After the War

To most Cadilican was insignificant. A speak tucked within the continent’s interior. Bordered by rivers, mountains, and the great nations: Kiremond and Dendarwen. To me Cadilican was everything.

For the at Biliwen War’s end, she offered me sanctuary. A refuge from the bordering goliath nations. She survived by hiding my asylum.

A survival I felt in jeopardy before my third year there closed.

Dendarwii soldiers marched into her capital at night. Moving in bands they searched the buildings and roust residents into torch lit darkness. They even dared escort the Priestess into the square.

She marched ahead of the guards claiming her seat before divine Vealla statue. I watched from the hidden alcove tucked within the statue’s tresses.

“Where is Wicilia?” I didn’t know the commander before the Priestess, but the tassels and medals I knew. They proclaimed him one of Dendarwen’s best, a scoundrel.

The Priestess didn’t react, even as guards drew paces behind him fanning out in rows with hands on sword hilts. She bore the quiet I’d come to respect. “Where Wicilia rests in the Goddess’s concern.”

The commander frowned, a movement that carried through his brow. “Surely a Goddess isn’t concerned with a traitor.”

I winced.

“Has Wicilia betrayed Cadilican?”

“Hiding here is a betrayal.” He gestured and the guards behind drew their weapons.

Thunder rumbled, and I ducked. I lost sight moments before lightning flashed into the square. Rising I saw only the Cadilicans and ash. “Vealla disagrees,” the Priestess said.

“Praise Vealla,” I whispered.