were still standing were wounded though, and sadly, the captain was not among them. A quick search found him lying face down in the dirt, with hoof prints on his armor where he’d been crushed in the stampede. 

“Are you willing to Parlay now?” Jon asked, gesturing with his sword to get the attention of the last few standing men, “or should I finish you off so that the next group of soldiers that’s ordered to pay me a visit knows that there will be no survivors?” 

“But i-if you kill us, then how will we tell everyone just how dangerous you are?” The Herald stammered. 

“Parlay it is then,” Jon said, sheathing his sword while he eyed the four men in front of them. “See - I knew you were a smart man. If your captain had half the brains that you do, then your friends would be going home with you tonight.” 

He had no doubt that he could take one or two of them with his pistol if they tried something, but that wasn’t going to happen. There was only fear in their eyes, not fire. It was the same fear that he would have to contend with tomorrow when the good people of Dalmarin saw what he’d done, but he pushed those thoughts to the side. That wasn’t what he needed to focus on right now. 

“You just tell me what to say, and I’ll say it.” The herald’s voice quavered when he spoke. 

“What’s your name, boy,” Jon asked. 

“Franklin, sir. Franklin Millers.” the herald answered. 

“Not a noble, then. Not even a distant cousin with a name like that,” Jon frowned slightly. “What a shame - a wild talent with your brain could go far in my little struggle. Sure, I can’t convince you to switch sides?”

“My loyalty is to the King,” Franklin shot back. It was too quick for him to have given the idea any real thought, and exactly the sort of answer that Jonathan expected from someone like Franklin. Someone who was sure they knew what the world was like and why. Jon would have been exactly like that himself if he’d never gone to Khaghrumer. He was sure of it. 

Jon didn’t bother trying to argue the point. He just nodded. “Well, if you change your mind, you’d be welcome. A quick thinking air blood is worth their weight in gold. Anyway - I don’t want you to tell them anything that I forced you to. There’s no point in that. I want you to take what wounded you can, and then I want you to go back and tell them what happened. My work speaks for itself.” 

 “And that’s all you want? Just to tell everyone what happened, and you’ll let us go?” the herald asked suspiciously. 

“Well, if Captain Anton here had still been alive I would have likely taken his head to prove the point, but that would be overkill now that his horse has done the dirty work for me.” Jon wouldn’t have done any such thing, of course, but the line shocked the men appropriately. “Of course, I’ll also want you to tell everyone my message to the King, of course.” 

“The King?” Franklin paled. “I don’t think I’m the person to—”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Jon quickly corrected. “They aren’t going to send a random Jordamian soldier to the white city. I don’t want you to tell the king anything. I just want you to go back to the fort and tell whoever’s in change. Let him send a messenger on to the white city.”

“What do you want me to tell him?” the herald asked, breathing a sigh of relief. 

“Tell him I’m coming.” Jon said. “Tell him that my peasant army is rising and mobilizing across the south. Tell him that we want justice, and he can meet us on the fields of Arling and sue for peace, or come prepared for war.” 

“But that’s suicide.” the herald protested. “He’ll bring his army, and the dwarves. Why would you tell him where you’re going to be?”

“Because I expect that when he sees the amount of men I’m fielding… the amount of his subjects that are sick of being ground down by the current system, he’ll have no choice but to agree to a peaceful solution for the good of everyone,” Jon lied. It was the same lie he always gave to this question, and he would have to see if all those lies one day bore the fruit he hoped they would.  

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“I will. I’ll tell them,” the herald said, bringing his fist to his chest, but his eyes darted to the left a little too long, and that made Jon suspicious. 

He didn’t bother to look first, he just drew his brand as he turned, and saw two men walking towards him with swords out. During his conversation with the herald, a number of men had risen on all sides of him. Most had no fight in them, but the two that were trying to take him by surprise apparently felt that the numbers had turned the odds back into their favor. They were still too far away to strike, and Jon ignited the first chamber of his revolver, putting a slug right through the first soldier's throat. He fell to the ground, choking on his own blood. The report of the weapon didn’t make the second soldier back down, though.  

Instead, he shouted, “He’s empty. The fire blood is out of tricks. We can—” Jon thumbed back the hammer to cycle the cylinder, and then fired again. This one took the bullet in the eye and fell to the ground instantly dead. 

Everyone else backed off as Jon slowly rotated in a full circle, aiming the weapon at each man that was on their feet. He finally came to a stop with the herald and stepped forward until the still warm barrel was pressed against the other man’s head. 

“This is supposed to be a parley,” Jon said, louder than he needed to, as everyone else backed away from him. “That means we put our weapons away and use our words. Using a white flag to ambush - that’s a serious stain on your honor, Mister Millers.” 

“I didn’t… I wasn’t… I’m not in charge—” he stammered.

“On your knees,” Jon roared, pulling the hammer back. 

The herald immediately complied, as Jon cast looks around to the left and right. “You think you can take me? You think just because I use a brand, I don’t have any other tricks up my sleeve? Do you?” he asked of no one in particular as everyone slowly backed away from him. 

“At least you didn’t try any trickery with those talents of yours,” Jon said, turning to face the kneeling herald. “Did you know I can fill your lungs with fire as easily as you can try to steal the air from mine?”

“I’m sorry,” Franklin pleaded, his eyes full of panic. 

“I want you to remember today,” Jon said, taking a moment to uncock his brand before reholstering it in his pouch. “Not as the day you survived my magic, but as the day you weren’t worth the bullet.” He took a moment to look hard at the herald, then he spun on his heel and started walking back to the damaged palisade.

This time no one followed him or tried to do anything, which was just as well because Jon was consumed with disgust at himself for what he’d just done. Blowing up the unit didn’t bother him. That was war, and he’d given them every chance to change their minds. Shooting the two that attacked him wasn’t exactly the problem, either. It was self-defense. They gambled and lost. 

It was just so damn wasteful. How many good men had died today due to bad orders and worse leadership? All he could do was hope that with his increasingly black reputation, next time they would think twice and surrender when they had the chance. If anything, tonight was a lesson that he still wasn’t being brutal enough. 

Jon closed the palisade gate behind him and barred it with a piece of debris. It wouldn’t be enough to stop a determined assault, but it would be enough to dissuade any more heroes in the group from trying to avenge their fallen comrades. Once he was safely behind those doors, Jon’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed. 

Acting like a monster was exhausting, but it was what he had to do. Franklin had seemed like a good kid, and Jon had felt bad putting the fear into him like that, but maybe that lesson would serve him well in the future. 

If anything, tonight just proved that he had to become even more terrible in the eyes of his enemies. After all, every enemy that ran away or, better, refused to take the field against him in the first place was one less man he would have to kill in his quest to make the world a more fair and peaceful place. 

Jon thought about that on the way home. What could he do to make his reputation more frightful yet without scaring anyone away that might have otherwise had sympathy for his cause. His hands were already stained with more blood than he would ever be able to wash off, but that didn’t bother him too much anymore. 

Why should it? Justice was on his side. 

The night air was cool and the road back to town without a horse was a long one, though, and that gave him all the time in the world to think about everything that was about to happen. He hoped that Rian and the rest would get here before the train, because it would be a lot easier with a dozen men with brands as backup, but then again, there were probably only a couple dwarves on the train, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle it alone. 

He was just lonely. Being a stranger among old friends, and more than anything having to push Claire away like that, was taking its toll on him, and having to slaughter boys his own age for causes they didn’t understand wasn’t helping. Sadly, he knew he wouldn’t feel better until he could hold Elise once more, and even that might not be enough.

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