He who falls behind is hunted first; yet also he who leads meets the enemy first. Fate has deemed it.

He who refuses to aid the suffering dies alone; yet also he who refuses the aid he is offered suffers alone. Fate has deemed it.

He who denies another justice cheats Fate; yet also he who denies the justice offered is cheated from his. Fate has deemed it.

He who ignores a call from a brother lives alone; yet also he who refuses to call shall die alone. Fate has deemed it.

He who leads must be humble or the many will rebel to break him; yet also the many must be humble or the leaders will be a scourge to break them. Fate has deemed it.

-A SELECTION OF BRIKVARNNI PROVERBS

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KRIDARNN

This wasn’t the first batch of civilians Krid had been given to whip into shape, but it was his most challenging. With the exception of Syrdin, they were soft-handed and optimistic. Hopes and ideals would not protect anyone from panthrae and pixies. He didn’t need them to become militant, only aware, realistic, and cohesive. This infighting had to stop. It didn’t matter if it was between Syrdin and Galendria, or Galendria and Fenn.

What they needed were some good Brikvarnni principals. He frowned at the tent from which Fenn had yet to show his face. And some better planning.

He tied his last sack and stood, taking note of their status. Gale was dismantling her tent while Mell quickly breakfasted over a tome from her bag of books. Krid huffed. He hoped she didn’t intend to read on the road. Syrdin, no longer limping after a touch from Mell, paced around the camp,watching for signs of Ferngal or her lackeys. From zheir tent emerged Fenn, now dressed in a loose white blouse over his blue elvish leggings–it was the same kind of shirt Krid had seen him wear in Brikhvarnn. His bloodied and slashed tunic from the day before didn’t suit the hot forest weather, and Krid was grateful for the diminishing of at least one sour smell.

At the sight of him, Galendria stood. “Fenn!” Beaming with the brightness of a sunrise, she rushed over and grabbed his wrists before he had more than glanced in her direction. “Fenn, Atheer’m il-et ciavay! Khee tu vah foy–”

Krid huffed the potent faerie air in a powerful sneeze, and then raised his snout so he looked over Galendria’s head. It was incredibly rude to speak a language he didn’t understand while nearby. Only those keeping secrets would do that.

She blinked at him, then her cheeks took a hint of pink as she understood what she’d done. “We’ve scried on him–Mell showed me how to use the artifact–my father is fine! He’s no longer a Ceann, but he was at our house in the mountains. Fenn, he’s alright!”

Krid lowered his head, regretting his intrusion. No wonder; she was speaking of her bloodclan.

“Thank the gods,” Fenn said as his surprise at her sudden accosting changed to relief, and then curiosity. “You scried… with the crystal?”

“Yes, Fenn it was amazing, I could see him like he was right in front of me, and I even heard him in my head, like Ferngal!”

“Really? And what did it feel like? Did you have any sensations?” The book-head slid from her grasp and slid open his notebook, scribbling furiously as she fed him every detail. Krid tried not to listen as they discussed Gale’s vision, her father, and a brother of Fenn’s Krid had never heard of.

Behind them, Syrdin tore down the tent, and Krid was reminded why he continued to respect zheir secrets; zhe was the only one of the group who kept zheir wits about zhem and zheir mind on the immediate goal. Zhe seemed to understand the orderliness and sense of urgency required in dangerous situations, even if zhe didn’t entirely understand teamwork. Or humilty. It wasn’t very Brikvarnni of zhem.

He tried not to mind as Mellark leaned in to join the Etnfrandians’ conversation. The foundation of the mission was learning, so the book-heads needed to, well, book. Still, with the threat of Ferngal’s short temper looming over them, he soon lost his own.

He leaned over them, letting his shadow fall over the notebook.

“And to verify, he showed no sign that he could sense you watching?” Fenn glanced Krid’s way before turning back to his page.

Galendria shook her head. “None.”

Krid took the chance to interrupt. “We move out in ten minutes. Anyone not ready by then will be cleaning up after both lunch and dinner.”

It wasn’t much of a threat, but it did the job. “You’re right,” Mell stood using Fenn’s shoulder as a support, “we need to prioritize our safety, and that means getting out of this forest. We can invent a test for the artifact on the way.”

With everyone pulling their weight, they were packed and ready barely within the ten minutes. It was not as clean and efficient as he had hoped, and there was much double-checking and reorganizing of what they could not properly repack, but these were not troops. Yet, for the first time since they’d crossed the planes, they had a clear direction and some sense of urgency– as long as he kept reminding them of it. Once they were assembled, he addressed them.

“As discussed, we will march with the sun on our backs. I will take the front. Syrdin, you take rear. You and I will watch for stalkers and ambushes. Fenn, Mell, take the sides and watch out for pixies’ hollows and other recognizable signs of Fae magic. Galendria, keep an eye on the skies. After a while, we will switch duties so no one becomes fatigued. We’ll stop only when absolutely necessary. Understood?”

Four sets of surprised eyes blinked at him.

“Understood?”

“Sounds practical to me.” Fenn tugged the straps of his pack, trying to tighten it while it was already on his back–the most impractical way. “The situation does necessitate both haste and care.”

“Lead on,” Mell gestured away from the sun, a direction revealed only by the slightest tilt of the shadows.

A simple nod or “yes, sir” would have sufficed. Krid turned with a flick of his tail and they marched.

If he had needed to write a logbook, there would have been little to report. The scenery remained unchanged, and thanks to Syrdin and Mell, they managed to skirt any nests, hollows, and thickets that crossed their path. But there was no report log. Instead, the book-heads got distracted discussing what the Yellow Wood might be, or random creatures, or directions, all with no conclusion. Galendria was eager to strike up conversation with everyone except Syrdin and often announced their presence to the forest by breaking out into a tune–not a practical marching tune, but a meandering sort of music that slowed everyone down. He couldn’t understand the songs, of course. Their words were in Elvish.

Syrdin, aside from the occasional sly remark, remained quiet and alert, a fact Krid remained grateful for because zhe routed them around several pixie hollows and managed to pick a decent amount of yuka, which would bolster their rations.

As the day wore on, interrupted by only a meal and restroom break, the company grew quieter. Gale’s songs ceased, and Fenn lost himself in thought. The scholar must have grown bored, for she slowed her pace to meet Krid where he had taken up the rear.

“So, Captain Krid, you seem like a drakeman accustomed to being in command. I’m not a person acquainted with militaries. Tell me, just what does your position entail?”

“I am Steward of no less than one-hundred scouts at a time. We watch the border of Brikhvarnn shared with the Kravtic mountains.”

“Steward?” She asked, surprised.

He didn’t know why she would be. “Yes, a fundamental Skill. Surely your people use it.”

“I know what the word means, and in many ways my job was to steward a library until now, but I don’t think we conceptualize the word the same way you do. Could you explain further?”

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He cocked his head so he could watch her with one eye as he kept the other on the forest behind. Danger could appear at any moment, and he would not be caught off-guard. “Growers–or what you may call farmers–steward foodstuffs, forming and caring for them. Shapers–what you call tradesmiths–steward tools. And weapons, a mere tool of protection. I steward my men, growing them to protect our people. The other scouts admired my skill at it and encouraged me to grow it. Now I have grown two hundred this way, and with one hundred I serve now.”

She nodded, silently studying his words. It wasn’t the way Fenn studied, with excitement and a smattering of questions, but with a slow, diligent intentionality. “And how did you come to this position?”

“Over time, with the support of my fellow scouts, as with any position of leadership. Fennorin was among the first to encourage this Skill of mine. He took up a blade in witness of it.”

She snorted like a pig–a type of laugh, he assumed. “Fenn fought a duel for you to have your job?”

A flock of those winged creatures took the skies behind them, and Krid spun to observe what had caused the disturbance. It was a pair of small, long-limbed creatures leaping through the trees. One swung up and snatched the so-called shoth from the air in its teeth, then wrung its neck with its spindly fingers. Krid hoped there were not larger creatures like that. It had killed a creature twice its size with bare hands.

He turned back to Mell, ushering them both forward until they were back in step with the others. “Yes, Fenn fought for me, as you said. We fought together, and, in return, I swore to him the oath of a brother. To speak on this further, however, would be a… what you may call… sacrilege.”

“Hmh,” Mell acknowledged this information with an odd sound in her throat. “The oath explains why you are here.” Then she chuckled. “but Fenn with a sword against a drakeman? I would’ve paid to see that.”

“The way things are going, you won’t have to pay to see him with a blade in hand.”

The woman grunted her agreement. “The way things are going, you’ll have us all holding blades like your scouts.” She smiled tightly as she spoke.

He frowned, unsure what she meant. “You should be watching the skies,” he reminded her. He could not afford to have her distracted. As much as he hated to admit it, the Fae creatures made him as skittish as a desert hare. All eyes needed to be focused. Thankfully, she refocused hers without complaint.

He pushed them for two days like this–harsh, wary, and in rotations. If the shadows were longer each day when his steps became heavy and his stomach empty, he could not tell. At the end of the second, panting in the heat, he observed the others from where he had taken the lead. Droplets glistened on Mell’s face paired with an unholy stench on her clerical robes. Sweat, he recalled. A feature of the soft-skinned he did not envy. Another wince from Galendria reminded him that she’d been limping along all day, unused to such travel. Fenn fared little better, bent with his hands clasped under his backpack.

Krid sighed. These are not troops. They need more rest. He would not be the scourge to keep it from them. “Perhaps we should stop for a while. It’s likely been a proper day’s march. Besides, you all look like Mountain Goatslost in Brikhvarnn’s desert.” Always scraggly, weary things those are.

The collective sigh of relief that came from the three civilians could have blown back a sandstorm. “Let me see if the divination says it’s okay,” Mell pulled her bag off her shoulder and reached into a side pocket. “I’d rather not have a fleet of owls come to tear us apart while we sleep.”

Krid stamped out his discontent with pacing. Fate was not something so simple to be read and told. Not even those so-called gods could reveal what Fate had hidden. Fenn may trust it, but Krid would not. Still, he would not be the cause of an argument in troubled times.

She tossed her sticks and studied them, as before. “It’s a wash,” Mell announced. “Good enough for me.” Without waiting for anyone else’s opinion, she started unloading supper. Fenn and Gale were quick to follow with tents–if one could call their dehydrated-goat pace quick.

Krid crossed his arms and leaned against a tree. He could have told her that camping was split even on risk and reward. Because of that, he hadn’t meant for them to set up an entire camp, but perhaps it would be worthwhile as long as they did not loiter. He would not allow them to waste time cooking or studying. They must focus on getting rest and moving on. “Who will be first watch tonigh–today?.”

Syrdin settled onto a thick branch by his head. “I got it.”

He rumbled his appreciation and set to propping up his own tent. The moment he was finished, he turned to find Mell staring at him, Fenn behind her with his notebook in hand. “Captain, we need a little favor.”

He eyed them. Their behavior was more suspicious than a wriggling stick on a sand dune. “How can I aid you?”

“We need to test something on you,” Fenn said, his face set in a pleading grimace as if he already knew Krid’s answer.

“We must focus on rest. None of this.” He gestured to them and their books.

Fenn’s shoulders slumped, but Mell was made of a grittier sand. “It will take five minutes. All you will have to do is walk out of sight and do whatever you want until we call you back.”

He squinted at her with one eye. She insisted despite her obvious weariness and swollen feet. He wished she possessed as much humility as she did stubbornness. Survival was his domain.

“C’mon, Captain” Syrdin surprised him from zheir branch with support for the book-heads. “Just go through your stances over there, then make them go to bed. They do need to figure out these artifacts.”

It was unusual for Syrdin to interject in such things, so he reconsidered. “Fine,” he huffed, “but as soon as I am done you all sleep.”

“Agreed,” Mell said, eager.

He stomped his way behind some trees. He was vexed. Fenn asked me to protect him. He asked for my Skill. . Just out of sight, Krid pulled his sword and took first stance, his right leg forward and the sword held at a diagonal across his body. Has he forgotten what he asked of me? He centered his weight over his feet, and stilled his emotions, pushing his frustration down. Tension crackled through his muscles. Has he forgotten my strength is not only in my arm?

. He swung into a second stance, his muscles pulling him through the familiar motions. Again. He landed in third, as immovable as stone, his sword pointed forward at his shoulder. I am Captain, Steward of Men.

He breathed out, flowing into fourth stance; light and movable as the sand: quick to respond. Finally, he whipped like the scorching wind into the final form. Strength surged through him, his blade slicing the air as lightning would a storm.

He swung his blade in an X pattern and then stabbed it into the ground, placing both claws on the hilt, the exit from the four forms. With it, he stabbed his anger into the ground and let it die there. Anger was a distraction. Anger was proud.

“That looked great, Krid!” Fenn called from beyond the trees. “I can see why the variation in stance and motion would make them useful as warmups.”

Galendria chirped her opinion, “That last spin moved with such grace and power! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Krid snorted and made his way back. They must have been watching him through the artifact somehow. Those magical trinkets puzzled him. The others put a lot of value on them, even Syrdin. Most other species were like that, valuing magic as though it were the fourth requirement of life behind food, water, and rest. “Did you get what you need?”

“Almost.” Mell was closing the crystal into its box. “We just have a question or two. What did you feel while you did your forms? Anything?”

His fingers scratched his chin as he thought. Did I feel anything? “I suppose a sense of power.”

“Really?” Mell’s already large, round eyes grew larger. “Could you explain further?”

“Kruppa! You said you would rest.”

“Please answer, Krid, this is important.” Fenn appeared sympathetic, but his words were not.

Every minute wasted was a minute longer they lingered in danger. It had been clear to Krid when Mell had translated that Ferngal’s threat of anger as “quick as a yuka falls” that it had been her way of saying she was changeable and hot-tempered–a figure of speech. The others clearly had forgotten. “Fine, when I do my forms, I gain a sense of balance, of control, and of the power that comes from them. The thunder inside awakens. Now sleep!”

Mell squinted at him and turned her head.

Fenn chuckled. “Yes, I thought as much. He meant he felt powerful as he went through the motions of his swings, Mell. Not that he sensed some outside power.”

She frowned into her squishy cheeks. “I see. Well, not unexpected then.”

Krid felt his tail rub against tree roots as it swished in agitation. He would demand an explanation another time. For now, he bid them to rest and assigned Fenn the third watch on account of him sleeping in that morning. Satisfied or not, the scholars and Gale dispersed into their tents, and Krid did likewise. Tomorrow would be another long day of marching, and he needed to be alert. He clearly could not count on them to stay focused. They would not become disciplined overnight, so he must prepare himself for another day of challenging them to grow into a cohesive expeditionary team.

It was necessary.

Fenn had asked him for protection. “I embark on a dangerous journey and know no one else to whom I could entrust my safety so well as you,” the letter had read. His fulfillment of that request rested on the cooperation of everyone, regardless of whether they understood his orders.