Dawn's Arrival
The army of the crusade came with dawn, their pennants streaming white and gold against the morning light. Ten thousand warriors, armed and armored, advancing with the confident precision of divine intent.
At their front rode Cardinal Crane, promoted to his new rank scarcely a month previously but moving with the absolute assurance of divine right. His features were set and stern, his eyes blazing with righteous anger as he gazed down upon Thornhaven from a hilltop overlooking the town.
Alongside him rode commanders and priests, veterans who'd fought in past crusades, fanatics who viewed the universe in terms of absolutes of clean and unclean.
"It's smaller than I was expecting," one commander said. "Hardly a village. And this is what the heretic Dragon Lord has constructed?"
"It's not about the size," Crane said, his tone cutting. "It's about what it is. A Dragon Lord serving in concert with Church assets? Former troops of the realm under his command? This is corruption incarnate. This is the seed that will blossom into something even worse."
"Your Eminence," a younger priest dared to speak. "The scouts see no defenses. No military formations. Only. people. Families. Children."
"Sherm and deceptions," Crane replied with scorn. "The Dragon Lord is devious. He conceals his nature beneath innocence, as the serpent concealed itself in paradise. But we shall not be fooled."
He lifted his staff, and the army moved forward against Thornhaven.
.....
The Reception
Lioran remained at the door of Thornhaven, unarmed, dressed in plain attire that made him no more or less than any other villager.
Standing behind him was Renn, Sister Elara, Matthias, and a few of the refugees who had offered to stand witness even though it was dangerous. No soldiers. No arms. Simply human beings willing to be there.
The ember shouted in Lioran's heart, crying for him to call fire, to display these intruders the price of threatening what he had created. His hands shook under the strain of fighting, of keeping the power contained.
The crusader army came to a halt fifty paces from the village. Crane rode down, surrounded by a dozen guards armed to the teeth, and approached at slow, measured paces.
"I am Cardinal Crane of the High Conclave," he declared, his voice echoing over the distance. "I bring the verdict of the Church. The one known as Dragon Lord will yield himself forthwith, or this settlement and everyone in it shall be purged by holy fire."
"I am Lioran Vale," Lioran declared, advancing. "And I will not give up. But I ask that you walk through this village before you pronounce judgment. Look at what we've made. Talk to the people who've found shelter here. Judge us by what we do, not by what you expect."
Crane's face contorted with disdain. "I don't have to look at your works to recognize their character. Poison veiled in pretended charity is just as poison. The venom of the serpent is no less deadly for being coated with honey."
"Then you've made up your mind," Matthias said, stepping forward to stand next to Lioran. "You came not to sit in judgment, but to carry out a sentence already given."
Crane's eyes widened at the appearance of the excommunicated cardinal. "Matthias. So there were rumors. You side with the heretic."
"I side with what is right," Matthias answered calmly. "And what is right is not killing people who have done nothing wrong except to accept aid from someone you fear."
"afen?" Crane's laugh was cruel. "I am afraid only of the corruption of sacred purpose. And you, old man, represent that corruption. You have exchanged eternal truth for temporary comfort, divine law for human sentiment."
"I've exchanged certainty for comprehension," Matthias retorted. "There is a distinction."
Crane began to raise his staff. "This conversation is futile. The Dragon Lord will surrender, or we will take him by storm."
"You're going to have to come through us first," Renn declared, advancing. Behind him, other villagers shifted—not soldiers, simply people. Clara and the child. The old man who'd instructed Lioran in how to dig correctly. Refugees and farmers, united.
"We're not warriors," Clara stated, her voice trembling yet strong. "We're not soldiers. But this village offered us hope when we had none. Offered us land when we were refugees. Offered us safety when we were defenseless. So if you want to burn it down, you'll have to burn us down as well."
A murmur passed through the crusading army—doubt, uncertainty, the understanding that what they were up against wasn't an army but common people.
...
The Fracture
Some voice from the ranks of the crusaders shouted: "Your Eminence, perhaps we ought to—"
"Quiet!" Crane cut him off. "These are strategies of trickery! The Dragon Lord employs innocents as shields, demonstrates his depravity through deceit!"
But the voice remained—a younger priest, advancing from the lines. "I know some of these individuals. From refugee camps in the south. They were starving, desperate. If the Dragon Lord has aided them, if they are here by choice—"
"Then they are accomplices to heresy," Crane announced. "Voluntary instruments of wrong are just as guilty as wrong itself."
"That is not doctrine," a call came. "The teachings state—"
"I appoint doctrine!" Crane's face was flushed now, spittle flying. "The High Conclave has delegated the power unto me! Any who doubt are themselves suspicious!"
The split Matthias had foreseen was beginning. Soldiers exchanged uncertain glances. Priests murmured to each other. The hard certainty that had propelled them north was cracking against the hard fact of what they discovered.
Lioran could feel the moment teetering on the edge of a blade. Say one wrong thing, give one spark of flame, and it would all come crashing down into violence. The ember pleaded with him to take action, to demonstrate crushing strength, to remind them why they should be afraid.
Rather, he did something that surprised everyone—himself included.
He knelt.
Not in submission. But humility.
"I am not requesting you to follow me," Lioran instructed, his voice ringing across the field that had grown so quiet. "I am not requesting you to forsake your faith or your beliefs. I am only requesting that you look. Come through this village. Talk to these people. Decide for yourselves if what we've created is worth destroying."
He gazed up at Crane. "If after seeing what we've done—really seeing it, not just making assumptions—you still think we have to be eradicated, then I will give myself up. No battle. No flames. I will come with you in peace to answer whatever judgment you require."
"Lioran, no—" Renn began.
"But if you refuse to even look," Lioran went on, "if you're determined to destroy out of fear and prejudice, then you demonstrate that it's not evil you're fighting, but merely anything that thwarts your authority."
Crane remained motionless, his staff shaking in his hand. He'd prepared for war or for capitulation. He hadn't prepared for this.
....
The Walk
One of the commanders came forward—an older man with gray in his beard and scars on his face. "I'll look," he said, his voice low. "I've fought in three crusades, slain hundreds in the name of purity. But I've never declined to see what I was fighting first."
"Commander Aldric—" Crane began.
"With all due respect, Your Eminence, the kid makes a decent proposal. We go through, we look, we judge. If it's bad, we purify it. If it isn't." He left it hanging. "Then we reconsider."
Other soldiers advanced. Not all—maybe a third of the army. Enough that Crane couldn't just command them back without showing his dictatorship.
"This is a mistake," Crane spat. "You'll be fooled—"
"Then come along with us," Aldric instructed. "Lead us into the deception. Identify the wickedness we're too dumb to recognize."
Crane's features twisted through a series of expressions—anger, terror, calculation. At last, he nodded brusquely. "Very well. But you will be able to see beyond their trickery."
The march into Thornhaven commenced.
Lioran guided them through the streets, not a word spoken, allowing the village to testify for itself. They encountered fields of green crops, cared for by families working together as one. They encountered the Church supplies being dispensed equitably, noted accurately to avoid corruption. They encountered Flamebound warriors assisting in constructing a new well, their gear laid aside for tools.
They saw children at play, their laughter real. They saw the old man instructing younger refugees on how to plant, his aged hands gentle and courteous. They saw Clara tending to her child in the shade of a recently planted tree.
Commander Aldric interviewed refugees, questioning cautiously. Others did the same, filtering through the village, searching. Some remained suspicious still, looking for secret armies or signs of dark magic. But most just saw what was there—normal people, living normal lives, assisted by an extraordinary coalition.
Crane walked in silence, his expression becoming grimmer with every step.
.....
The Judgment
They were again convened at the center of the village as the sun was directly overhead.
Commander Aldric spoke first. "I see no evil here. I see people being assisted. I see cooperation amongst powers which should be enemies. I see." He hesitated, grappling for the words. "I see something preferable to what we abandoned in the south."
Grunts of ascent rippled amongst the soldiers and priests who'd marched through Thornhaven.
"This is deception!" Crane protested. "Skillfully orchestrated to deceive unsophisticated minds! The Dragon Lord remains a heretic, remains empowered by forbidden power, remains—"
"Remains in existence," Lioran broke in softly. "Remains to keep my promise. I said I would surrender if you judged us worthy of annihilation. But I also notice that your judgment has already been reached, Cardinal. You did not come to judge. You came to destroy something that undermines your certainty."
He stood, looking Crane straight in the eye. "So I'll ask again: do you really think we're worthy of destruction? Or are you frightened of what it will be if we aren't?"
Crane's grasp on his staff tightened. For an instant, Lioran thought he would strike.
Then Matthias stepped between them.
"Enough, Crane," the old man murmured. "You've lost. Not the fight—there wasn't even a fight. But the moral high ground you pretended to be standing on. These troops can see it. The priests can see it. Even you can see it, though you won't acknowledge it."
"I see heresy—"
"You see change," Matthias amended. "And it frightens you. Because if the Dragon Lord can be more than a monster, if the resources of the Church can be used to serve individuals rather than institutions, if collaboration can accomplish greater things than conflict—then everything you've based your life on is called into question."
Crane was shaking, his confidence disintegrating before their eyes.
At last, he turned and walked away. "I will take this before the High Conclave. They will decide."
"Do that," Lioran instructed. "And while they're deciding, we'll just keep building."
The crusading host set out that afternoon—not defeated, but in disarray. Some of the men deserted outright, requesting to remain and assist with the settlements. Others departed judiciously, unsure of what they had seen.
Only Crane and his most loyal followers departed with the same conviction they had arrived.
And in Thornhaven, refugees were rejoicing at surviving today, not knowing what tomorrow would hold, but thankful for the present.
Lioran was on the edge of the village, seeing the army dwindle into the distance, and felt something change within him.
The ember was silent.
For the first time since his resurrection, it had no response for what happened next.