-Paolo Bacigalupi

John's sense of time was as broken as he felt, and so the trip to the Brighton Manor passed in flashes that he was only partially aware of. He made note of some of the events that took place, but they were more like dreams, flashes of memory that only grew less detailed the harder he tried to remember them. Moira gently encouraged him until he found the will to stash his cloak away again and to clean up himself with gradual Lesser Heal spells. No matter how many spells he cast, he still felt wounded.

Not to say he didn't appreciate the effort. Moira was the only thing that kept him sane, the only voice that held him tight to his current being while his mind try to play back the events of the past few minutes over and over again. Moira held him tightly as she commanded the Order to secure the remaining Cabal members and dismiss their Barrier. She whispered soft assurances in John's ear as the Barrier was slid back by whatever magic they had used, and gently lifted him into the APC when the corpses and blood had disappeared along with the Combat Barrier. She sat alone with him, while all the other knights of the Order of the Golden Rose crammed into the few front seats to provide them some degree of privacy.

John ended up telling Moira everything, about his healing abilities, about his Feast skill, about how he had killed the men around them to save Moira. Hearing what he had done took the smile off of Moira's face - the blood and corpses of the men around them had disappeared when the Combat Barrier faded. Moira hadn't seemed to fully realize why John was such a mess. All the same, despite her obvious shock, she did not push John away, which gave him hope. She looked far more somber but continued to comfort him as best as she could.

"I cannot possibly apologize enough for what I have **** you into, John Newman, but… I am truly sorry for what you did on my behalf. What you did was something many among the Order would hesitate at and something that has never been easy."

John didn't say anything. He tucked himself further into Moira, welcoming the warmth and security the Warden provided. She seemed to take his gesture of uncertainty and insecurity as one of agreeance, nodding as she continued.

"The first time… the first time I took a life was on a mission not dissimilar to this one. We were battling against the Eastern Springfield Liberators, a circle of mages that has long since disbanded. They claimed that they were for freedom of all magic users but insisted that such freedom included the rights to do as they pleased, all the way to enslavement and transformation of their subjects. They were a slaver's guild under the guise of a liberation mission.

"They cornered one of our newer recruits… a knight who had only seen two missions, both of which ended in assured victory. His shield was bloodied and battered, and when I saw his legs give out from under him, something took over me. I stopped holding back, unleashed my strength, and in one move I had destroyed the chest cavities of two men and the abdomen of a third. None of it stopped. Not until Richter… not until all the Order knights were recovered and the 'Liberators' were neutralized. Losing yourself to anger and hate is never a good thing, but it is sometimes… necessary."

John nodded, only half-listening to the story but understanding enough to know that Moira's story was a very personal one, and that he was only getting as much as she chose to share with him. He wasn't alert enough to question her for more information, though. Instead, he allowed her to press him closer, until his head was nestled in her decidedly warm breastplate, the oddly heated metal rocking against him until they finally pulled back into the Brighton Manor.

There, the prisoners were unloaded by the other knights, with Moira and John being the very last two out of the vehicle. Despite the fact that his emotions were still uncertain, John's legs managed to hold him up on his own now. His face was surely still reddened, but his eyes were dry, and he felt more secure now that they were out of the forsaken cul-de-sac.

"I have to go brief my father… Knight Etriyya! Watch over him," Moira called out, heading further into the manor. John wasn't familiar with the layout given his relatively few visits, but he thought she was headed toward somewhere other than the study they had spent so much time in.

"Yes, Warden!" Moira's command was answered immediately by what John assumed was a woman, though he could only tell by her voice. One of the knights peeled away from escorting Cabal prisoners further into the manor, sitting down beside John on the bench, but otherwise saying nothing beyond her initial affirmation. John sat for a long while before the silence became unbearable.

"So… what happens from here?" John asked glancing around at the numerous people that were clustered in the spacious entryway. The knights from the mission were all either being carted off themselves or assisting in the escort of prisoners, save Etriyya herself.

"Lord Brighton will want a full debriefing, starting with his daughter, the Warden," Etriyya explained, turning her head toward him. John could just see her through the slits of her helmet. "We made contact with him on our return to the base, but he will want to hear every bit of detail he can, so that he fully understands the situation. It is… unfortunate that we encountered one of the Albidians, so he will leave no doubts as to the exact sequence of events. Our Warden handled everything well, but…"

"Who are the Albidians?"

What little of the woman's eyes John could see widened abruptly, before narrowing again as the helmet shook just a few degrees.

"I forgot for a moment that you are not yet experienced in the Abyssal realms. Albidians are a member of a society far more dangerous than the Cabal. The Cabal specializes in what most would consider lesser crimes, usually non-magical. They deal ****, own brothels, run arms, smuggle illicit goods, occasionally even sell themselves out as mercenaries, but only rarely. They also do more traditional work like enchanting, crafting, harvesting, refining… they'll do almost anything if they have the skill and the price is right. They use those funds to purchase territory from those willing to sell or to purchase magical items to help them combat those that will not.

"The Albidian Society deals in… more magical crimes or mundane ones with a more 'sophisticated' element. They've been accused of everything from **** and sexual slavery to breaking and restructuring the minds of both mages and ordinary humans, erasing who they were and implanting new personalities. They're also one of the few groups in the Midwest region of the United States to be willing to take contracts against other guilds, including the Order itself on occasion. They have no central location that has been found, but there are various ways of contacting them, which are constantly changing. They've been an enemy of the Order for decades but not one we could move against…"

Etriyya seemed to have more to say but was unwilling to continue. John's mouth hung half-open in a series of questions he wasn't certain he wanted to know the answers to. How strong were they? Were the Order really that afraid of them? And was the Order now at war with them?

"John? My father wishes to speak with you."

John had been so focused on what Etriyya had been saying he'd missed the telltale clink of Moira's armor as she approached. With one hand extended she waited. John took the hand to help himself off the bench then nodded back at the knight behind him.

"Thank you, that helps a lot," John said with a grateful nod. Moira released him so that they could walk together toward the back area. John passed statues and paintings in rapid sequence, though he recognized none of them. Eventually, they passed through a set of arches that seemed to separate some of the manor from the rest - there were just as many people, but the tone changed. The walls were still covered with paintings, but the statues dwindled with each arch until the halls they traveled through were nearly barren. Most noticeable was the fact that there were no windows, no courtyards, and no signs that the outside world existed at all.

"Where are we going?"

"To the armory," Moira responded. "It's where Father always goes… when considering an act of war."

Those last few words were said with a tone that left no room for further questions by John, so he remained silent as they continued through the sprawling complex that was the Brighton Manor. John would've been amazed at its size if it hadn't looked just as large from the outside.

The final set of doors they approached were massive, and unlike most of the other doors in the manor, it maintained no façade of elegant British décor. It was solid metal, mounted on heavy brackets, and gave way immediately as Moira pressed one armored fist against it. But when the door opened, she did not stride through. Instead, she stepped to the side, holding the doorway open for him.

"My father wishes to speak to you… alone."