Penitent

Chapter 248 Book 4 Ch 29: Arrival

Michael approached the final rift alone. The others were fine, he could sense the state they were in through his Eyes of Love. They'd torn through eleven rifts in less than a day. The deal had been for ten, but Michael had no intention of ignoring the others and leaving problems for Southwind. He pushed through the brush to reach a clearing filled with horned men. He was already lit in gold flame as he emerged from the woods and at the sight of his charge dozens of the horned men began to bleat in fear like goats.

He crashed into the first of them with his shield, lighting him aflame as the force of his charge threw him into the others. He pushed straight for the rift itself, making it nearly halfway, and carving through a dozen rift creatures before they were able to mount a defense.

Two charged him with spears and he tripped them with barriers before caving their skulls in with Ruin. He summoned shin height barriers around himself, tripping more of the horned men that charged him and blocked three thrown spears, two more bouncing off of his armor.

The Horned men began to swarm him, running over one another to try and stab at him with their spears. Michael stayed calm, falling back to his thousands of hours of training. He moved like a one man line. Keeping his shield raised in front of himself, and barriers to his back and sides, he raised his sword and began working his way through basic strikes. Each one was delivered perfectly, cutting through every enemy no matter how hard they tried to block them. He struck, pushed forward, struck, and pushed forward until he was close enough to the rift.

He extended his will at the rift. It felt small next to the divine energy within him. It blinked out. There was no resistance, no pushback, it simply winked out of existence. The horned men broke, and he ran a few more down before they could get away. When the area was clear he let divine fire burn the blood away from himself and changed Rend to Ruin to buckle it to his waist.

He checked on his friends, finding all their rifts sealed and themselves okay. They'd managed it all in less than a day. He was one step closer to seeing his son.

He walked to the rendezvous, keeping a continuous eye on where everyone else was while also staying wary of possible ambush. They'd killed most of the rift creatures at each rift, but the number that escaped still meant a formidable force was out there and could counterattack. It was unlikely, given the speed with which they'd been killed and scattered, but it was best to stay aware.

He was the last to arrive.

"Took your time," said Ollie, shaking his head in disappointment. "And you're the one that's been doing this the longest."

"I closed more than the rest of you."

"Excuses are a bad look, brother," said Pyotr, shaking his head exaggeratedly.

Michael laughed, raising his hand to heal what scrapes and bruises they had sustained. Once he was done they made their way back to Southwind. They were some distance away, but not so far they wanted to camp, so they walked through the night arriving in the morning. The makeshift log gate was lowered for them and they made their way inside. Ollie, Marcus, and Pyotr made their way to the inn to rest, but Michael made his way to the administrative building where the Mayor, the Militia officers, and the guards were headquartered. He walked inside, smelling tea and breakfast as he did so and remembering he hadn't eaten in some time.

"Michael!" said Hylan, his youthful face surprised. "I wasn't expecting you to return so soon. Is everything okay?"

Michael nodded. "Yes. All thirteen nearby rifts have been sealed. You should stay alert as we couldn't kill all of the rift creatures that were guarding them, but most are dead."

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"All…thirteen?" He asked no one in particular.

Several other guards were looking at Michael in amazement and an older man with a salt and pepper beard approached.

"How are we to confirm what you say?" he asked. "You could simply have slept in the woods for a day and returned having accomplished nothing."

Michael was about to call on Estaid for assistance, but before he could Hylan spoke again.

"Mayor, I would personally vouch for Michael."

"As would I," claimed another guard.

"He healed my mother's foot for the cost of a prayer. I'd stake my life that he speaks the truth," claimed another.

The Mayor, sensing that the sentiment wasn't on his side, let out a subtle sigh. "Very well. It seems my people find you unimpeachable, so I will take your word and send a messenger to tell the King that this part of your bargain has been fulfilled."

Michael nodded. "Thank you. We'll likely leave in a day." He turned to the guards. "If you know of anyone that needs healing, I'll be at the Inn. If they're unable to move, just let me know and I'll go to them."

With that he turned out of the room and made his way to the Inn. He was eager to get moving again, but he knew the others would need at least a day to recover. Lance, Laird, Blake and the others had already left, but they'd be able to catch up with them quickly.

Michael spent the day giving blessings to those who seemed to most need them, healing anyone who needed it. He let Gurndan inspect his armor while he did that, and he also spent the usual time training and even helping reinforce a few parts of their wall.

The next morning they left Southwind heading north. Unlike the previous times they'd traveled through Swandia there were almost no guard patrols, or soldiers moving through. The merchants and travelers they encountered were less friendly, keeping to themselves. Michael imagined that they felt trapped. With the war brewing in the north, the rifts in the south, and the mountains to the East the only way to flee was West, and Svict didn't seem to be the most welcoming place for strangers, takers or no, from what he recalled.

They caught up with the other knights and diplomats on the second day of travel. Michael was glad that they'd been moving with as much haste as they had been. It took only two more days of riding to reach the border of Swandia and Cantalia. The military presence was heavy here, with thousands of knights, soldiers, and a number of mercenary groups all gathered and ready. He even recognized a few faces from the other mercenary bands he'd fought alongside in Cantalia while he was a part of Gemini. Swandia's army seemed much better prepared than Cantalia's, and their ability to use their horses on the more open plains would make a significant difference if Michael was unable to avert the oncoming war.

When they began to near the Swandian camp, a sea of orange banners and tan tents, they were met by a knightly escort that guided them first to the temporary stable where their horses would be cared, then to the large tents which would be their quarters while they were there, and finally to the officer's tent. They were quite a lot larger than the single man tent he'd been used to crawling into and sleeping in for the last several years.

At one point they crested a hill and Michael was able to see the sea of Burndan tents across the field. There was one large banner hung at the front of the camp which showed a Silver sword on a black field. Hanging lower were four smaller banners, all different colors. Michael didn't recognize three of them, but he did notice Cantalia's. All four of the banners had their central emblems painted over in black paint. Between that and the number of soldiers Burndan had brought, it was hard not to see the implied threat. He wondered how much of that was his son and how much was the brand at his neck.

The Officer's tent was an impressively raised castle of canvas with bright orange banners on every side. In his mind it was a massive target for a well placed fireball, but he supposed the actual fighting hadn't started yet. The knights with them pushed the canvas aside, and their group walked in with Lance in the lead, Michael and Ollie close behind, as the highest ranking nobles, with the diplomats behind them, Marcus and Pyotr in the rear, and Blake and Laird carrying the titled gifts that had been promised in order to get them to agree to the mediation.

Flanked by knights in some of the thickest full plate Michael had ever seen was a broad man with a neatly trimmed beard and thick black hair swept back. He was wearing armor that was somehow the color of ochre and a warhammer was leaned against his leg. He shook his head with pity as he saw them.

"So you're the poor bastards they sent on this errand, eh?"