The Last Charge – Chapter 13: Mission to Tinto, Part II

"Lord Maximillian? Are you okay?" Sancho asked, leaning forward to where Maximillian sat. He had to repeat himself as he got closer, for the noise of the crowd gathered in the dining hall of the Tinto Presidential Palace that morning was daunting.

Maximillian waved his faithful squire's concerns off. "Just a little tired," he confessed, wheezing slightly as he sat back in his chair. "These old bones of mine aren't used to getting up so early anymore."

"Don't say that, Uncle!" Isabel enjoined earnestly across from him, unthinkingly slamming a fist down into the wooden table. The fact that she—like all the knights gathered in the hall that morning—was fully armored made the noise that much louder. She folded her arms defiantly, looking sulky. "It's just this high altitude in Tinto, and this damned heat," she asserted seriously.

At her side (as ever) Mathias nodded solemnly. "My lady is correct—this is a high and arid land. A harsh place, indeed. I am confidant you will recover once we have returned to the lowlands, My Lord Maximillian."

Maximillian smiled weakly—the two were deluding themselves, but their concern for him was touching. "Perhaps you two are correct," Maximillian finally granted, if only to reassure them. (Privately, of course, he knew the truth—the years were finally catching up to him.)

He nodded to them again. "My dear niece, loyal Mathias, please, worry yourselves no more on my account." That seemed to put them both at ease. The fact that they worried over him so much was touching, especially considering, in truth, Maximillian and Isabel were not actually related—but her father had been one of Maximillian's most loyal knights, back in the old days; as such, when Isabel and Mathias sought him out, she had 'adopted' him, so to speak.

Besides, their like-minded dedication to justice had bound them just as tightly as any bonds of blood.

At any rate, the two were probably right, on one level: it was probably best for Maximillian to try and keep a brave face up. Diplomatic missions like these were all he had left, now. The battlefield was long behind him (unfortunately), but he would still serve his homeland—and justice—however he could.

"Grandfather!" Maximillian looked up to see Fred and Rico rushing through the crowd, trays of food balanced precariously in their hands.

"Ah, Grandson. I see your food reconnaissance went well," Maximillian declared as his two young charges came to a stop in front of the knight's table.

Fred clanged the two trays he held down onto the table, before offering a parade-sharp salute, Rico only a half step behind. "Yes, Grandfather!" Fred shouted. "We approached the food table, as ordered, and procured materials for our knightly order!"

At this Maximillian just smiled: the boy was trying so hard to live up to his knightly vows. It was inspiring really. Roused by his grandson's youthful energy, Maximillian nodded seriously. "Well, then, let us not let your efforts go to waste—knights, meal time!"

"Yes, Grandfather!" Fred repeated, before he and Rico took up their seats and began to dig in.

"Hey, now!" Isabel protested, dragging one of the trays away from the hungry youngsters, "Leave some for the rest of us!" At Fred's sheepish look, Maximillian and the others burst into laughter...

...But their merriment did not last. Only minutes into their meal, their host—President Gustav—burst into the dining hall, looking wretched. Maximillian warily noted the large security detail around him. Something was amiss.

Gustav conferred with several of the men around him, before stepping forward to the head of the dining room. As if on cue, the room (which had been buzzing from the moment he had appeared) suddenly quieted. Gustav coughed—once, twice—before beginning to speak. "L-Ladies and Gentlemen..." he said, his voice sounding... strained. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he repeated, "many of you have heard rumors that my daughter—Lilly—was kidnapped from the presidential palace last night..."

At this, Maximillian—he and all his knights, really—stirred, for this was the first that they had heard of such a thing. (The Maximillian Knights rarely went out seeking the latest of palace gossip.)

"Unfortunately... the rumors are true. A band of what are claiming to be Knights of the Ebony Moon from Grasslands have taken my daughter, and made demands for her safe return." A pause as the many gathered in the hall gasped. "As a result," Gustav continued, "I'm afraid that I'll have to be cutting short our festivities today. Travel arrangements are being put together as we speak. I'm sorry that Tinto's first international reception has been derailed like this, but I imagine you all understand—"

At last, Maximillian could no longer still his tongue. "The Maximillian Knights stand ready to strike at the perpetrators of this... injustice!" Maximillian declared, rising from his seat (his earlier fatigue forgotten). The sheer conviction and passion in his voice was hard to miss.

Across the room, Maximillian's declaration soon found a comrade. "Indeed," Sierra Mikain suddenly called, rising from where she sat, "I too have some fondness for your daughter. I would be willing to lend my service to her aid as well." Similar calls of solidarity came from the Zexen, Dunan, and Camero delegations; the Harmonian delegation simply watched the scene silently.

"No," President Gustav declared sharply. "No, this is a Tinto problem, and this will be resolved by Tinto," he declared flatly.

Isabel was on her feet immediately. "What!?" she shouted, forgetting for the moment that she was addressing a foreign head of state. "You can't be serious! We could stomp those evil-doers into the dirt!

"My lady is correct," Mathias added, having leapt to his feet within seconds of his lady, "it would be little trouble enact swift and final retribution and deposit their loathsome corpses into the Tigermouth River."

"I said no!" Gustav roared, the old lion apparently finally roused. It was enough to even silence Isabel and Mathias. Indeed, the strength of Gustav's outburst even seemed to stun him, as he reeled for a long moment, before simply turning away. Raking a hand through his messy hair, Gustav spoke quietly with his advisors and bodyguards.

It was hard to not notice how absolutely wretched Gustav looked.

A little later, the knights were dejectedly sitting at one of the abandoned tables in the dining hall, picking at the cold remains of what was supposed to be an amazing brunch. The Harmonian and Dunan delegations, after the appropriate offers of condolences, had already departed from the capital. The Zexen and Camaro delegations were scheduled to leave later in the day. Only the knights had made no move to leave... not that there was much they could do at the moment, however.

"I just don't understand why he won't let us help!" Fred growled, stomping around in his oversized black armor. He may have been a little young for a knight—he was only thirteen!—but his sense of justice easily matched those of his seniors.

"Fred..." Sancho's granddaughter Rico said, trying to calm Fred down.

"Now, now, Grandson," Maximillian began, "It is... admirable that Gustav is so set on handling this problem on his own," he said meditatively. "Self-reliance is one of the key tenets of the knight's code."

"But my lord, knowing when to ask for help is also one of the key tenets of the knight's code!" Rico proclaimed, giving voice to the collective frustration of the knights.

Maximillian sighed. "I know, Little Rico, I know." The knights collectively slumped down into depression again.

"Lord Maximillian?"

Maximillian glanced up to see Sierra and fellow he didn't recognize approaching the table. "Ah, Lady Sierra," he began, rising quickly before his creaking joints dropped him into a (slightly rusty) bow. "I had hoped to get a chance to tell you how wonderful it is to see you again. You look even lovelier than when we fought together in the Orange Army."

Sierra bowed her head at the compliment. "Thank you. But at the moment, I think we all have bigger concerns on our minds." It was obvious what she was referring to.

Maximillian nodded. "Shame Gustav won't let us help. Injustice must be punished, you know," Maximillian lamented. He then noticed that the fellow at Sierra's side seemed to be nudging Sierra about something. Harmonian? Maximillian thought in surprise, taking another glance at the man. He was surprised he had chosen to remain behind when the rest of his party had left.

"Is something amiss?" Sancho—at Maximillian's side—asked, glancing between the two.

Sierra looked uncomfortable, inclining her head again. "About the... situation. My..." her expression soured, "associate here has something he wishes to discuss with you and your knights."

"Something to... discuss?" Maximillian asked, intrigued.

OOO

It wasn't that Nash was feeling... guilty exactly. He had done his best to foil the kidnapping and rescue Lilly (itself something of a 'above and beyond' moment, considering he was spying on her father at the time!). Even so, something deeply offended him about what the kidnappers were doing.

It had of course occurred to him to try and infiltrate the building where the knights were holed up... But if he was going to try and take on a well fortified force of would-be knights, he was going to need some slightly more significant firepower than just some rune scrolls and the rest of his bag of tricks.

If you were going to try and take on a party of knights, you were going to need a few knights of your own. Convenient, then, that Sierra apparently knewthe legendary Lord Maximillian!

After Sierra's awkward introduction, Nash immediately stepped forward. "Lord Maximillian," Nash began breathlessly, "My name is Nash, and I'm hoping you'll help me put a stop to these kidnappers."

"That's... very forward, young man," Maximillian began, stroking his beard slowly.

"You'll find that Nash here doesn't usually bother with things like tact," Sierra added slyly.

"Look who's talking," Nash shot back, before turning his attention back to Maximillian. "I know it's a bit abrupt, but the situation being what it is, I don't think we have much time to dilly-dally."

Maximillian inclined his head. "Have you managed to make Gustav change his mind, then?" he asked.

Nash didn't flinch. "Not in the slightest. But I do have a few ideas about getting around that."

This at least caused Maximillian to chuckle—he was starting to like this forward young man. "Ideas, eh?" He nodded. "Well, then, tell me what ideas you have to deal with these 'Ebony Moon' knights."

At his side, Sancho nodded. "Yes, even assuming Gustav wouldlet us help and it was a fair fight, if these are Knights of the Ebony Moon, then we'd still have a hard fight ahead of us."

"No, that's impossible," Nash broke in authoritatively, "because the last person in decades to gain status as a Knight of the Ebony Moon was Georg-who-needs-no-second-strike." Nash coughed. "Er, I mean, Georg Prime."

"Bit of a fan, are we?" Sierra asked, mockingly.

Nash reddened. "Shut up..."

"So they're fakes?" Isabel asked.

"I've seen something like this before..." Nash explained, sounding thoughtful. "A bunch of bandits co-opting a local legend as a quick and dirty way to get some legitimacy for their own gain."

"Bandits..." Maximillian began, as if tasting the word for the first time.

"Bandits sullying the good name of real knights like Sir Georg," Isabel added, her voice rising.

"Bandits trampling over knightly vows!" Fred chimed in.

At last, it was too much for Maximillian to take. He leapt to his feet. "Maximillian Knights, assemble!" he shouted, forgetting that his knights were already gathered around him. Even so, they all stood to join him. "All right, lad! We're with you!" Maximillian declared.

Nash nodded. "Fantastic," he declared, punching one hand into another. "Okay, first things first: about how much help do you think we'll be able to get out Tinto's guardsmen?"

"They'll do fine!" Isabel began, before her expression collapsed. "...Except for the part where this is completely out of their depth. Have you seen their guardsmen? Hardly worth mentioning!" she declared loudly, slamming her heavy saber into ground for emphasis.

"Indeed, their pitiful corpses would not even be worth the effort of depositing in the nearest body of water," Matthias added sagely.

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Nash said, as their opinion coincided with his own. "I guess we're going to have to do this on our own." He nodded. "Here's what I was thinking..."

OOO

President Gustav had set up a temporary command post, just outside the mining blockhouse the kidnappers had holed up in. It had formerly been the office for the adjoining mine system, but when the last veins had given out, it had been abandoned. The practical result was a sturdy building, built like a fort, and only approachable from two ways, neither of them good: wide open plains from the front (easy pickings for the archers posted on the blockhouse's roof) or monster-filled and no doubt booby trapped mine paths in the back.

Gustav lowered his spy glass, and returned from the edge of his tent. Two brigades of the Tinto Army were gathered on either side of the military tent, and to a man the soldiers were restless, matching the mood of their leader. Gustav leaned against the table in the center of the tent, on which a map of the local area had been laid out. "Marlowe, I want you to get the paperwork ready for my resignation," he said quietly.

Marlowe, standing just to Gustav's right, looked up sharply. "What!?" he yelped in surprise. "You can't!"

Gustav held up a hand in a placating manner. "Calm down, calm down. I haven't made any decisions. I just... I just need to have the option available... if our..." and here Gustav glanced back at the now menacing blockhouse, "negotiations don't go well."

After a few unarmed messengers, the kidnappers had been convinced to meet with President Gustav in exchange for one of their captured comrades. Ostensibly, the meeting was about nailing down the particulars of what the kidnapper knights wanted from Gustav—was Tinto allowed a self-defense force, what constituted 'territorial ambitions'—but everyone knew that it was really about buying Gustav time. Time to do what, exactly, was an open question... one that had many in the Republic worried.

Marlowe finally nodded, before moving to a writing table at the back of a tent. "O-Of course, Mr. President. I'll begin right away."

Gustav then turned his attention to the man on his left. "Reed, how're our men doing?" he asked.

The lanky blonde man in a Tinto uniform stirred. "Nervous," Reed admitted. "And worried about Lilly, of course." Reed risked a glance at Gustav's expression. "It would help..." Reed began, looking apprehensive, "if we knew what we were preparing for..." In other words, the men were desperate to know if they were going in weapons drawn (risking Lilly's life) or if they were going to have the dubious honor of being the very last members of the glorious Tinto Army.

Gustav's expression was impassive. "When I'm prepared to tell you, you'll know," he pronounced flatly. His gaze was turned firmly inward.

Reed's expression blanched. "Of course, sir. I'll see to the men," he said quietly, before ducking out the tent as quickly as possible. The fact that the normally decisive Gustav seemed so... lost was unnerving to him.

At this point, Gustav's gaze finally flicked up from the map on the table. "And you," Gustav began gruffly, glancing up at the person standing across from him at the table, "Remember, you're here strictly in an advisory capacity, and only as a show of good faith to Lepant."

It had taken some smooth talking by Sancho to even get that much. Lord Maximillian nodded. "I swear I shan't raise a hand."

That was apparently good enough for Gustav. He grunted noncommittally, before stomping to the back of the tent to see how Marlow was getting along.

Maximillian took the opportunity to edge to the front of the tent, lifting his own spyglass. Sancho leaned over to Maximillian. "Will they be going in now?"

Maximillian pulled free a pocket watch, before nodding. "Yes. It should be just about now."

OOO

About a mile away, and higher up in the mountains, Nash, Sierra, Isabel, Mathias, Fred, and Rico gathered around the mouth of an abandoned mineshaft. "Is this the one?" Nash asked.

Sierra nodded, a faraway look in her eyes. "Yes. We can get there through here."

Nash nodded. Normally, using Sierra's advanced senses in such a manner would have chafed at him and felt an awful lot like cheating their way around the problem. But considering that the fake knights had cheated first by kidnapping Lilly, his conscious was quite placated. He turned back to the knights. "Are we ready?"

"I guess..." Isabel began. "But I'm still not sure about this..." she continued, picking disdainfully at the Tinto guardsmen uniform she wore. The frilly-yet-leathery uniform fit awkwardly across her shoulders, as she had insisted on wearing her Maximillian Knight armor on underneath it.

"I must agree with my lady," Mathias added stoically. The uniform fit even worse over his full plate mail. The buttons down the front of the uniform were strained to the absolute limit, yet still barely covered the red hawk emblazoned on the front of his armor.

Nash shrugged. "Well, I'm not sure what to tell you," he answered, adjusting his own uniform. "Gustav said he wanted only Tinto guardsmen involved, so we're just going to have to be Tinto guardsmen." He turned his gaze over to Fred and Rico, both dressed in Tinto page uniforms. "And their associated squires, of course."

"And where did you say you got these uniforms?" Isabel asked.

"I didn't," he replied immediately. He wasn't about to share the tale of his 'daring' (and illegal) locker room raid to the legendary Maximillian Knights. Considering the matter resolved, Nash then turned his attention over to Sierra. "And are you ready?"

Sierra still looked distracted, but Nash could tell it was no longer from using her enhanced vampire sense. "I... suppose. Might I have a word though..." she glanced over to the knights, still trying in vain to adjust their uniforms. "...In private?"

Nash shrugged, taking a step closer to her. Both of them then turned their backs to the rest of the knights. "What's wrong? Can you still find a course for us through the mines?"

Sierra waved the question off impatiently. "Obviously. My concerns lie elsewhere."

Nash folded his arms. "Such as?"

"Such as I still think you're making a mistake," Sierra declared quietly. "It would be almost nothing for me to handle this, Nash."

Nash shifted uncomfortably. "You heard Gustav—he doesn't want anyone but Tinto soldiers involved, for whatever it is that's about to go down."

"So? You seem to be quite ready to break that rule," she countered.

Nash refused to take the bait. "I'm just saying it would look pretty suspicious if all the bad guys suddenly fell over from bite marks on their necks." He thumbed his scarf, and managed a half-hearted effort at a smile. "I'd hate to think I'd let you go and ruin your good name in Tinto. I mean, this has to be one of few places where they're actually excited to see you, fangs and all."

His effort at humor fell on deaf ears. "Is that the real reason you won't let me handle this, Nash?" Sierra demanded.

He squirmed a bit under her gaze. "Well, uh, okay... No matter how powerful you are, they've got Lilly and I'm not sure you can stop them all before they hurt her... at least not without leveling the building in the process." It wasn't exactly a lie...

Even so, Sierra saw right through it, and her expression hardened. "I'm still waiting, Nash."

Finally, he cast his eyes down. "Besides... I feel like I need to do this on my own."

Despite all his protestations otherwise, Sierra felt the waves of guilt radiating off of him. It was that, more than any flimsy oath Gustav had forced upon them, that bound her. Besides, even if she would never tell him directly, she had faith in Nash's abilities. "All right," she conceded. "Let's begin, shall we?" she asked, before transforming into a bat.

"D-did she just turn into a bat!?" Isabel suddenly shouted behind them, her weapon drawn.

"My Lady, stand back!" Mathias called, taking a defensive stance in front of Isabel.

Nash and Bat-Sierra froze, exchanging looks. "Whoops..." Nash murmured. Bat-Sierra rolled her eyes, which was adorable on her tiny bat face.

One standoff and one hasty explanation later, Nash (carrying a torch), Isabel, Mathias, Fred, and Rico (also carrying a torch) followed Bat-Sierra through the twisting tunnels of the mining net work. "I'm not going to lie to any of you," Nash commented as they traveled, "but this mine design makes absolutely no sense."

"I believe that the majority of side tunnels were to follow veins as they were discovered," Mathias assessed clinically.

"Well, okay, I could see that for some of these tunnels, but the rest of them look like they were just randomly started and go nowhere," Nash protested.

"I think the other reason was because the Miner's Association was trying to keep their unionized workers working, even if they were just digging around in circles," Rico chirped from the rear of the line. Leave it to studious Rico to already know the ins and outs of local history.

Nash's expression turned thoughtful: hadn't Gustav been president of the Miner's Association before he was running the country? "Okay, that I can understand."

It was at that point that Bat-Sierra froze, her wings flapping faster in what Nash presumed was agitation. Indeed, within moments, she had transmogrified back into her human form. "Something's wrong," she declared summarily.

"Is it those fake knights?!" Isabel asked eagerly, her heavy saber already off her shoulder in a surprisingly short amount of time.

Sierra shook her head. "Slightly bigger than that."

Before anyone could ask what she meant, the tunnel they were in began to shake wildly. Before their startled eyes, a massive stone monstrosity burst forth from the tunnel floor. "What is that!?" Nash demanded, a pair of blazing arrow scrolls flicking to his fingers in seconds.

"Cave golem," Sierra said quietly, one of her throwing knives sliding into her hand. "The enmity of miners killed in cave-ins builds up in some of the more magical ores down here, and occasionally they just... get up." As Nash's mind raced to comprehend that explanation, almost as an afterthought Sierra added: "We're running out of time—take this tunnel to its end, and that will put you at the rear of the blockhouse. Lilly Pendragon should be on the top floor."

"I'm not going to let you fight that thing alone!" Nash protested, awkwardly putting away one of the rune scrolls while he tried to draw his 'borrowed' Tinto guardsmen sword at the same time.

"We'll stay with her!" Fred suddenly volunteered, racing to stand next to Sierra.

Rico, naturally, trundled only a half step behind him. "Yeah! We can handle some dumb old rock monster!"

"Fred, Rico, you do your oaths proud!" Isabel called, before she and Mathias rushed to Nash. "Come, Sir Nash. She'll be in good hands!"

"What? No! I'm not letting Sierra and a pair of kids take on a giant rock monster!" he protested, even as Isabel and Mathias clamped their hands firmly on either of his biceps and dragged him down the corridor.

The last glimpse Nash had of Sierra was her looking at him confidently. We'll be fine, she mouthed. It didn't rid Nash of all his doubts, but it was enough to get him to stop struggling against the pair of Maximillian Knights pulling him down the mine tunnel.

OOO

"It is... a bit small than I expected," Mathias decided, once the blockhouse was in view.

"Even so, I imagine it'll be packed to the teeth with these guys," Nash answered, kneeling and peering through a spyglass.

"Good," Isabel declared. "I'm spoiling for a good fight."

The fake knights were confident, but not completely stupid: a pair of guards were stationed at the rear of the blockhouse, on the off chance anyone actually managed to find their way through the complex den of mines behind them. This, however, was not something that Nash wasn't expecting. "You two ready to see some of my exclusive tricks of the trade?" he asked, before reaching into his cloak for a wind of sleep scroll. When he didn't get a response, he glanced back... to see that Isabel and Mathias were no longer behind him. "Hey, where did you—" he turned back towards the blockhouse, only to see the two of them creeping toward the compound.

Nash wanted to demand what the hell they thought they were doing, but that soon became pretty obvious. In one smooth motion, Mathias rose from his crouch and hurled his spear with all his might. At the same time, Isabel took off at a full clip. The spear landed vertically, between the two guards. And before they could even process what was going on—let alone raise a warning cry—Isabel lunged for the spear, grabbed on with her hands, and swung around by the spear's shaft. The twirling kick dropped both of the knights, and they didn't look like they were about to get up again.

"I take it you two have practiced that before?" Nash asked as he pulled up to them, as Isabel dismounted and Mathias single-handedly freed his spear from the ground.

The two exchanged looks. "No. Why?" Isabel asked, honestly confused.

Nash blinked. "I, uh..." He coughed. "No reason," he answered, as he self-consciously tucked his wind of sleep scroll back into his cloak. "Let's get to the second floor, shall we?" he offered instead, glad for the distraction of aiming his grappling hook.

It would only be a matter of time before the knights inside discovered two of their own unconscious out the back. No time to waste trying to creep around inside—Nash figured zipping up to a second floor window of the partially-in and partially-just outside of the mine blockhouse was the best option for them. The nearest window led the three of them into a long since abandoned bunk room.

"So far so good," Nash said quietly, as he led Isabel and Mathias towards the room's door. "I think we might even—"

He broke off in mid-sentence as he swung open the door, only to come face to face with two of the black knights. "Damn!" he shouted, slamming the door closed again. This didn't stop one of the knights from slamming his blade into it, while the other shouted for reinforcements.

Thinking fast, Nash slammed his boot into the door, knocking it off its (admittedly shoddy) hinges, and right into the pair of black knights. Before he could even ask them to, Isabel and Mathias had zipped out either side of the door, and slammed the butts of their weapons into the thick metal of the knight's oversized helmets.

"That takes care of these two," Nash began, hastily scanning the hallway for any other signs of life. He didn't see anything, but down the staircase just off to his left, he heard more of the black knights coming. "But here come the rest..."

"We'll make a diversion downstairs!" Isabel declared suddenly, before hurling herself down the steps with reckless abandon.

"Secure the girl while we teach these loathsome creatures the meaning of true honor!" Mathias added. "We will rejoin you when we have finished down below!" he promised before plunging after Isabel into the chaos below.

Before Nash could protest, Mathias too was gone, leaving him alone on the second floor, with nothing but the sounds of battle echoing up from below. "Shit..." Nash cursed to himself, drawing his belt knife. "And everything had been going so well," he muttered as he hurried along the narrow halls on the second floor.

It wasn't long before he found himself in a large common area. Judging from the discarded food and drink, it had been inhabited only until recently. More importantly, Lilly Pendragon—bound, gagged, and unconscious—was propped up in one corner. Nash sheathed his knife, taking a conspiratorial look around the area. "Lilly. Lilly!" he whispered as he crept forward. "Can you—"

And the next thing Nash knew, something slammed into the back of his head, and the floor was rushing up to meet him.

OOO

As his senses hazily came back, it became pretty obvious pretty quickly that his hands had been bound behind his back. At least they didn't bother to gag me.

"So, you are awake. Finally. I didn't think my man had hit you that hard."

"You'd be surprised," Nash answered, squinting into the sudden light. He had been planted right in the center of the common room, staring up at the bay windows that dominated the far wall. Lilly was still unconscious in the corner. Four of the fake knights stood near each of the corners, and all watched him warily.

Most importantly of all, directly before him, the leader of the fake knights (and he must have been the leader, because Nash would never forget that far too well manicured beard) shrugged, leaning against a table right against the windows. "Ah well, good help and all that," he said airily. "I'm sure you can relate. Those two others you were with—we've cornered them into one of the storerooms on the lower floor." He favored Nash with a smile. "You know, in case you were expecting help to come barging in."

Nash glared.

"I must admit, though," the leader continued conversationally, "I never expected a group of lowly Tinto guardsmen to make it this far," and there was a loaded look in the look in the leader's eyes as he watched for Nash's reaction.

When Nash didn't respond, he shrugged. "Not in the mood for a good chat?" the leader asked. "Fine. Allow me to make my introduction then—I am Sir Zepel Vontage, Knight of the Ebony Moon, Defender of the Grasslands, and a man who is most displeased at Gustav's continued oath-breaking."

At this, Zepel marched menacingly over towards Lilly, drawing his sword. "Did he really think I wouldn't hesitate to harm his daughter? Maybe sending him one of her pretty little fingers will make him negotiate in good faith from on out. Pretty, pretty girl, I'm afraid Daddy didn't love you enough to keep you in one—" Zepel's voice came fast, the words almost stacking up on one another. The man sounded practically... psychotic.

"No, no, stop! Gustav didn't order us here, we came here on our own!" Nash shouted immediately.

All at once, Zepel's madness seemed to calm. He sheathed his sword, and turned back to Nash with a smile. "Oh, so you can talk. I thought you might." As Zepel eased back against the table again, it was with a start that Nash realized that he had been duped—the crazy psycho voice had just been a ruse to egg Nash on.

Nash narrowed his eyes—it wouldn't do to underestimate this man. Whatever else he may be, he seemed to be a master at manipulating people. "Now that I am talking," Nash said aloud, "I'm afraid that you might not like the things I say."

"Like how and why you four—who clearly aren't actually Tinto soldiers—decided to come racing out here to save that old bloated fool's daughter?" Zepel asked.

"I had something else in mind," Nash countered evenly.

"Oh, how exciting. Like what?" Zepel asked, amused, but still feeling as if he had total control over the situation.

"Like the fact that I know for certain that you're no Ebony Moon knights."

Zepel's expression twitched, but never broke, although his smile quickly withered. "Now that's not fair," Zepel began, in a placating tone. "What is an Ebony Moon Knight but a man of the sword dedicated to above all else the protection of the Grasslands?"

"An honorable man, for starters," Nash spat out. "And more importantly, a man officially recognized and hailed by all the remaining free tribes in Grasslands as fighting honorably for Grasslands." Nash shrugged, which conveniently hid the motion as he slipped a knife from his sleeve into his hand. "So, sorry, pal, but only one man in the last several decades has gotten that honor, and that ain't you or your cronies here." As he held Zepel's gaze, Nash slowly began to try and saw through his bonds.

"Fine," Zepel conceded after a moment, "fine, we may not be true Knights of the Ebony Moon, but we may as well be: once the rest of Grasslands sees the stand we're taking here today, they'll rise up against Tinto withus!" He spread his arms. "By that point, it won't matter if we appointed ourselves, because they'll see the greater good we're serving here!"

"Greater good? You kidnapped an innocent child!"

"Only because Tinto is such a threat!" Zepel argued. "Gustav isn't like the ironheads," he continued, unconsciously using the Grasslands slang term for Zexen and its soldiers, "The ironheads will cause a fuss every now and then, but ever since Brass Castle was built, they're more than happy just to laze behind its walls. But Gustav... No, men like Gustav grab with both hands."

He swung around to face the window, out across the field where Gustav's command tent was. "They just want to keep grabbing and taking until there's nothing left." He glanced back over his shoulder to Nash. "Why do you think Tinto is so desperate to expand? Because they were too greedy, mined out all their precious ores, and now have less and less to live on."

"Sounds to me that's just a miner's life," Nash countered drolly, before realizing he was in the uncomfortable position of defending Gustav.

"With any luck," Zepel resumed, turning back to the window and apparently choosing to ignore Nash's comment, "we're not too late. With any luck, Gustav's over there right now, dismantling all his little plans for empire." He bowed his head. "And if not, then with any luck, there's still time for a united Grasslands strike to crush this puissant little country before it makes its move."

"What, you're talking about starting a war now, too?!" Nash snapped.

"If it's war that's necessary to stop this ambitious little man in his tracks, then yes, so be it!" Zepel shouted, turning back to face Nash. "If it's war that will stop Tinto from years of clawing its way across Grasslands, then yes, war itis!"He slammed one gauntleted hand into the other. "Decisive action, now, before he becomes a real threat." Zepel's eyes narrowed. "You're Harmonian. Your superiors must be worried now too, right?"

Nash's eyes narrowed. "That's beside the point," he muttered, willing his knife to cut faster.

"But it is the point." Zepel's expression turned arch. "I recognize you—you were the one skulking about the presidential palace in the middle of the night. A Harmonian spy... Or do you still claim you're nothing but a simple Tinto guardsman?"

Nash's eyes narrowed, at which point Zepel smirked. "So, you must understand where I'm coming from: use any tactics to keep the peace, right?"

But by this point Nash no longer cared if his cover was intact. "Not if it involves a child!" he thundered, his anger boiling over.

Zepel expression turned deadly serious, and his blade was again drawn. "Fine. It looks like you're just like all the rest." Zepel advanced on the prone Nash. "Gutless, and another obstacle in my way that needs to be removed." He raised his blade to strike, and—

OOO

"Something's wrong," Maximillian declared, lowering the spyglass.

"Are you sure?" Sancho asked.

"They should have been out by now..." Maximillian explained gravely. "There should be some commotion in that building, confusion." He folded his arms. "Something's gone wrong," he repeated.

Sancho twisted one of his polishing rags in agitation. "Should we tell Gustav? Organize another party?" he asked.

Maximillian didn't respond for a long moment. His expression was hard to read. After a moment, Sancho released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "My Lord?" Sancho pressed.

Maximillian soon drew himself up to his full height. "No. No time for that. Only one chance." He glanced at his faithful squire, a smile creasing his weathered face—but only for a moment. "Ready my mount." He turned his attention back to imposing blockhouse, and the fake knights within. "Justice must be served."

Sancho quickly set about the task but there was unease in him, and he kept glancing back to his lord as if he might vanish at any moment. Unlike Maximillian's many other exhortations over the years, you see, there was a terrible quietness to his words.

Gustav only noticed Maximillian's actions as Maximillian's faithful horse reared near the front of the tent. "What—?" he began, only to see Maximillian swing aboard his mount in what was, for an old man, one surprisingly smooth motion. Gustav's face contorted in confusion with a touch of fear. "Maximillian! Maximillian, what in blazing hell are you doing!?" he demanded, stomping out of the tent after them.

But Maximillian was already on his way.

OOO

Zepel advanced on Nash. Nash's knife still hadn't cut through the rope. This isn't going well...

"Zepel!" one of Zepel's guards near the windows suddenly shouted. "Zepel! Someone is attacking from the front!"

"What!?" Zepel demanded, whirling. And then Nash, Zepel, and Zepel's fake knights all turned to watch out the window.

There, riding out across the fields from the unmoving Tinto lines, came a lone rider on a white horse. At first it was hard to make out the details. Hoof beast sounding like distant thunder, even inside the blockhouse. The rider was an older man, wearing polished if old and battered armor. White hair streamed out behind him.

And then, with a start, Zepel and his 'knights' recognized just who was on that horse: Lord Maximillian.

Maximillian, in one smooth motion, drew his saber and pointed it defiantly forward. "Maximillian Knights.... CHARGE!!" he shouted, his wavering voice carrying easily over the field.

And on Maximillian's face, there was the devil-may-care expression of a joyful man in his element. In that second, Nash (and—he suspected—every single one of the fake Ebony Moon Knights) realized what a real knight looked like.

It was Zepel who finally broke the trance. "Arrows.... Arrows! Fire the arrows! Stop him!" Zepel shouted. He slammed a gauntleted fist down on the table. "Kill him!" he screamed.

From the roof of the blockhouse came wave after wave of arrows. But Maximillian would not be stopped, and they were all batted away by weapon or shield. And the entire time, Maximillian grinned, never wavered, charged defiantly forward.

He was drawing closer now, already halfway across the field. His horse would never fit through the blockhouse entrance, the doors were barred from the inside, but Zepel and his fake knights didn't stop to think about that. They couldn't—so transfixed by the image of this lone old man heedlessly charging through a hail of arrows.

So transfixed, they failed to notice as Nash finally finished sawing through his restraints. So transfixed, they failed to notice as Isabel and Mathias finally burst into the room, weapons at the ready. It was only then that Zepel turned to face them, shouting a warning to his men.

And then everything happened at once.

OOO

"Whoah, whoah," Maximillian said softly, as he drew his faithful steed to a halt just in front of the blockhouse.

If Maximillian was surprised to see the massive front doors of the blockhouse swing open from the inside, he didn't show it. He simply watched with almost detached interest, breathing heavily.

The first thing that he saw was Lilly Pendragon—free of her restraints, tears in her eyes, and still in her nightclothes—racing out through the doors. She rushed out across the field without sparing a backwards glance to Maximillian. About halfway across the field, there was a great shout, and old Gustav darted out of his command tent. The two met in a massive hug only seconds later, just as a great cheer went up through the ranks of Tinto's soldiers.

A familiar floppy brown hat caught Maximillian's eye next. "My lord!" Sancho shouted, speeding across the field on foot. "My lord!" he repeated, as he pulled up next to Maximillian and his mount. "That was amazing!"

Maximillian didn't respond. Instead, looked down at his armor, shifting slightly in his saddle. "It feels different than I expected..." he said softly.

"My lord?" Sancho asked, glancing behind him as Nash, Isabel, and Mathias exited the blockhouse.

Maximillian shifted again, lowering his shield for the first time. It was then that Sancho saw the arrow protruding from just under Maximillian's left shoulder, having punched through a seam in his armor. "Lord Maximillian!" Sancho exclaimed, as Maximillian tottered from the saddle.

It was then that Nash and the others realized something was wrong. "Uncle!" Isabel shouted, dropping her saber and rushing forward, Mathias at her side.

"Grandfather?" Fred called, as he and Rico stumbled out of the darkness of the mines. His eyes widened as he watched Mathias and Sancho gently lower Maximillian to the ground. "Grandfather!" he shouted, even as Rico grabbed a hold of his shoulder, and the two rushed over.

Nash, at a loss, hung back.

Sancho tore Maximillian's shield from his arm, gently easing Maximillian back to get a better look at the wound. "Hold on, hold on, hold on," Sancho repeated over and over like a mantra.

Sierra appeared then, dusting what looked like stone fragments from her cloak. As her eyes fell on the scene before her she frowned, walking quickly to Nash. "Nash, what's—" she began, only to be silenced by Nash's slow head shake. Her gaze then flicked back to the enfolding drama around Maximillian. "Oh... Oh my," was all she said.

"Y-you'll be right as rain in no time, Master," Sancho was trying to assure, even as he fumbled at the straps holding Maximillian's damaged chest plate in place. "No time at all..."

Maximillian shook his head sadly, and placed a hand on Sancho's, stopping the work. "Not... Not this time, my loyal friend. Not..." he then coughed thickly. When the coughing fit had subsided, Maximillian looked up to see Fred and Rico and Isabel and Mathias all looking down at him sadly. "But... I think... that's all right. Perhaps, Sancho," Maximillian wheezed, "Perhaps it's time to step aside for the next generation." He began to cough again.

"Master?" Sancho asked, confused.

"Yes..." Maximillian continued, as if he hadn't heard Sancho. "Yes..." he repeated, as his gaze darted from one face to another: inexperienced and eager Fred, looking ridiculous in the black armor that was clearly too large for him; devoted and dependable Rico, a towel to polish Fred's armor at the ready; fierce and vibrant Isabel, trying her best to still look tough, as if she could stave off death through sheer force of will; impassive and immovable Mathias, silently supporting his beloved Isabel.

"Yes!" Maximillian declared, his voice paradoxically filled with more even conviction as his voice weakened. "I think the next generation is going... to do.... just fine......." Maximillian closed his eyes, a bemused smile on his face.

"Sir?" Sancho asked, shaking Maximillian slightly. He didn't respond. "Sir!? Sir!!"

OOO

They had a hasty funeral in Tinto; though Maximillian's body would be buried on the family estates just north of Moravia, the surviving knights needed the closure. Gustav chipped in, making it an official state funeral—he viewed it as the least he could do. Even Sierra seemed to be affected, remaining respectfully silent for the entire procession, watching behind a very unlike her black veil.

It was while Nash and Sierra watched the funeral procession—winding its way down the twisted and narrow streets of Tinto—that Sierra sighed. "All this pomp and circumstance for someone who isn't Gustav seems a little out of character..." Sierra explained quietly at Nash's raised eyebrow. "Does Gustav know something? Did Lilly say anything?" Sierra asked.

Nash shook his head. "Lilly doesn't remember many details—she was out for most of the fight. All she recalls is waking up and seeing some soldiers in Tinto uniforms breaking in and bashing the bad guys over the head."

"Well, at least that went according to plan," Sierra said thoughtfully.

Nash agreed. "And as a result, rumors are spreading that Gustav ordered the assault to rescue Lilly. And since none of the guardsmen involved in the strike—in other words, us—are coming forward to dispute that, the rumors persist. On the other hand, Gustav may not be squashing the rumors, but he isn't claiming credit, either." He shrugged. "That's honestly more than I expected from him."

The black draped wagon bearing Maximillian's body—the four remaining Maximillian Knights attending it—began to pull past.

"Whether or not Gustav eventually gets credit for the idea, though, no one can deny that Maximillian's charge distracted the bad guys at exactly the right time. No matter what we did—or, officially, didn't do—his charge still saved the day."

"I suppose you're right," Sierra said softly.

"And what a charge to go out on...!" Nash finished softly as he watched the carriage drive on out through town, a slight smile playing over his lips at the memory.