THE APOSTATE SAINT

One hour before the betrayal

A good citizen always puts the needs of the City before his own.

His father's words were now his doctrine, even though the same words were once poison dripping into his ears. That didn't matter, anymore. It was a new world, after all. The City had been reborn and so had his father's mantra, through him.

The candle display in the banquet hall where the Beneficia festivities were being held was more spectacular than any in his recent memory. The Lord Son, in all of his glory, wanted it to be known that the City had entered into a Renaissance - all thanks to Him. ALARICUS CABALLARIUS LUCIDIUS, called Alaric, would endure many more of these feasts in his service to the City. The long-haired blond noble was now Dominus Custodiae - the Commander of the Guard. Even if he were to one day retire from his post, Alaric was now engaged to Decia, the oldest daughter of the Lord Himself. There would be no escaping these gatherings and their bad music.

Alaric could withstand the jugglers and the flame-dancers and even the magicians in perpetuity. The poets and the musicians, however, were the performers he avoided most of all. If it weren't for the fact that the Lord demanded them to be there, then Alaric would have barred them entirely from performing out of pure annoyance. The fact that the musicians who were hired to perform were amateurs at best amplified Alaric's frustration with their presence. He found no pleasure whatsoever in being there, and concluded that the noise surrounding him was perhaps the second worst sound that he had ever heard.

"Lord, are you well?"

Decia. A lovely girl to anyone with eyes. Yet, she was so much younger than Alaric, and the breadth and depth of conversation topics she was able to carry on with him left between them a chasm a mile wide. It wasn't her fault, though. Objectively, she was the greatest kind of prize a Primisian man like Alaric could win. Through her, Alaric's bloodline would achieve a kind of status boost that his father and all of his post-Fall ancestors only could have dreamed of gaining. If only Alaric's father could have seen where the road would lead him, things might have been different...

But Alaric knew better than to dwell on the past. It would only bring despair, and Alaric was a different person now than he was when all of this started.

"Perhaps it is best if I get some fresh air." Alaric smiled at his bride-to-be with all the sincerity of an actor desperately trying to make the bill. He excused himself from the party and found his way to a balcony with an open of the Temple, the center point and most important structure in the City. The candle display set along the entire perimeter of the Pearly Stair was absolutely mesmerizing. From this vantage point, the Temple itself appeared to be alive, glowing much the same way that Soul-arms did.

Art. That was, in essence, all that Alaric saw as he gazed upon the holiest place on the planet, the sanctum where long ago the First Man ruled over the entire world of man. Things were different now than they were before. It brought Alaric no pleasure to drink in the sight before him, but it was at least slightly more palatable than listening to another second of the discordant songs being played in the banquet hall. He eventually found himself gripping the balcony rail so tightly that his hands were turning pale.

Alaric lowered his head, admonishing himself and releasing his grip from the railing. Of all of the labours that Alaric had suffered in his upward climb, none were so challenging as the one in which he was now living. He had always assumed that in time the role and responsibilities he accepted would become more natural to him, but he found it only getting more difficult as he transitioned into the next phase of his life.

I'm to marry. To be a husband. To have children of my own. To be a good citizen, just like my father.

He tried to keep his mind focused on the future, but the sight in front of him drew him back there, to the time before everything changed. His sword hand gripped the hilt of Daemonore, as if his Soul-arm could somehow save him from the life he was supposed to live. How long has it been since last you slew a monster? Alaric's new role kept him here, locked within the City's walls. Here, Daemonore was merely ceremonial. Soul-arms could never be used against a man, even under dire circumstances. That was why Alaric also carried a steel gladius wherever he went. He couldn't use Daemonore, but he wasn't about to set it on a mantel like the Lord. It belonged at his side.

"Lord, how can I help you?"

Alaric didn't turn his head immediately, but he knew that the girl had followed him. He had no heart to tell her that he needed a break from many things and that she, most unfortunately, was one of them. At last, the manners that his mother had succeeded in instilling in him took over. He turned his head, not committing to fully facing her.

"I mean not to worry you, lady. I simply wanted to come see the lights."

"They are indeed lovely," Decia said, approaching Alaric. "If it pleases you, it would please me to enjoy them by your side."

She was trying. Much harder than Alaric was, to ignite something Alaric feared may never happen. He could understand her infatuation with him. He was not unaware of his good looks, something he augmented with careful attention to meticulous hygiene and grooming. Along with that, he was wealthy and of good stock, and the whole City hailed him as a triumphant hero. His name and image, along with that of the others who accompanied him on the many campaigns against the darkness, was carved in marble on the arches that were erected in their honor. She was far from the first girl who wanted to throw herself at him. He had to remind himself that he couldn't ignore her. If he was to be a good citizen as was expected of him, then he would have to love her, despite everything inside of him that made him want to be alone.

Alaric turned to her, noticing that she held her hands behind her back. She smirked at him upon Alaric's realization that she was hiding something. He returned a suspicious smile.

"What have you got behind your back?"

She stared at him, eyes flared, daring him to do something about his curiosity. Alaric felt minorly annoyed, but, admittedly, rather enjoyed the girl's playfulness. Everything in his life was so serious all the time, these days, so a little bit of this sometime did diffuse some of his never-ending tension.

"Go on, show it to me."

She shook her head, clearly reveling in the game. Had she been drinking?

"Don't make me..."

"Don't make you do what? What are you going to do?"

He thought about giving in to her antics. It would be quite the accomplishment for her to bring the boy back out of the man, so he ultimately resisted the urge to play along.

"All right, you win. Let's see it."

Decia was clearly let down that he wouldn't give in, but she accepted the small victory anyway and produced the object that she had been concealing. It was a lyre.

"Where did you get that?"

"I walked right up to that terrible musician and I took it from him. I could see that it was bothering you, so I decided to do what you wanted to do."

He was actually somewhat impressed. It did mean something to him that she noticed his discomfort, and that she decided to do something about it for his sake. However, it also meant that his facade was starting to show cracks. He would need to do better to hide his displeasure from now on.

What he couldn't hide was a smile. When she saw it, her face lit up with all the youthful radiance that he once enjoyed, when he was her age. He quickly remembered himself, turning away in order to compose himself again. She must have taken that as a really big win.

"Aren't you going to say thank you?"

"That wasn't very nice of you to take that clown's instrument, you know?"

"Ha! I knew his playing was bothering you!"

"Dreadful. Awful. Terrible."

"And now he's done playing."

Alaric turned back to her, giving her a glimpse of the true him. While her methods were questionable, she did bring some much needed relief to the turmoil in his head.

"Thank you," he said at last, sincerely. She bowed to him, much the same way a performer bows right before the curtain falls. He looked around for a flower to give her, but was not able to find any.

"Lord, won't you play it for me?"

Upon hearing the request, the blood drained from Alaric's face.

"I heard you were once quite the musical artist. I would so love to hear what you can do with it. I imagine your voice sometimes, singing to me. I wonder what it's like."

Alaric lost his composure for a moment, but only for a moment. He smiled at her, not the kind of honest smile he had just given her, but the kind that said she was a guest in his sanctuary and it was now time for her to go.

"I, uh-" he shook his head, deciding it was better not to say anything. "Perhaps it's time for you to rejoin the party. Hurry along, now. I'll be back just as soon as I've had my fill of the night air."

He turned away again, but understood how rude his actions must have been perceived.

"Thank you for the levity. We will talk again soon, I swear it."

Decia walked away without another word. He wondered if he had offended her, but when the anxiety returned to him, he became rather upset by the fact that she had brought up that part of him that died years before. He had sworn to himself then that he would never touch another instrument or write another song for as long as he lived. He was now an upright and proper lord - not some low class musician playing at taverns for coins. He was a good citizen now, and good citizens always put the needs of the City before their own.

He stared off into distance for a long while, lost in his thoughts. Sometime later he heard footsteps approaching him from behind, and thought that perhaps Decia had come back to check on him again.

"I told you, I'll be right there. I only need another minute-"

"Lord," a man's voice replied. "I'm afraid that we need you. There's been a burglary at the Lord's manor."

How could he do this?

Alaric asked himself the same question in at least a dozen ways as he and his men rode out from the main gate of the City bearing torches to find Fridok, who had apparently gone fully mad. Alaric knew that Fridok was unhappy, but he never considered the depths that he would stoop to in his displeasure with his station in life. To steal riches was one thing - Alaric could at least sympathize with his friend doing what he felt he needed to do to survive. But to steal the Toriad Spear - that was the kind of crime that not even Alaric could convince the Lord to forgive.

"There!" shouted Vitus Malleator, Alaric's second in command of the Dominus Custodiae. "He is attempting to flee into the mountains!"

"Press on, but do not attack," Alaric warned his men. Leave it to me to talk sense into him. He will see reason. He is still a reasonable man." Alaric hoped that he was right about that. They continued their advance, narrowing the distance between them as they rode.

"He's stopped!" Vitus said. "Perhaps you are right."

The riders at last drew near Fridok who stood there atop his horse, the Toriad Spear strapped to his back. He showed no remorse, but stared at Alaric long and hard.

"It's over," Alaric said, loudly and with conviction. "Surrender yourself and come peacefully, and perhaps I can help you."

Fridok sneered, taking a deep breath.

"I don't want your help," Fridok said. "I've already told you that. There's nothing more that you can give me."

The two locked eyes, the tension between them rising rapidly.

"Then tell us what you do want. Clearly you must want something, otherwise you wouldn't have done this. Name it. I'll hear it."

He simply stared at Alaric, the same way he used to stare into campfires or up at the Great Band in the sky. In the stillness and tension of the moment, Vitus Malleator approached Fridok from behind, preparing to subdue him. He showed no signs of aggression, but it was still an incredibly dangerous thing as Vitus was only equipped with a steel sword and Fridok had two Soul-arms.

"You'll never find me," Fridok said, before brandishing his unnamed Soul-arm and swinging it behind him.

"No!" Alaric cried, seeing Fridok take up his weapon against Vitus. The fear upon Vitus' face was clear as everyone knew there was no defending against a Soul-arm. It wasn't death that was coming for him - it was complete and total destruction of his self, body and soul. Just as Vitus looked upon the face of his unmaker, Fridok chose to spare him that fate. Instead, the horse that Vitus rode would serve as his surrogate.

The beast bellowed, a hopeless cry for help that scored the certainty of the creature's fate. Its body crumpled under the weight of Vitus, bringing him hard onto the ground as it completely lost the strength to support him. Just as suddenly as the beast's final cry came, it was snuffed out with a choked whimper. Its entire figure became a skeletal mess, withered like a grape left out in the heat of the summer sun.

Fridok wasted no time putting the slain horse's energy to use. He pressed his palm onto the back of his own horse's neck, empowering it and spurring it on at a pace that none of Alaric's men would have hope to follow.

Alaric had no choice but to watch as Fridok made off with the Toriad Spear, leaving Alaric and the City far behind him. Alaric knew that Fridok was unhappy. He hadn't realized just how far Fridok would go to show it.