To Serve the Light (Part 7)

Bernhardt sighed and rubbed his eyes. Light, he was tired – so tired! – of trying to deal with this mess. But they were his recruits, his responsibility. All of three of them. If I can salvage any of them from ruin, after this.

The one might be salvageable. The other, most likely lost. And the last, well... the last was anyone’s guess. In his time, he’d seen strong, proud warriors, men and women both, shaken to their very cores by the journey into the Twisted Nether, and back again. The Light had graced him with the power to call to wayward souls back from the beyond, and to heal the physical wounds – but time alone could heal the wounds left upon the spirit.

Ah, no use to worry now. The boy has not even awoken yet. Better to attend matters I can deal with now.

He’d had his men gather the runners, and they’d been questioned thoroughly. Despite their differing stories, Bernhardt was experienced enough to ferret out a likely tale from the lies they tried to weave. He was fairly sure what had happened, and now needed only confirmation from the three main participants of this travesty.

Of the three, only one could he question, right at this moment. He sighed.

“Stelhamor.”
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She stood stiffly as he came into the cell. “Sir! Is Tay…”

“I’m asking the questions here, Stelhamor,” Sir Bernhardt cut in, his voice harsh. “Tell me why, Stelhamor. Why did this happen?”

Anger sparked immediately within her eyes. She didn’t care about any of that right now. She only cared about her friend, and his welfare. “Taylor…”

“NO!” he roared, for once his anger a very real, very powerful thing. “Answer me, and answer now. Tell me why you’re standing here, covered in the blood of a good recruit? Tell me why I shouldn’t clap you in chains now? Why we shouldn’t try and execute you for murder?”

“Murder…?” she whispered hoarsely. Dwarven ire faded instantly, drained even as the blood drained from her face. Dread and fear took residence. “But… but ye brought him back…?” her voice had a pleading note to it.

“ANSWER ME, DWARF!” Bernhardt commanded.

Deep within, anger stirred a moment. Was quelled by despair and guilt. Slowly, haltingly, Wyn told her tale.