The peaceful green murals on the hallway walls seemed mocking as they strode toward the dining hall to discuss impending war. Valdo wondered which of the previous Counts had ordered them painted.

Did they think painting the beauty of the land would make it any less dangerous? No, they were foolish, but not that foolish.

The dining hall was the largest room in the castle; high sloped ceilings with tapestries of the sun and sky shone over a red-clothed table long enough to fit at least twenty people. The room never hosted more than five, and for that reason, a profound feeling of loneliness always swept through Valdo whenever he entered the place. Eating had been a communal activity all throughout his life—at home, in the academy, in the barracks—there was always someone to share a meal with.

The Count sat in one of the ornate golden chairs in the middle of the table, then motioned for Valdo to sit across from him.

He walked around the long table and took his seat.

“Let us speak of the Nerodae first.”

It had been difficult for Valdo to process the incident with the Neroade as it happened. However, during their walk to the dining hall, he formulated what he believed to be the correct thought-path.

He posed his theory. “You and Halding knew of him before I did. You knew I would bring him when you gave me that task, did you not?”

“Yes. When I heard Halding had taken a Nerodae girl, I expected her father would come for her. An old…companion, once told me of Nerodae tradition. When their women reach a certain age, they must be killed by their fathers. So, I leveraged this. I need the Nerodae’s strength.”

Valdo thought back to the works of Fujus. The historian had never mentioned such a ghastly tradition. Could that be what he meant when he said they were “bound by their blood”? How strange that Balisk would know of this. Though, perhaps not that strange. Valdo knew nothing of the man or his past.

He posed a potentially dangerous question. “Count, before we continue, I must ask: do you think it wise how you treated Halding? The man is as insidious as a serpent, but he is also quite strong, and knows more of strategy than most. Is spurning him part of your plan?” It had certainly not seemed planned, but now he was questioning almost everything that had happened in the last wiq.

Balisk’s lips crept up into a half-smile. “No, I lost my composure, that is all.”

The smile lapsed and the emotionless mask returned. “Though I hope this will be a lesson to him. A reminder of why I am Count and he is not.”

Valdo laughed to himself. “Yes, I think he understands that quite well, now.”

A heartbeat passed and the wide double doors to the dining hall swung open.

The orange petal creature entered, followed by a man Valdo almost did not recognize. The Nerodae had exchanged his oversized tattered robes for a black wool cloak and a gray woven tunic. He no longer wore the hood either, exposing his bare face for the first time. His light blue skin had an almost transparent quality, with small black veins visible below his deep sunken eye sockets. Two small horns the same color as his skin jutted from his cropped black hair.

The petal creature seated itself on the floor a few steps from the Count’s seat. The Nerodae stood nearby.

Valdo grinned as Barog and Jemeen entered the hall. They eyed him with tired and tense smiles of their own. If they were not already aware of what this meeting entailed, they likely sensed it. This was the last discussion they would have before blood soaked deep into the land.

Both chimed their sober greetings to the Count before taking the seats beside Valdo.

Finally, with gashes in his usually pristine blue cloak, hair matted with sweat, and the faint imprint of burn marks around his throat, Lieutenant Halding entered the hall. He muttered a nearly silent greeting before seating himself beside Barog. Valdo could feel the sleet of chilled rage that lingered beneath his skin.

Balisk relaxed against the plush back of his chair. “Tonight, I inform you of our enemies and the dangers Solun currently faces. Tomorrow we go to war.”

“I spoke with the chieftess of the Niven six days ago. Due to the utter destruction of the reserve force by a creature we still have no knowledge of, she ended our treaty. Two days later, three Niven warriors attacked Lieutenant Halding and the Petalman as they investigated the area where the reserve force was killed.”

Jemeen and Barog attempted to contain their surprise upon hearing Halding referred to as Lieutenant. The Count continued.

“In the following days, a source reported to me that Count Verdugo was preparing for war. Tonight, my source returned from Dracon again to report that Verdugo and his troops will attack Solun in two days.”

Jemeen’s mouth gaped open. Barog’s bushy eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he spoke. “What?! Has Verdugo’s brain turned to shit? We’ll wipe them out.”

Balisk responded. “Perhaps. Truthfully, we do not know the strength of Verdugo’s forces. However, the even greater potential danger is that he has formed an alliance with the Niven. Contending with the entirety of the Niven and his troops could prove rather difficult.”

“A battle with them could destroy the city.” Dread laced Jemeen’s words.

Balisk nodded his head. “Yes, Lieutenant, it could. Solun is not perfect, but it is…good, better than it has ever been in the past. Everyone in this room is responsible for this change. We have built this city into a home for ourselves, and countless others. Nothing of this land will destroy my home. I will not allow it. Will you?”

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The lieutenants shouted a passionate agreement.

“Absolutely not!”

“No!”

“Never!”

“No.” Halding’s no was empty.

“Excellent. If we wish to spare Solun, we must take the battle to Dracon. Here is the plan.”

“Tomorrow night, I will create a rift. Lieutenants Barog, Jemeen, and Halding. You three, along with the Nerodae, will go through the rift and be brought to an alley in Dracon, near Count Verdugo’s castle. Lieutenant Halding and the Nerodae will stay there. Lieutenants Barog and Jemeen, you will make your way to the Dungeon. You two will kill any guards there, and then free the prisoners. Their abilities are likely being restricted by an ormer creation. Destroy this. The fleeing and presumably vengeful prisoners will cause a commotion that attracts most of the town’s attention. As this happens, Halding and the Nerodae will make their way into the castle and kill Verdugo. You will all regroup in the alley, where I will have created another rift, and you will return here. Questions?”

The room was silent for a few heartbeats.

Jemeen spoke, her cheeks a smidge red from embarrassment.. “Sounds like a good plan, Count. But, uh, not sure if I’m the only one here that doesn’t know…what exactly is a Ne-ro-die? Does he have a strong ability?”

Barog grinned at her. “I also have no fuckin’ idea what a Ne-ro-die is.”

Normally, Valdo would have taken this chance to laugh at their ignorance, and then give an explanation that only an incredibly knowledgeable man such as himself could give. Instead, he was deep in thought.

This plan is dangerous. Balisk already stated himself that he doesn’t know much about the forces of Dracon. We have no idea who or what we may encounter there. Success is also entirely reliant on Halding and the Nerodae. There are no two people in the land I have less trust in. They are far more likely to kill each other than complete the mission.”

"The Nerodae is very capable, he will do his part. Any other questions?" Balisk looked pointedly at Valdo and Halding.

Valdo spoke up. "I am not sure about this plan, Count. Besides how little information we have and what should be obvious concerns about Halding and the Nerodae, I believe this dungeon distraction may not work. Consider the conditions these prisoners are kept in. Will they even be able to run, much less fight any guards who come?"

“Destroy the dungeon after the prisoners flee. That is sure to be noticed. I can do it.” Halding’s quiet exhausted voice seemed edged with desperation.

Balisk quickly shut the idea down. “No, you will stay with the Neroade. Your strength is needed there.”

“However, you and Lieutenant Valdo are correct. We must be sure that the distraction is effective. I have a rare…powder, which is very explosive. Lieutenants Barog and Jemeen will spread it after the prisoners have escaped and ignite it to destroy the building. Any other concerns?”

Valdo knew Balisk had purposely focused on this issue that he could solve, and not the larger underlying problems that made the plan as fragile as glass.

He tried again to reason with him. “Count, I believe we are relying far too much on the Nerodae. Putting him and Halding together to complete the most important part of the mission is not going to end well.”

Balisk’s chair screeched as he twisted it to face the Nerodae standing behind him. “What is your name?”

The Nerodae made a series of deep gurgling sounds in his throat.

“In our language.”

“...taghedd.”

Balisk stared at him and spoke with an even sharper than usual tone. “Will you try to kill Lieutenant Halding during this mission?”

Taghedd briefly glanced at Halding before returning Balisk’s stare. “...no.”

“Is truth important to your people, taghedd?”

“...you know…nothing…of truth…put blade…to kin…then you know. Will not…kill him…yet".

Balisk turned back to his Lieutenants. “Is that satisfactory enough for you, Lieutenant?”

Valdo was growing frustrated. “No, Count, it is not. You are asking Barog and Jemeen…and Halding, to step off a mountain and hope that the fall is not as steep as it looks. I believe we both know it is that steep.”

“What I know, Lieutenant, is that we must act quickly. I value all of your lives and would not ask this of you if I knew of a better way. Do you know of a better way, Lieutenant?”

The question caught him off guard. He stammered, “Well..I..I don’t have enough information to…”

Balisk motioned for him to be silent. “As I thought. This is our plan, and everyone will know their part in exact detail before we leave this room.”

The Count reached into his golden cloak and unrolled a map on the table. The small buildings marking the yellowed paper of the map looked recently painted.

“Verdugo’s castle is here. The dungeon is here. You should be able to take this route…”

Balisk’s voice echoed beyond Valdo’s hearing as he observed his friends. Barog scratched numbly at his fuzzy black sideburns while Jemeen lightly tapped her fingertips on the table. Both were attentive to the Count’s every word.

They will die. I know it.

***

The high-pitched buzz of thousands of cicadas cascaded through the Black Forest. Every 13 rings, the bugs arrived in mass numbers, emerging from their burrows at the most opportune moment, when the days were golden and their predators lurked elsewhere.

As Giza sat on the balcony of her home, the humid night air licking her face, she thought to herself how similar all of life in Arbia’s Land was.

Just like the cicadas, the Niven had burrowed themselves, isolated from the rest of the land. Now, they were going to surface at the perfect moment to take their revenge.

It had been remarkably simple to convince the Council of Rayees to support the plan of attacking Solun. The Rayees were far too young—most had not even been on the land 30 rings—and thus easily swayed by the promise of wetting their blades. Such was the tragedy of the Niven. The old warriors who used to make up the council were considered too slow to action and were replaced with young, more powerful warriors. These young warriors would then act rashly, without thought, and be replaced by the wiser old warriors. They had been trapped in this cycle of upheaval throughout her lifetime. With guile, grace, and on many unfortunate occasions, violence, she had evaded her eventual role in the cycle. For 50 rings she had reigned, the longest of any Caliwa since the Niven had settled in the Black Forest.

She smiled, thinking of her people diligently preparing for the battle in two days. Once Count Verdugo sent a signal that Balisk had arrived at Dracon, 1,000 Niven warriors arranged on the midnight stone platforms gifted to them by the Ormer would blast from the Black Forest to Solun and overrun the city. Solun’s ashes would bring the Niven peace, and, perhaps, allow her to reign for another 50 rings.

“Caliwa.”

Giza turned to see three of the Rayees—Odae, Chisahl, and Tayana—standing inside her home. She had not even heard them enter. Besides aching bones and muscles, age also weakened the senses. Most of them. Intuition, born of knowledge and experience, became stronger with age.

Three is the number of death among the Niven. One to duel you, and two to ensure the proper traditions are followed. The Rayees were trying to exude calm stability, but they were tense, eager to complete their goal here.

They knew she could not win in a duel. No amount of experience or skill with the blade could counter the speed of a warrior that is a quarter of your age.

She remained seated on the balcony and spoke with her usual unyielding authority.

“Are the preparations complete?”

Odae, a girl she had once trained in prayer, spoke first. “The Council reconvened.”

Chisahl, a girl she had instructed in the bladework, spoke next. “Your plan is tainted by human collaboration.”

Giza had no doubt what Tayana’s words would be and she would not let them be spoken.

She closed her eyes, clasped her withered hands together and muttered a prayer last used a thousand rings ago.

“Desul, ruler of the desolation, friend of the forgotten, grant me your strength.”

A child-like fear curdled in the eyes of the Rayees. They instantly drew their blades, and sprung forward, confident that she could not strike them all down.

Heartbeats from death, Giza felt her arms turn cold as ice. She thrust her hands out, palms open, and a current of flames that looked as if they had been dipped in black ink rushed through the air. The Rayees attempted to slice through the flames with their swords, but it was futile. They were reduced to horrific sculptures of blackened tissue stretched over conjoined bones.

Giza’s whole body shook. Not from the sight of what she had done to her people, but from the cold power of the desolation still throbbing in her arms. She breathed out deeply, and walked back to her balcony. For now, she must find somewhere safe to stay.

She walked the thin strip of terrace that connected her balcony to one of the climbing trees. Upon reaching the tree, she noticed what her eyes had been unable to see from afar. All around her, Niven warriors shadowed in the darkness of the forest held tiny orbs of orange flame. The orbs grew brighter and larger, and then, they flew towards her.

Giza, the 77th Caliwa of the Niven of the Black Forest, met her end.

In a place outside of places, Arbia cried as the cold talons of Desul grasped one of her children.

The next day, a light sprinkle of unexpected rain misted over the land.