A single gas torch cast yellow-white light on the faces of the remaining Nine Fingers operatives and cast shadows off the ruins, extending them away from the center of the room. The fractured resistance sat around the gas torch like a fire.

The Commandant, Owen, Isabella, and Van Den Hoek rested silently. Peter didn't see Captain Visser, Doctor Aarts, or Julian but could feel them watching him. Still irritated at their distrust, Peter thought he could understand their perspective as he carried the glowing metal band rather than wearing it. Van Dijk escorted him in tandem.

He saw Iris in the tile projection, her youth restored to her. What horrible death might be in store for her? Peter refused to acknowledge the relief he felt in a dark corner of his mind. Now that he’d stopped wearing the band, he didn't have to find a way to double back on Nine Fingers, he didn't need to fight Anubis, and he didn't need to carry the court band's oppressive weight. Anubis didn’t have the band: the Nine Fingers had a slim hope. And all this for the small price of Iris' life! Peter was going to be sick. He was getting good at abandoning her.

"Commandant Van Graif," Peter called, drawing the commander's attention. "A word?"

The commandant excused himself from the circle and approached Peter, who stepped into a different, roofless, crumbled room. Without a word, he offered the court band to the commandant.

Van Graaf's eyebrow shot up in disbelief.

"You know, I was worried you wouldn't be able to take it off again,” he said.

"So was I," Peter confessed. "The longer I wore it, the more I came to depend on it, and the more I felt entitled to it."

Sebastian Van Graif nodded and reached for the band. Peter held it tightly for a moment as the commandant started to pull but resigned to his choice and surrendered it.

I'm so sorry, Iris.

The Commandant held the Bedorven and examined it. The writing on the side burned with purple court light, much brighter than when Peter had it. The light reflected off of Van Graif's eyes.

"You did the right thing," Van Graif said, a faint note of surprise in his voice. "Why did you do it? You know we couldn't have taken it."

Peter let out a strangely mixed sigh of relief and anguish. "I'm a Nine Fingers Soldier, and need to do everything I can to stop Rahashel."

Van Graif's dark eyes twinkled in genuine curiosity, and then he put a firm and warm hand on Peter's shoulder.

Peter winced at the welcome pressure.

"Surrendering easy power, when you don't have to, is a mark of true mastery," Van Graif said. "I'm proud to call you my grandson, Van Seur."

Peter nodded but was still somehow empty. As much as he valued the commandant’s praise, Peter didn't feel in control. If anything, he was scared and vulnerable. If he died now, he would stay dead.

Peter shrugged off his sack and produced the athanium book he took from the library. "This seems to be part of a set with the Bedorven," Peter explained. "I don't know anything else about it."

The commandant took the book carefully and opened the cover to examine luminescent glyphs. His lips twitched up in a ghost of a smile as he considered the alien script. "No doubt we'll be able to extract answers from this later."

"Well then, suppose we move on with our plan?" Van Graif suggested. "Let's go, Van Seur. I’ll call the others."

Doctor Aarts, Captain Visser, Private Van Dijk, and the domestic Julian gathered around the gas light, and everyone gaped at the court band in Van Graif's hands.

"We are ready to move on to Julleck. Van Seur has done well in obeying my orders. I told him to never take this off until he received my word. I don't want any of you to harbor a grudge because of his stubbornness." Sebastian Van Graif shot a knowing glance at Doctor Aarts and Captain Visser. The doctor shrugged it off, but the captain nodded, although he pointedly avoided Peter’s eyes.

Peter nodded to the commandant in gratitude. Van Graif had covered Peter's stubbornness and saved his face in front of the others even though Peter had deliberately avoided giving him the armlet.

"I'll need all hands we have at Julleck by first light."

"With all due respect, Commandant," Peter said, "I won't be very useful to you at Julleck."

"Lose your special weapon and lose the taste for war?" Doctor Aarts asked. If he had any better feelings towards Peter now, Peter couldn't tell.

"It's not that," Peter said over his annoyance. "I just think I'd be better utilized elsewhere."

"Peter, going after Iris without the court band would be suicide," Isabella jumped in, shaking her head in disapproval.

"Will you guys let me finish?" Peter pleaded.

Everyone looked at him, giving him their full attention.

"If we fight at Julleck, what will come of victory?" Peter asked. "If we manage to stand through the day, Court Rahashel will just come again tomorrow. The fight would be hopeless. We all know what his ghouls and liches are capable of. We need to stop him for good."

Peter fell silent, allowing the severity of the situation to sink in.

"You're kind of a pessimist, aren't you?" Van Den Hoek asked. Peter had never spoken to the man before. He still looked horrible, all things considered, but he didn't bear the same malice towards him that the doctor and the captain did.

"I'm being realistic," Peter said. "You all know I'm right."

"What do you propose?" Van Graif asked.

"Let's hit the time vault again," Peter said. “Let's shut his army down. Let's ground him in Stalpia. Let's actually save some lives and claim some ground for ourselves for once. We must start seeing ourselves as equals to Rahashel and stop being victims."

"We really aren't his equals, though,” Van Den Hoek said pointedly.

"Why not?" Peter asked. "We have a court, too, and more than half of Nosmeria. As far as I see it, this war is one step away from turning."

"I correct myself,” Van Den Hoek said. "You're far too optimistic."

"He's not wrong," Commandant Van Graif said.

Everyone who seemed annoyed by Peter's assumptions and theories suddenly shifted awkwardly. The commandant’s opinion still held twice as much weight as the opinion of any other man in the circle.

"One thing, though," the commandant pointed out. "We failed last time. The time vault was heavily guarded, and we had almost no resources. If we all went and Julleck fell, Rahashel would have a fresh batch of crop, and it wouldn't matter if we stole his time; he'd just harvest the Julleck survivors, and then, of course, he wouldn't hesitate to move onto the rest of Nosmeria."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"You have a good point," Peter said. "But I think you and Julian will be the best help we can send them. The rest of us combined won't amount to a fraction of a domestic and a court."

Peter stopped. "No offense to the rest of you."

The others grinned wryly. None pretended to be on par with the court or Nyamarian abilities.

"It won't be just one domestic," Julian inserted, and everyone looked at him.

"I've been waiting for a sign that Nyamar wants to appoint new stewardships. I've been so petrified about making the wrong choice that I've overlooked the most important thing."

"What?" the commandant asked.

Julian hesitated, and then his features hardened in resolution. "Nyamar chose me. There has to be a reason." He glanced at Peter with a reflective smile. "That may be the sign I've overlooked. I am the high steward of the House, and as such, Nyamar trusts me to make choices on his behalf.”

Van Dijk whooped victoriously. "I knew the House wouldn't abandon us!"

Isabella frowned, masking an inner battle that Peter couldn't read.

Doctor Aarts sighed in annoyance.

"This does change things," Van Graif acknowledged, stroking his neat grey-white beard.

"But I'm not sending you all to die without a solid plan. Why would an estate raid go any differently this time?"

"There were five liches and hundreds of ghouls waiting for us. They expected and prepared for us. Now that they've thoroughly destroyed Nine Fingers, their guard may be down."

"Regardless," Van Graif said, "What makes you think that a handful of you can storm the estate?"

"We can’t," Peter said, "That was a desperate and reckless plan in the first place."

"So, what do you suggest?"

Peter smiled desperately, trying to project the confidence he didn't have.

"What do you know about the Nosmeria and Calacray Border?"

"What does this have to do with anything?" Captain Tobias asked impatiently.

"Actually, everything," Peter said.

"The border is Vet River," Van Dijk said.

Peter nodded. "Vet River is the border, but the river itself was created by the Ataggin Empire."

"It's artificial." Doctor Aarts said. "It's a well-known fact the channel was dug to separate the regions. What's your point?"

"Without Vet River, small streams and rivers would flood Stalpia," Peter said. “Vet River is a high point in Stalpia. If we enter the estate from beneath, we could flood the sewers and get away swiftly, carried by the current. It would be faster than horses, and we’d be underground, where there are no ghouls for the most part. Once we’re in the sewers, the rest would be easy."

"What about grates, walls, explosions? How much gear will we need?" Owen asked. As Captain Tobias' operations officer, he saw the world through logistics. "A blast to get into the estate, a blast to flood the sewer."

"I don't know much," Peter admitted, "But I did write a report on it once. Vet River has spillway doors that flush out the sewer. The spillways have been nearly all been closed since Rahashel arrived. They had almost never flooded while I was a Crop. If we could open them and block the other sewage channels, building all that pressure into a single channel, we would have a straight shot out of Stalpia."

“There’s an egress vault in the estate basement, too,” Julian said. “You’d have to blow it open, though; it’s fortified and designed not to let people in. It’s one reason why they use the estate as a vault. You can't miss it; it will tell you where to set your charges.”

"You really think we can do it with one charge?" Owen asked.

"Two," Peter said, "One to get into the basement, one to collapse the stairs. I'd rather not have the estate guard pouring onto us. Can you do it, Owen?"

Owen nodded to himself in thought. "I'd have to see it to be sure. We might just end up widening the stairs and let more men in, so we’d need a precise blast. I'll bring plenty of extra pyrotechnics. I like to be prepared for some … improvisation."

Peter smiled. "I mean, if we had a month to plan it with blueprints of the estate, sewers, and supplies, we could certainly do this with the small handful of people we have."

"Looks like you'll have to wing it," the commandant said.

"Van Graif!" Doctor Aarts cried. "You aren't actually considering going along with this child?"

"Considered and accepted. Unless you have a better plan, doctor."

"Better plan? How about, don't commit suicide by listening to a kid who thinks far too highly of himself?"

"Owen. Can you make it happen?" Van Graif asked, ignoring the doctor's outburst.

"Maybe, maybe not … I'd give us a ninety-five percent chance —"

"That's great! Van Dijk cried.

“—of dying." Owen finished, scowling at the private.

"Do it." Van Graif said.

"We'd need some form of a raft, a metal saw, some explosions, and our unit armed to the teeth."

"Find what you need and get moving," Commandant Van Graif said.

"I'm not going into that estate with them." Doctor Aarts huffed.

"Then you get ready to fish us out once we come out of the city," Owen said.

Peter looked to Julian, who was still troubled. "Julian," Peter said. "I understand your estate is your stewardship, but we'll have to flood it."

"It's not my estate." He said. "It's Nyamar's."

Great. Peter swallowed.

"I'm sure he'll be okay with it in this case," Julian said as he picked up on Peter's unrest.

"At least send us with the band." Doctor Aarts said bitterly.

Julian shook his head. "The domestics and I can't defeat an army of ghouls alone. If the commandant uses the band and fights with me, we might have a chance."

Doctor Aarts sneered at Julian. "If this stupid plan is going to work, both parts must succeed."

"Nyamar guide you," Julian said, deliberately infuriating the plump man.

"Nyamar, my ass —"

"Doctor," Director Van Den Hoek cut in. "We can't afford to take the band. They'll need it at Julleck."

Commandant Van Graif waved a dismissive hand, calling for silence. The aged man's slicked-backed white hair and trimmed beard showed signs of neglect, and fatigue was clear in his eyes.

"I'll be sending my best," he said. “You are our last line of offense. Julian and I will be on defense.” He turned. "Captain Tobias Visser?"

"Yes, sir." The young captain stood at attention.

"What's your cell number?"

"Six, sir."

"I'm dissolving Cell Six."

Captain Visser stiffened.

"In its place, I'm creating Cell One. Director Van Den Hoek, you will be the commander."

"If I may, Commandant. I'll fight with you. I'm in no condition to lead," the director said, looking disheveled with eyes still swollen from the pyre.

The commandant considered for a moment and then nodded. "Very well. Captain Visser, I know this is unconventional, as Director Van Den Hoek outranks you, but you're in charge. Van Den Hoek, I still need you to stay with them and give them any support they need. Owen Hartman, naturally, you're head of operations. Vandersteen, Van Dijk, Van Seur, and Doctor Aarts, you're all we have left to put into this fight."

"I'm not a soldier!" Doctor Aarts protested loudly.

"We're all soldiers now." Director Van Graif insisted. "You're now Cell One." The Commandant looked down thoughtfully. "Cell One. The Final Cell."

Captain Visser stomped a foot down to accompany a crisp solute. The others did the same. Peter tried his best to follow, but his attempt was feeble.

"Very well, Cell One. You're dismissed."

They broke and ran to make ready. Peter went to the wagon and pulled out three belts loaded with shells and two Slagter that would fire them. He also got a short officer's sword that had a ring instead of a back cross guard near the handle. Peter examined the loop curiously and Director Van Den Hoek noticed.

"It's a bayonet," Director Van Den Hoek explained in a soft voice.

Peter blushed, realizing he was going to misapply the weapon. He moved to put it back.

"Use it if you like it," Van Den Hoek said. "It'll double as a dagger, that's what the handle's for."

Peter looked at the blade and decided he liked the weight in his hand. Much more wieldy and balanced than the short swords Rahashel's ghouls carried. He buckled it to his belt.

The weapons had more substance without his band. These were now his tools for victory. He felt a rush of dread as he remembered he was now as mortal as a fly. He took some small assurance that he wasn't going alone.

Peter had finished and saw that the others were still rushing to get ready, so he found a razor and a small mirror in the wagon and shaved for the first time in his life.

He nicked his neck and behind the jaw several times, and it almost came as a surprise when the sting didn't vanish after a few moments. He would own the nicks as proudly as any battle scar.

Peter washed his face and pulled his long white hair back into a ponytail. The grizzled old face that started back from the pocket mirror almost looked a little bit younger … No, just a little less crazy.

Peter threw out the dirty water and turned to find the commandant.

Sebastian Van Graif wasn't carrying the court band in his hands, so Peter assumed that he had it on his arm; Peter made sure to give him some distance.

“Commandant Van Graif,” he said, drawing the older man's attention.

"You have a new face," Van Graif noted. "I think you missed a spot."

Peter blushed. "Where?" he asked.

"It's nothing." Van Graif said dismissively. "What can I do for you?"

"After we get the tiles, I want to go after Iris."

The Commandant's eyes darkened slightly. "What if I say no?"

Peter choked on his words, took a breath, and tried again. "Then I won't go," Peter said. "Please let me."

"I can't afford to send you with any more men," Van Graif said.

"I'll go alone."

"You won't make it."

"I have to try."

Van Graif Nodded. "Then you have my blessing —after you secure the tiles."

Peter nodded gratefully at the commandant. "We will."

"Good luck, Van Seur."