The Deserters
Three days following the crusader army's march, Thornhaven's townspeople had almost doubled in number.
Soldiers trickled in night after night—men and women who'd marched north with holy intention but returned with doubts they couldn't dispel. They arrived in pairs or small groups, armor cast aside, weapons left behind, with only what they could carry on foot.
Lioran greeted each group in person, not as a lord to subjects but as a person attempting to find out why they'd remained.
One of the first was a woman named Serra. She'd been a lieutenant in Crane's army, in charge of a company of fifty men. Now she stood in Thornhaven's square, diminished without armor, her face pinched with doubt.
"Why did you remain?" Lioran asked.
Serra remained still for a long time. "I've been waging crusades since I was sixteen," she stated finally. "Twelve years of charging into villages like this one, slaughtering people because they prayed differently or practiced magic we couldn't comprehend. I believed it was righteous. That we were defending the faithful." She gazed around Thornhaven, at the fields and families. "But walking through here, I realized. we were never protecting anyone. We were just destroying things that made us uncomfortable."
"You could have stayed with Crane," Lioran said. "Reported what you saw, recommended peace."
Serra laughed harshly. "You don't know the Cardinal. He's already gone public that anyone who went through Thornhaven was tainted by your sorcery. Anyone who says anything against him will be labeled a heretic themselves." She looked Lioran in the eye. "So I left. Because if that means lying about what I saw, then I'd rather be an exile."
Similar stories emerged from other deserters. A priest who'd spent decades studying doctrine only to find it contradicted by reality. A soldier whose family had been refugees once, seeing in Thornhaven what he wished his parents had found. A healer who realized the Church had been hoarding medical knowledge that could have saved thousands.
By week's end, Thornhaven had grown two hundred new citizens—all ex-crusaders, all searching for something other than what they'd been escaping.
Renn oversaw their assimilation, his own history with betrayal and redemption rendering him unexpectedly adept at assisting others through similar processes.
"They're shattered," Renn said to Lioran one night as they observed the arrivals laboring side by side with founding refugees to construct additional shelter. "Not in body, but in faith. They require something new to hold onto, or they will break entirely."
"What do we offer them?" asked Lioran.
Renn motioned to the settlement before them. "This. The work. The evidence that something can be better. It's not a great philosophy or a divine doctrine. It's merely. real. And sometimes that is enough."
...
Mira's Warning
Mira caught up with Lioran towards the end of the evening, standing guard at the edge of the village. She'd been doing this more and more recently—catching herself stealing a moment to talk to him, as if she was frightened those moments would slip away.
"You're creating an army once more," she stated bluntly.
Lioran swung round to confront her. "They are refugees, not soldiers."
"They were soldiers three days ago. And they're still soldiers in their hearts, just aimed in a different direction." Mira stepped closer, her face hidden in the moonlight. "I'm not saying it's wrong. But I need you to understand what you're doing. These people aren't marching behind an idea. They're marching behind you. And that makes you accountable for whatever happens next."
"I know," Lioran said softly.
"Do you?" There was an edge to Mira's voice. "Because I recall another young man who amassed followers, who promised them something more than they knew. He burned bright and won loyalty. And then he burned everything else down as well."
The ember beat in Lioran's chest—not with anger, but with familiarity. She was correct. The pattern was repeating, even if the means were different.
"What can I do?" he asked. "Turn them away? Say they can't remain because I'm scared of what I might be turned into?"
"No," Mira said. "But you can ensure that you're not the sole point of gravity. Distribute the power. Create systems that don't rely on you as an individual. Ensure that if you fall—or if you lose yourself to that flame again—what you've constructed doesn't come crashing down with you."
She reached over and grasped his hand. "I'm proud of what you've done here, Lioran. Really proud. But I'm scared too. Because each time you opt for peace rather than power, that thing inside your chest gets a little more enraged. And one day it's going to expect payment for all this self-control."
Lioran gazed down at their clasped hands. His flesh still radiated faintly, the ember's residue visible even beneath skin. "I know," he said. "I can feel it. Each day, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep it contained. Like a dam keeping water that just continues to build."
"Then learn to let it go without killing everything," Mira replied. "Or get assistance. You can't battle this fight alone indefinitely."
.....
The Council Expands
The following morning, Lioran convened what had become the unofficial leadership of Thornhaven.
Kaelen rode in from the southern reaches. Sister Elara came from the Church's remaining supply bases. Torven spoke for the military view. Matthias brought the wisdom of decades within the Church bureaucracy. And now, Lioran brought in new voices—Serra, speaking for the former crusaders, and a refugee elder, Henrik, who'd come to speak for the original colonists.
"We require structure," Lioran stated after everyone had assembled. "True governance, not me making decisions and everyone else going along. Mira's correct—we can't create a new order if it hangs in the balance on one individual."
"What are you suggesting?" asked Kaelen.
"A council. Seven members—one for each significant faction. Members elected by their groups, not appointed by me. Equal vote in decisions impacting the settlements."
Torven scowled. "That's inefficient. Wars aren't won by committee."
"We're not in war," Lioran answered. "Or we're not wanting to be. And peace needs different framework than war does."
"The Church attempted this once," Matthias mused. "Councils of bishops to counterbalance the authority of the Pontiff. It faltered because those in power did not want to relinquish it."
"Then we learn from that failure," said Sister Elara. "Create safeguards to keep any one group from overrunning the others. Demand consensus on major decisions. Provide a voice for everyone."
"And you?" Serra turned to Lioran. "Where do you come in on this council?"
"I won't," Lioran replied. The words were worth something to him—he could sense the ember's indignation at being proposed surrender of power. "I'll advise. I'll defend if need be. But I will not rule. If this is to succeed, it must succeed without me."
The ember howled. His fingers shook. For an instant, fire flickered at his fingertips without summoning.
Then Mira placed a hand on his shoulder, solid and warm, and the fire went out.
"I believe," Matthias said slowly, "that that is the most wise thing I have heard in forty years of Church politics."
.....
The Letter from the South
That afternoon, a messenger came with a letter borne in the High Conclave's seal.
Lioran broke the seal and read, his face growing darker with each sentence. When he was done, he handed it to Kaelen without a word.
The knight read it out loud for them all:
"By order of the High Conclave, those lands in the possession of the heretic Dragon Lord are hereafter declared anathema. All commerce is prohibited. All transit is prohibited. Any merchant house or kingdom that offers succor or comfort to these lands will be subject to instant excommunication and economic reprisals. The crusade will be resumed come spring with enough power to purge fully. This is the last mercy given—surrender the Dragon Lord, accept rightful authority, or be exterminated."
Silence swept the room.
"They're trying to starve us out," Torven replied matter-of-factly. "Shut off all supplies, let winter take care of the work for them, then come in when we are too weak to defend ourselves."
"Can we get through it?" Henrik asked. "We have some stores, but not enough for winter. Not with so many mouths to feed."
Sister Elara shook her head. "The Church owns most of the grain warehouses in the area. And the merchant guilds won't jeopardize sanctions by trading with us. We're facing starvation by midwinter."
"Then we have to find supplies elsewhere," Kaelen said. "Out of the Conclave's jurisdiction."
"Where?" Renn asked. "Every kingdom in this area obeys the Church. They won't jeopardize that relationship for us."
Lioran moved, went to the map on the wall. His finger drew a path due north, past settled country, into wilderness areas marked on the map.
"The Frost Kingdoms," he muttered. "Outside Church control. Autonomous, rich from mining and furs. If we can get there, trade in goods."
"That's thirty days' ride through unfriendly country," Torven replied. "And the Frost Kingdoms don't take kindly to southerners. They've repelled Church crusades before."
"Then perhaps," Lioran said, "they'll enjoy dealing with someone whom the Church has also branded enemy."
....
The Decision
That night, while the council argued and mapped out strategies, estimated supplies, Mira drew Lioran away.
"You're going on yourself, aren't you?" she asked. "To these Frost Kingdoms."
"I must," Lioran said. "I'm the only one who can promise we're not another southern kingdom looking to take advantage of them. And." He hesitated. "The ember requires this. Requires space from people I love. Requires to burn something that is not innocent."
"What do you mean?"
"The northward journey is perilous. Bandits, wild animals, unforgiving landscapes. Things that should be consumed by fire." His fists curled. "If I remain here, hold the ember back day by day, soon I'll snap. And when I do, it won't be bandits that burn."
Mira's eyes welled with tears. "So you're going away to save us from you."
"I'm going out to locate supplies we'll need to live," Lioran clarified. "The protection is merely. an added bonus."
"When?"
"Tomorrow. Before I reconsider. Before the ember does it for me."
Mira drew him into a hug, and for an instant, Lioran was just a boy, in his mother's arms, small and safe and human.
"Come back," she whispered. "Whatever happens in the north, whatever the ember demands, come back to us. Promise me."
"I promise," Lioran said.
It was a promise he hoped he could keep.
As dawn approached, Lioran prepared for the journey north, toward ice and unknown kingdoms and a chance to let fire burn without guilt.
Behind him, Thornhaven slept, protected by the peace he'd bought with restraint.
But peace, he was discovering, came at a cost.
And soon, that cost would be due.