"What good will your plea for help do?"
The old mage stood by the window, watching the carrier pigeon fly to the North. "Ghost Town is beyond saving."
"Then why did you come back, you notorious mage?" The Town Chief set down his quill and looked up.
"To die alongside my enemy."
"But I don't want to die. Ur, keep Ghost Town alive through the Ratfolk Attack, and I'll consider pardoning your crimes," the old Town Chief said grimly. The shield and sword hanging on the wall showed that he had once been a knight.
"Do I have to teach you that too, squire?" The old mage's mockery only stirred the Town Chief's nostalgia. Ur looked down at the street. "The poor, the beggars—mobilize them all. They have no food, no shelter, no standing, do they? Give them food, standing, and the homes left behind by the cowards who fled."
"But they're people who don't even have the strength to leave..."
"Old squire, can you still lift a sword?" the mage went on, his voice cutting. "If you won't even make sacrifices, how will you defend Ghost Town?"
His reflection vanished from the window. He came to the desk and murmured, "You might as well make me Town Chief..."
"Fine. I will," the old Town Chief said without hesitation.
But the old mage made another demand, almost amused. "You have to beg me. Kneel and plead..."
"If that's what it takes for Ghost Town to survive." The old Town Chief stood, walked around the desk, and knelt before the mage's robes. "Please save Ghost Town. Drive back the invading Ratfolk..."
The old mage looked down at his graying hair and muttered to himself:
"What dazzling righteousness..."
Beggars, people with limps, the elderly... Those still in Ghost Town were the