Daito rounded the final corner, bursting ahead of the main group only to find his robes clutched in a plated hand. Lifting him bodily from the ground and slamming him into the stones. Next came a blade, dangerously close to his neck. An ugly thing. Long and jagged and razor sharp, silver so bright as to ripple with a mirrors sheen on the flat edge. Single bladed. Maybe even capable of cutting him. He didn't attempt to resist, not interested in harming the man holding him.
“...Daito.” Tyr frowned, relaxing his grip and sheathing the sword. Offering his hand to the fallen captain who took it without pause.
“Finally.” Daito spread his arms out as if waiting for embrace. “A welcome befitting of my status as the newly promoted guild master of the Hunter's. Gods, what if I'd been an old woman? You could have killed someone, Tyr.”
“Moving too fast to be anything but a mage.” Tyr shrugged. He looked in a bad state, like he hadn't eaten in days. His armor was pristine from head to toe, not a scratch on it, but that was an artifact for you. His hair told the whole story. Chest-length and hanging in ropes matted with blood. A bit brain matter caught between the earlobe and the head. Daito moved to flick it off Tyr's head, stopping when the boy flinched back.
“Jumpy, eh?”
“Can you blame us?” Tyr asked. Daito nodded in understanding, something bad had happened here. There were dead priests all around, and it didn't take a genius to figure who was responsible. By the state of him, Tyr must have fought alone.
“Did they deserve it?” He asked, a simple question and straight to the point. He toed at a broken corpse on the ground, half torn apart and reeking of Tyr's ki. Not that it was a bad smell, but mixed with all the blood and excrement it didn't make for a very pleasant one either.
Tyr nodded slowly, and Daito accepted it. He didn't understand why the older man showed him so much face and faith. But as with most things, they didn't need to make sense. Tyr was under no illusion that your typical Hunter would've been given so much freedom to run amok without censure.
“Hunter captain Daito.” Lina slammed her fist into her chest. Anywhere else in the world, it would've been appropriate, but here in the republic where the guilds participated in near incessant and harsh competition... It was not. “I am, or... I was captain of the Order of the Blue Rose, pending inquiry. Please tell us what has happened.”
“Inquiry for what?” Daito ignored the question entirely with a flicker of mischief in his eye. Tyr knew better than anyone that he was about to harass the poor woman until he was satisfied. He called it a 'judge of character', but the hoops he made others jump through were ridiculous. Tyr had spent nearly eight hours picking pine cones off the forest floor only to have Daito to notify him that they were of the 'wrong species'. Repeating three times until he was satisfied, promptly walking away from the pile with a sublime lack of interest. Why? Only the gods might know, and they probably didn't.
“Incompetence, sir.” Lina replied, rambling on at an insane clip, with obscene honesty. Detailing all of her missteps and misadventures. All of the names, first, last, and sometimes even middle of all the men and women she'd lost. Leaving Daito a bit speechless, for the first time since Tyr had met the man.
“Well...” Daito cleared his throat. “Thank you for your candor, captain Lina. However, I am a guild master. Republic customs dictate that you abide by proper protocol, or not at all.”
Lina blushed, looking ashamed with herself. How could she not know that things would be different here in another nation. As a noblewoman of Varia, technically, she had no authority here to act differently. “Apologies, guild master Daito. This one would ask that you instruct me in the proper way of greeting one such as yourself.”
“First.” Daito's lips twitched in amusement. “You have to splay your legs, like this. See? Take a warriors pose, straight in the back and knees at a ninety degree angle. That's right, like that. Now clench your fists, and bring them level with your thighs, face forward. Exactly, you're a natural. Pull in your arms a bit...”
Tyr groaned. Even in a situation like this, the man was simply too chaotic to be left alive.
–
Rafael grimaced. These men conscripted from the far reaches of the state were nothing impressive, and incredibly slow. What would take him or any competent party a matter of days, took them weeks. But as a conscript force, that was to be expected. The senate and their official armies were too busy, or so they claimed. And Daito, who should have been leading the troupe, kept disappearing without warning. Despite spending most of their time running, with consumables and enchantments to ensure their fatigue never trended to an unacceptable point, they moved at a snails pace.
Five minutes after Daito had disappeared beyond a corner, they entered in a loose file with the few veteran conscripts of past military experience following Rafael. Pikes leveled and eyeing the corner nervously. Slowing a step, just enough to allow the rearmost ranks to slam into one another. Signals were apparently too difficult for them to pay attention to.
What he saw was a mess of red all over. Mulched flesh and beaten corpses, one of them planted in the ceiling with such force that its congealed blood served as a sort of adhesive. Arms hung limp from a headless torso. A macabre scarecrow and testament to the brutality of whatever monster had done it. Not capable of giving the man the respect he'd once deserved and seemingly eating what remained of the priest.
There were people, too. Easily identifiable as friendlies, with Daito talking to a tall youth with red hair. No, not red, that was just the blood.
“Daito, could you pl--”
“GUILD MASTER RAFAEL, IF ROBERTA BUYS NINE GOURDS AT THE LOCAL SUPERMARKET AND EATS FOURTEEN. HOW MANY SPOONS DOES SHE CARRY ON HER PERSON AT ANY GIVEN TIME!?” A woman bearing the trappings of the Blue Rose greeted him screaming. Taking the horse stance and bobbing her head back and forth on her neck not unlike a chicken.
Rafael pursed his lips, ignoring the woman and glaring at Daito. His old friend only shrugged helplessly, as if he was not to blame for this wholly inappropriate display. A city was burning around him and he'd still seen it necessary to have some fun at this poor woman's expense. Behind him, the troops stared at the woman with ghastly expressions. This was not some fop of a noble to fool around with, this was the winter knight Rafael Evenstar himself. If not for the desperate situation the nation was in, they'd never have a chance to meet a real and true national hero, coming so close without explicit permission.
He had no patience for this. After nearly dying not once, but twice, and being thrown through an rift and emerging several dozen miles in the middle of the ocean... He looked to the nearest Hunter and barked an order. “Report.”
Tyr rose an eyebrow, alternating his gaze between the tall silver haired man and Daito. “Who the hell is that?”
A vein throbbed in Rafael's forehead, threatening to jump free of the skin at any time. Those who wondered why and how the Hunter's had fallen so far from glory had only look at the state of these two members. Completely lacking in respect.
“Rafael Evenstar, the guild master of the Hunter's.”
“Wait.” Tyr frowned. “I thought you were the guild master?”
“I am.” Daito said. “There are three of us, technically. There is a first, Rafael here, a second – nobody knows where that guy is. And a third, that would be me. Like a vice president, I guess, but we are technically equal. Most guilds have a triumvirate rather than one single leader, considering how wide spread our activities as a guild are--”
“DAITO!” Rafael shouted. His voice carried with it supreme authority, but it was also infused with mana. Both to aid in the sound and push down on the auras of others. Which could be dangerous if performed around baseline humans. His anger faded though, replaced by concern and a small bit of surprise. Daito was not affected, nor did Rafael expect him to be. Daito could very well be the strongest man in all of the republic, and he was certainly a match for any of the guild masters. The problem was that he refused to accept duels or challenges. Only giving Rafael a rare few moments of proper instruction through their relationship spanning two decades. The young man standing next to him, however... Even when the impressive mage at the rear flinched and burst into sweat, Tyr was wholly unaffected.
It was like trying to pierce an anvil with a needle. But again, as with Gerald, it wasn't that Tyr's defenses were so powerful. It was the fact that he'd adapted and acclimated to constant mana fluctuations over the years. Too numb to feel it, essentially.
“This is him?” Rafael's tone changed immediately, ignoring the panting men at his back while his adjutant drew them into more appropriate battle lines and turned them in an about face. There was no threat here, but more might arrive from the city. There was still fighting going on, but the protection of the gate was the primary objective.
Daito nodded. “Sure is. My precocious apprentice in the flesh. What do you think?”
“He's disrespectful.” Rafael said. Assessing Tyr, he got a familiar vibe as he did when he looked at Daito with 'mana sense'. Despite being such a powerful man, Daito had blank spots all over his mana signature, making him look weaker than he was. This apprentice of his was the same, perhaps that is why he'd been chosen. It was an exceptionally rare ability, and he was refining his mana body unconsciously on top of that. “But I can forgive that. Report.”
“Well as you can see--”
“Not you.” Rafael cut Daito off mid sentence. “You.” And pointed to Tyr.
Tyr did as best as he could. Explaining the situation he'd walked into, what had happened, and Raddick was more than happy to corroborate. Throughout it all, Rafael nodded, interrupting with various questions when Tyr rambled on too long. Guiding the report in the proper direction. Until they were here, arriving at the conclusion of events. Lina wanted to speak, and Rafael could see that, shuffling around nervously and blushing. It was clear now that she'd been made a naive fool yet again.
“Out with it, Blue Rose.” Rafael frowned.
“First of all, I'd like to formal--”
“I do not care for your apologies.” Rafael said. “Ask your question and be done with it. It was our fault and failing as the Hunter's guild that put you in embarrassment. I will see that your guild receives a full and proper letter of apology from our third guild master himself.”
“Man, come on.”
“Shut up, Daito. Please, just for once in your life.”
Lina spoke, with a distinct lack of confidence in her voice after witnessing the strange banter between the two guild masters. Nobody in Varia would ever speak to another like that in representation of an official guild. “What's happening here? Nobody knows what's going on.”
“It would seem...” Rafael sighed. “That someone was not so happy we managed to hold this astral gate. Unlike the others, this one is very stable. Through a series of random events, someone or something powered a warding device. That's what the academics are saying, at least. Thus, they've begun creating artificial werekin and mindslaving them with recursive anima magic. Blood magic, probably, but I'm not exactly an expert on the subject. We've also received reports that clandestine elements of several churches have been striking at key locations all across the country. Most notably, the redstone reactors that power these facilities. Alexandros...” He looked over his shoulder to ensure the common soldiery were far enough away. This next part, he addressed to Tyr. He'd heard the rumors. It was his job to lead his guild, but a primus was a primus. Surely there must be some method of measurement to ensure a man didn't reach nearly twenty years of age before finding out they were a bastard. The fact that anyone believed that tall tale was incredible, the young man looked exactly like his father. “Do you know where Alexandros is?”
“Who would I know where he is?” Tyr felt a chill roll down his spine. “That guy is terrifying. Do you think we all speak like we've got a line of communication to one another that we can use at will?”
“Well?” Rafael said. “Do you? This isn't a game.”
“I guess...” Tyr frowned down at the communication amulet he'd plucked from his neck. It always hung there, but he never used it. It had been powered off now for years. “Damn. Sixty three messages? One sec.”
“Good morning sir! We've been trying to reach you about your vehicles extended war--”
Click.
“Who the hell is Martha, you son of a bit--”
Click.
“What's good my guy? Haven't heard from you in a while, just checking in. It's your boy Ross from Ravioli Ross the Sauce Boss ravioli market. Where you can buy ravioli. Well, you probably knew that, you used to come here all the time. Just letting you know we've got a hot and fresh new load of ravioli for you if you wanted to swing by and--”
Damn. I wish I had some ravioli.
Click.
“Hey, it's uh... It's me, Ella. Calling for, I don't know, the thirtieth time. Our child is healthy, business is going good. I just, uh...” Ella's voice, even over the tinny sound of the communication amulet was hot and heavy. “I've been thinking about you a lot. The way you used to take me by the--”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Tyr looked shiftily at the others. His was not a model that could speak directly into his mind, that one should still be in his vault. He'd never used the new models and couldn't get used to the controls, opting to go with the classic. Unfortunately, that meant they'd heard.
“Our child!?” Jura shouted. “What else are you lying about!?”
“Oi, oi, oi!” Tyr backed away from her angered approach, clenched fists and twisted in the face. Looking like she'd beat him down at any moment. Holding his hands up in surrender. “It's not what it sounds like, she must've gotten the wrong number!”
“This is so off the rails.” Rafael shook his head, looking toward Daito. “Why this guy?”
Daito shrugged. “He's the son of a primus, how could I not scoop him up?”
“I guess that's true.”
“Call her.” Jura stamped her foot petulantly. Jealousy was certainly not her color, but Tyr could feel how upset she was. “Right now. I'd like to have a word with this Ella. And don't lie to me! We had a moment, you said so yourself!”
“Okay, okay.” And so he did. Dialing her number. He'd honestly forgotten all about her, wondering what she was up to.
The receiver clicked to indicate that the call was accepted.
“Good gods. Two years, nearly. Two years! And you call me in the middle of the night, what the hells is wrong with you!?”
“Hello, Ella.” Tyr sighed. Her holographic feed was blank, as expected in her likely state of undress, but his was not.
“Oh dear.” She whispered. “What happened to you? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you?”
“Babe, who is that?” Another voice could be heard on the other end of the line. “Holy shit, is that Tyr?”
“Yes, it is, now shut the hell up and go back to sleep.” Her words were cruel, but her voice was soft and affectionate.
“Tythas?” Tyr asked, recognizing the voice. “I'm in the republic and I'm fine. Goodbye...”
Click. She attempted to call back several times, but Tyr ignored them. Frowning down at his amulet and blushing a bright scarlet. “She had the wrong number, she is my business partner. You'll just have to trust me.” He turned to Jura, looking her in the eye. One thing she'd learned about Tyr is that he did not lie. Ever. Much to his detriment, at times. “I can't face him right now, and I know that makes me a coward. But I can't, he... Never mind.”
“So you don't have a child?” She asked suspiciously.
“No.” He replied. “I met her a brief time before she'd given birth. I'll have words with the real father when I eventually return, though. To think that he skipped out again.” Tyr spat. “Makes me sick.”
“Okay, I believe you.” She smiled, far too smug and satisfied with herself for comfort. Tyr felt what he'd feared others did in his dealings with him, like a possession.
“Rafael is going to have an aneurysm if you don't get back on task, I think.” Daito sighed, bodily holding his friend back from tearing the communication amulet out of Tyr's hands and doing it himself. And so, without further delay, he dialed the first number he'd thought to. Octavian of Varia. Unfortunately...
“What? How did you get this number? Did Iscari give it to you? Good gods, do what you're told and lay low, you have no idea how much of a headache this has been for us, good night!”
Click. This time, it was Tyr who was hung up on rather than they opposite. He raised his eyebrows, cringing. Everyone had heard that. Ragnar, however, was much more receptive.
“My boy!” Even so far away, Ragnar's visage looked perfectly carved from blue glass. Hunched over a desk and scribbling on some parchment rather than wasting a look at Tyr. “Put a baby in my daughters yet?”
“...What?” Jura was staring at him angrily again, forcing Tyr to anxiously reply, as fast as humanly possible. “No. Our marriage was annulled...”
“That's news to me.” Ragnar said. “They refused the annulment, and much to your fathers chagrin. I wish you'd have been there to see the look on his face haha! That reminds me, I've been meaning to ask you. How did you manage to take him out like that? Never in my long life did I ever thing I'd see the great Jartor beaten down in a brawl. Did you use a... Ah, we have guests. That's unfortunate...”
Rafael turned to Tyr with a raised eyebrow. “You beat primus Jartor in a fight?”
“I did not.” Tyr protested, while Ragnar continued to rattle on. He was a hero, a true legend and the oldest primus, striking fear in the hearts of men all over the globe. But to Tyr, he was a wild eyed eccentric and academic. Always raving about something he couldn't possible begin to understand. “I lost that fight, right father?”
“Ah, my heart warms that you remember me as sworn kin, but not so!” Ragnar crowed, missing his cue to say something that might help his 'son' out. Bizarrely replying to Rafael rather than Tyr himself. “I knew it the moment I saw him, you know? He had the steel in him, that ridiculous old Harani saying finally come to life. Put old Jartor straight through a mountain. Don't quite understand how, though... Probably shouldn't say much more than that. Things we could discuss at a later date perhaps. See, my boy, I'm quite busy at the moment. I'm so close to developing a recursive feedback bridge that can... Probably shouldn't talk about that either. So...? What do you need?”
“I am calling to ask you if you know where Alexandros is.” Tyr replied curtly. The others watched as he discussed things with a legendary primus as if it was just another day. Of course, he'd been raised by one... Maybe it was all part of the experience.
“Did you try calling him?” Ragnar asked, brows lowered and finally looking at Tyr. So powerful and intense was his gaze that he swore the primus was standing opposite him at this very moment. Now, Tyr could feel an aura. And so could the others. An absurd pressure that made even the act of breathing difficult. Something that shouldn't be possible through a communications amulet...
“I do not have his contact information.”
“He refuses to answer us, as well. Young Alexandros has always been rather irascible, never friendly toward any of us in particular – but I do not fault him. His aspect is freedom or liberty or some such, the single member of the generation between you and your fathers. Rather unique, that, but I suppose it's bound to lead to some flaws in personality. Do you need help?” Ragnar asked.
“Do we need help?” Tyr frowned and turned toward Rafael, flipping the display port so that the silver haired man was pictured instead of Tyr. Rafael froze, eyes flicking back and forth. A somber force pushing down on his brain, one which he obeyed. Immediately, he knelt, hitting the ground with the force of a hammer and lowering his head.
“Eldest primus! It is an incredible honor! Forgive me for not preparing a more appropriate reception!”
Ragnar scowled. “Yes, yes. I am so great and legendary, look at how dashing I am. Wow, the light pours out of my every orifice. So godly and magnificent. How about you get up off your knees and face me like a man. Did I ask you to kneel? Are you a man of Oresund? In truth, you've our blood, but so many men do. Regardless, I hate this pomp and piety. I am not a god, child, nor am I your master or that to anyone else. Look me in my eye and answer our question.”
Tyr exhaled slowly before turning the display back on himself. “I understand how you feel, father, but you can't talk to these people that way. Do you honestly expect to get answers out of someone acting like that?”
“...Boy!” Rafael choked. “This is heresy, this disrespect...”
“You are too big for your britches, my son. Thinking you can order the great and legendary and godly, and did I mention the exceptionally handsome Ragnar Stalvarg around. Perhaps I should visit in person and see if I can't teach you all some proper manners.” Ragnar's lips were a straight line and his mien harder than ever, frightening the others into backing off and inching away. Even if he wasn't there, a primus was a primus. Second only to the gods. If this city were flattened by a meteor none of them would have been surprised. But that was dogma, for you. As for Tyr, he was unbowed. Ragnar was just like this, his eyes remained twinkling mischievous. “Leave us.” He need not turn. Before another minute had passed – everyone was gone. Benny and Xavier inched around, but they obeyed Tyr's meaningful jerk of the head. Leaving with the others.
“You've a silencing device?” Ragnar asked. Tyr nodded and planted it as instructed, a spherical stretch of raw mana interference that would prevent any attempt to listen in either physically or magically. If they did, the orb would break, notifying him of the intrusion. In this way, it was fragile, but foolproof. “Good. How have you been?”
“That's an odd question coming from a man that did not protest to my execution.” Tyr frowned.
“This again?” Ragnar exhaled through the nose and rested his weary head against his hand. He hadn't slept for near on seven years, and here at the peak of his crowning achievement, he was growing drowsier by the day. “He asked, because he is a good lad. There are rules. Things that must be done and duties that we may not like but are required of us regardless. There cannot be two primus from the same sire. Living with three in my own country is already too much. When my grandson eventually has his child, I will have to leave whether I'd like to or not. And this is natural. What has happened to him... Your family, I mean, it is a fel thing. But... I do have a question. You remember me, yes? From your childhood?”
“You knew about my memory problem?” Tyr asked. “Can you explain that to me?”
“Only your father could properly, but I suppose so. I am glad that you remember our rare moments together, the last time I saw you... Or rather the time before the incident in Riven, I was shocked. You didn't remember myself, or any of us. How much of it have you recovered?”
“My memory?” Tyr asked and Ragnar nodded. “I couldn't quantify it. Half, maybe. Some of it is blurry or as if I were looking through another pair of eyes.”
“Well, you did break divine taboo. I suppose there's bound to be side effects. Like I said, I won't explain what happened, only your father can. This was by oath, and I think it has something to do with why you now have a brother. The first primus in history to have a brother by blood. Even half blood, it's unheard of. And I'm old, I've seen five generations of primus but never that.”
“Can you tell me how that's possible?” Tyr asked. Ragnar frowned, picking up the communication amulet, though not with his hands. It floated aloft, revealing a titanic subterranean workshop. Stout dwarves all around and a hundred quills dancing on sheaves of parchment at his instruction. Like the amulet, no hands were needed. His power so refined that he could control the entire space alone if he'd wanted to. He seated himself at a more comfortable chair, pouring himself a glass of some dark liquid.
Ragnar took a sip, and then another. Chewing on his lip in deep thought. “You know, I've thought about that for many years, but after your mother passed. Well, she was like a daughter to me as well. After that, your father was... Difficult to reach, let's say. First, that thing happened with you, and then we all lost her. It broke his heart, I think. A difficult thing to do, for he is a hard man. Harder than I, I think. The ramblings of an old man, really. I'm not so long for this world, I just want to complete my final project and sleep. You will understand, one day, what it's like for us. I can say little, and believe me, I wish I could call you north and explain it all in person. Make you party to my grand plan for this world, but I cannot. Because you do not exist.”
“I don't exist...” Tyr squinted at him in disbelief. It wasn't a question, just a repetition of the words the primus had spoken. “What in the world does that mean, I don't exist?”
He shrugged, that Ragnar. Helpless in the face of reality. “Maybe, more appropriately, you should not exist. Your very existence is against the order. 'The way', we call it, I'm sure you've heard that a million times. It's not like you're not physical, able to interact with this world, but you are a living paradox. You were born awakened. Your mother died in childbirth to you, but your aspect, whatever it is – because I do not know, was so strong that it literally brought her back to life. True resurrection magic, not that half-assed ritual the priests shill for gold only to tell you that they failed. Or to return an empty husk to your doorstep... Regardless, you were so powerful. Blinding us all, enough to make Cortus go mad and set about the unfortunate events that destroyed Trafalgar.”
“I destroyed Trafalgar?” Tyr's cogs were whirring at impossible speed trying to keep up with Ragnar's dialogue, but he'd picked that out in particular. Before he could even speak, he'd already destroyed a nation, and by extension – Sigi's family. How could that be his fault? “How is that possible? Cortus died before I was even born.”
Ragnar shook his head sadly. “History books and their words. You had to know the man to understand. He was in an astral space when it happened, and emerged before you were born, yes, but time is not always so literal a construct in the rift. One can enter, and live for fifty years, and emerge with only a second having passed in our world. Of course, it all runs forward, but that's the greatest question of mankind, one I can't see to answer. Technically speaking, you are the oldest primus. Far older than I or any other by an impossible stretch. I just don't know, kid. It's all theory, and I'll be long gone before it becomes fact, if it ever does. To simplify things, your coming into the world, a future event, broke Cortus' mind and changed his very aspect. He was not a bad man, but he was arrogant and quick to take offense. He died because his destiny, the threads that bind us, was to kill you. That's all. All this about Sinea... Unfortunate pawns in a game they didn't even know was being played, and they paid the price for it. Cortus willfully abandoned Trafalgar in it's time of need, and willfully challenged your house, bringing a whole nation down in the process. It's not your fault, and never was. To say so would be like saying the rain is at fault for giving life to a tree that later falls and crushes a man flat. Correlation and causation, or something like that. Time exists at a dimension beyond our comprehension, I don't know what else to say.”
“I see.” Tyr replied.
“Do you, my boy?” Ragnar's voice was soft, his eyes affectionate and fatherly. More so than Jartor's had ever been.
“No.” Tyr shook his head. “I don't. I don't see anything, and somehow I understand even less. But it is true that we need help. Alexandros has gone missing and his kingdom is falling apart.”
“Understood.” Ragnar nodded. “Eventually, you'll face your father again. Hopefully in better circumstances, and perhaps you'll get your answers. As for the struggle in his kingdom, Alexandros is alive, but I don't know where he is. I feel him, but it's a thread. I would be willing to bet that he's in an astral space, not that it's relevant where he is. I'll send Vidarr. He is in Milano as we speak about some business of acquiring materials for me, not too far away. Is this agreeable?”
“It is, Ragnar. Thank you for all of your time.”
“You are my son. Not by blood, but by law, and for our kind that is all that matters. I will always have your back, as long as your path stays true. Give my regards to my daughters if you see them, and I hope you do. They don't speak to me much these days after all that has happened. I feel as if they blame me the way that you do, only more petty in their grudges, as humans so often are.”
“I will.” And with that, the call ended. No goodbyes, neither man believed in them. They would see one another again one day. All of the primus' would. And Tyr was one, of that Ragnar had no doubt – and had never had any at all. A lost boy fated to great sorrow. Maybe they all were. Ragnar would never want him dead, but it was true that he should not be walking among them. Already surprised that Octavian hadn't stepped in and seen it done himself. Something neither Ragnar nor Jartor could do themselves for their own reasons.