“Krasihin, Sky Father, King of Crows. I offer my allegiance.”

Salas'Zar, daughter of Clo'dorsha, flowed through the forms of Kylost with the ease of one who'd repeated the movements countless times over many years. She shifted effortlessly from one pose to the next, the blade in her hand singing as it was struck by the cold air that blew in from the White Sea. Salas recited the warrior's prayer to the God of War under her breath, taking comfort from the familiar words, the cadence relaxing and allowing her mind to be consumed by nothing but the delicacy of her training.

“If blood is to be shed, let it be my enemies blood.”

Salas skipped forward, increasing her speed as she lashed out at foes only she could see. She felt sweat begin to bead her brow but it fell aside like the rain, her thoughts occupied only by the next attack. Kylost was the ancient art of the Zar, one which had been passed down from father to son and mother to daughter since the creation of their Clan. It was a style comprised of a dozen unique forms, each with different applications, each more difficult to learn than the last, let alone master. Salas herself had only gained proficiency with four of them. For her age, it was an incredible achievement, but she wouldn't rest on her laurels. Her father had mastered Kylost in its entirety when he was only slightly older than she was. If Salas wanted to earn the pride of Murdu'Zar, she needed to be better than him, she needed to succeed him.

“If you desire pain, let it be my enemies pain.”

The young warrior transitioned into the sixth sequence of Kylost's fourth form, her understanding deepening and expanding as she struck out with a deadly lunging jab before retreating into an impenetrable defence of spinning steel.

“Let my aim be true, my sword swift and my axe crushing.”

Salas prepared herself, taking a hitching breath and allowing the cool Wellind air to refresh her body and spirit. This was it, the moment she'd been working towards for weeks. Today she would once again journey into the fifth form and unmask the secrets contained within. Her anticipation was boundless for many reasons but there was one that rose above all others. Her father's most favoured form was the fifth and it was arguably the one with which he was most proficient, though he had long since committed the secrets of all twelve to memory.

Salas herself preferred the incredible defensive capabilities of the fourth when compared with the aggressive and near self-destructive style of the fifth, but she couldn't allow herself to become complacent. Traditionally, learning to master all of the twelve forms of Kylost was considered lunacy. Each was so complex, so vast, that many would consider even the attempt of such a feat a fool's errand. The teachers of the Zar instruct children to focus on one form to the exclusion of all others. To learn them all was a monstrous achievement that, to this day, had only even been achieved by one man. Many tend to focus on the first, second or third forms. They were simple, lacking the depth of later styles, but more than effective against mainlanders. Those born on the continent proper tended towards preening and posturing combative arts. They lacked heart, substance, where Kylost was nothing but.

At least, that was what Salas had been told growing up. The first time she'd ever seen a mainlander was when the ship carrying their new allies arrived at the dock. Salas recalled the hungry look in the woman called Quetzal's eyes, the dread that disturbed her enough to call out to her father like she was a little girl again. The fear that Salas had felt in that moment... She couldn't describe it. Never, not once, had she ever experienced such an acute sense of danger, of terror. If her father and Nanali hadn't shown up when they did, Salas would have most likely attacked on pure instinct.

The daughter of Murdu cursed herself as she nearly lost her footing, thoughts of the foreigners making her uneasy. The young warrior was quick to fix her mistake, focusing once more on the completion of the fourth. Thankfully, calm found her quickly and she once again settled. She couldn't afford to fail, not when the Zar were so close to the attack on Nian. Soon Salas would have the chance to prove herself.

To show that she wasn't just a mistake, that she could overcome her deepest fear.

“And if it is my time to die, then let me rise in glory to your highest of halls.”

This was it. The crucial moment. Salas moved, her attacks changing from almost ponderously slow to incredibly fast as she employed the quick and vicious fifth form of Kylost. Immediately it felt wrong. The fourth was her safe place, where she thrived and excelled as a warrior. To move onto a new form was always aggravating, as it meant starting over from scratch, but this was doubly so. She wondered for a moment if it was because she was using a sword and not an axe. The fifth form was said to be made with the axe in mind, but her father had dismissed her concerns when she raised them. All of Kylost could be used for all weapons, and even no weapon at all.

So what was wrong? Was it the placement of her feet? Her breathing? Salas did not know and, as one sequence blurred into another, she quickly realised she had lost her concentration. There would be no further mysteries to be gleaned today. She should've stopped then, but stubbornness willed her to continue. Salas needed to be the best. It was expected of her, it was her birthright. Clo'dorsha had already made it abundantly clear that failure was unacceptable.

Thoughts of her father's stern frown of disappointment killed whatever chance remained of gaining anything from training further. Even if that wasn't enough, the words that followed after surely were.

“Fucking half-breed!”

The young warrior came to a complete stop, stumbling on the rough ground beneath her feet and nearly falling over entirely. Salas managed to save herself at the last second by stabbing her blade into the earth, turning her head to see who had spoken. She already knew, of course, but simply ignoring her tormentors did nothing more than light a flame under them that burned bright. She needed to face to them, to accept what they came here to say as one of the Zar would. Salas'Zar stared down those who approached with a cold calm that she had mastered over years of enduring abuse even as she felt her stomach sink and her heart drop.

Why here, she thought to herself, why now?

Salas had chosen to train far from her father's hall, near to the other side of Gloryhome and away from the hustle and bustle of the port. The spot she'd chosen was isolated and removed from the rest of the Zar. Salas preferred solitude, especially when it came to mastering the forms. As an aside, she didn't want to be anywhere near the bitch known as Brinda, her father's sycophantic dog. A powerful warrior she may be, and a Fury besides, but that did not give her the right to try and take Salas' mother's place in Murdu's eyes. The hatred that Salas felt for Brinda'Zar was strong. She often found herself daydreaming about her death, of becoming strong enough to do the deed herself.

Though Salas knew she was kidding herself by believing she would ever have the will to do it.

Brinda was currently at her father's hall overseeing one task or another and Salas' desire to see her was minuscule. Nor did she want to train against the warrior, for she knew that Brinda took great pleasure in causing her pain. The vile hate that Salas felt for Brinda'Zar was echoed in the woman herself. If Murdu heard half the things that his second in command said to Salas when he wasn't present, she would have already long since been put in the ground.

At least, that was what Salas liked to think. Knowing her father as she did, it could go either way.

The training ground that she had claimed for herself was positioned on the bluffs just to the north of the capital of Wellind, hidden from view by a few of the more prominent houses that littered Gloryhome. It was nothing special, just a patch of grass on the peak of a small hillock, yet it was here that Salas had gained her many insights into Kylost. The reason she chose such a place to train, however, was deeper than just the need for isolation.

When she was but a little girl, Murdu took her to this place. He told his daughter that he and Ferda'Zar once shared wine and bread there after the battle to take Gloryhome. It was a simple comment, made in passing during one of the walks they used to take together when she was very young. Those memories in and of themselves held a special place in Salas' heart, but the look of pure happiness on her father's face when he spoke of it was like nothing she had ever seen, before or since. Salas could tell that the memory meant the world to her father. The fact that he, a man who shared very little, told her of it was enough to prove that.

Since then, it had become her secret place. Something to share with her mother and father beyond being a warrior or having cursed blood. She hadn't been born yet when they'd spent that day on the bluffs together, but Ferda had been carrying her at the time. Salas liked to imagine her mother and father sitting at the edge, staring down at the cliffs as the White Sea smashed against the rocks. It was comforting, something they shared together as a family.

In all her eighteen years of life Salas had never heard her father mention Ferda'Zar beyond that one instance. He loved her, this Salas knew from other members of the Zar she was close with, but Murdu never spoke of her. The young warrior had tried on more than one occasion to pry some piece of information about her mother from Clo'dorsha, but every attempt was met with cold indifference. Nanali claimed that it was too painful for him to remember her, that she was the only woman he would ever truly love. The Seer of the Zar claimed that Murdu became colder after Ferda died, almost like a piece of him went with her into the void.

Salas'Zar wasn't sure if that was true or not, but it did make her more accepting of her papa's abrupt nature, as well as make the moments when he was genuinely happy all the more precious. Those seemed few and far between these days.

Salas herself didn't remember much of the woman who'd brought her into this world. Only the barest hint of a smile, a scent, a sense of being warm and protected. Beyond that, Ferda'Zar was a stranger to her. Luckily, Salas could turn to those like Nanali and her auntie Casin. They loved telling stories of Ferda, about her strength as a warrior, a mother and a wife. Salas never knew her but, over time, she built an image of Ferda'Zar in her mind's eye, one born of the many tales told to her over the years. The most important of which to Salas was how her mother battled the stigma levelled against her for something she could not change.

“Have you gone deaf, half-breed?”

According to Nanali, Ferda wouldn't grow angry when being spat on, beaten or cursed out for having Imperial blood. Instead she would smile and laugh at her attackers. It made them all the angrier, but Ferda didn't care. She couldn't fight them, nor could she argue them down, so instead she laughed at their prejudice. Salas hated thinking that her mother went through even worse tortures that she herself did. She may be of mixed blood, but she was also the daughter of the most powerful warrior in Wellind. None would dare hurt her, at least not in a way that would lead to significant injury.

Casin told Salas that such practices came to a swift end soon after Murdu returned from his first raid, the story of his retribution still one told amongst the Zar. Ferda had been walking home after a day of collecting herbs for Nanali when she'd been beset by thirteen of the Zar's raiders. They were drunk, recently returned from battle and still had a tinge of red to their eyes, battle-lust still burning bright. They'd beaten Salas' mother so badly that she very nearly died, leaving her on the street like a dog. Many passed her by, but none stopped to help her despite the fact that she held the name of Zar. They all knew of her blood. Ferda'Zar may have carried the name of her Clan but she was tainted in their eyes.

Murdu only located her after hearing the raiders who'd beaten her brag about their exploits. He'd taken her to see Nanali and stayed by her bedside all night until she woke up. It was the first time that they'd truly interacted since they were very young. Ferda had long since believed that Murdu had forgotten who she was, as his star was on the rise. He was not yet known as Clo'dorsha, but the whispers had begun to spread, his prowess already mythical. Casin said that Murdu didn't speak. He didn't say a word. He pressed his hand against Ferda's cheek only the once, careful not to exacerbate her wounds, before leaving Nanali's hut.

Casin'Zar visited with her greatest friend after Murdu had departed, her own fury great even in retelling the tale many years later. She'd sworn to deal with the raiders herself and marched down to the small alehouse to do just that.

She was too late. Casin arrived to a scene of silence and blood. Limbs were strewn around the room, the eerie candlelight flickering to reveal crimson stains on the walls and even the thatched roof. Murdu had beaten her there and his rage was boundless. Thirteen men and women, each a notable warrior, had died screaming, their faces twisted in agony. None who were present spoke of what they saw that day, but they didn't need to. All knew the sin those raiders had committed.

Murdu picked out Ferda at his Choosing some months later. Others still tried to disparage her after that. They were all fed to the White Sea. Murdu's protectiveness towards his wife became well-known amongst the Clan. It was not something they were soon to forget, even though years had passed them by.

“I'm talking to you, half-breed!”

Well, by most at least. Not that Salas'Zar could depend on her father to protect her from those in the Zar as he had her mother. Salas was expected to be better, stronger.

Salas'Zar raised her head to glare at Verrick'Zar and his cronies. They were powerfully built even for being so young, the largest standing more than two feet taller than Salas herself. It was difficult not to feel inferior when standing before them with their perfectly tanned skin and large, muscular frames. Salas herself was shorter, more wiry than any of the three facing her. Her skin was also lighter, closer in shade to the Imperials, her hair and eyes the same. Salas fought against the instinct to look at her feet, to cower before them. She used to do that a lot when she was young, but it only made everything worse. She'd kept hoping that Murdu would see, that her papa would save her from those that sought to harm her, but he never did and Salas never mentioned it to him. She knew that he would only see weakness in her if she asked for protection. There were many fears that Salas harboured, but the one above all others was the sight of disappointment in Murdu's eyes. Compared to that, a few bruises from fistfights was nothing.

The person who'd spoken wasn't Verrick himself, but one of those who followed him. Seleste'Zar had been tormenting Salas for years, taking some profane pleasure from the act of demeaning and dismissing her. She was the ideal Wellinder woman, a world removed from Salas' mixed heritage. Seleste stood near a foot taller than her, with sun-kissed skin and a head of golden hair that framed her pretty face. She was considered one of the great beauties of Gloryhome, with rumours circulating that the Jarl himself had taken notice and was considering her for a wife. Salas didn't know the truth of that, but she almost felt sorry for Pereton if that was the case. Seleste's coveted features were now twisted by the most foul of grins, her eyes alight with malicious intent.

“Does the half-breed think she's better than us now? Does she believe she can refuse to speak in the presence of her betters?”

Salas didn't rise to the bait. She knew that if she engaged it would only be that much worse. All she could do was stand there and take it until the inevitable beating arrived. It always ended in the same way, the insults followed by a flurry of fists.

In terms of fighting ability, she was better than all of them, but that mattered little when it came down to a battle of numbers. She couldn't fight, couldn't run, and she didn't have the strength to laugh in their faces like her mother did. All Salas'Zar could do was stand there with her hand upon the hilt of her sword.

“Now, now, Seleste,” Verrick said softly, pulling the leash upon his dog as Seleste looked to the large man with adoring eyes. “Salas is an Imperial, little better than a slave. It is only right when faced with our approach that she remain silent.”

Verrick'Zar, cousin to Pereton, stared down at Salas with a callous glare. If Seleste was the perfect embodiment of a Wellinder female, then Verrick was the male. He was tall, almost as large as Clo'dorsha himself, and his muscles were built from years of fighting. He carried an axe on his hip, his finger pressing lightly against the blade.

“That's not been my experience.” Sunnit'Zar, one of Verrick's henchmen, laughed as he spat on the ground. “Imperials tend to scream and run away when the Zar arrive on their shores.”

“Well she is only half Imperial,” Seleste smirked. “The Wellinder in her forces the bitch to stay, while the Ingemaran wants nothing more than to run away. Look at her, she's shaking in fear!”

They laughed as Salas remained silent, her face flushing in embarrassment.

“Nothing to say to that, Salas?” Verrick shouted mockingly. “Are you not of the Zar? Take up your sword and fight! Seleste just insulted your bloodline and yet you do nothing?”

“She isn't truly of the Zar. She's nothing more than a half-breed whore. I heard her mother was the same before Clo'dorsha took her for his own.” Seleste's nose wrinkled in disgust. “How a tainted creature like your mother managed to convince Murdu'Zar to bed her is beyond me.”

“Imperial magic.” Sunnit'Zar spoke up. “My father said that they have witches that can snare the heart of even the truest man.”

“That's just an excuse your father used for bedding slaves while your mother nursed you.” Seleste laughed and the others, including Sunnit, followed suit.

“True or not,” Sunnit growled at Salas. “I wouldn't trust a half-breed beside me on the raid. More as likely than not to stab me in the back when I'm not looking. Cowards, all of them.”

“My mama wasn't a coward.”

Verrick frowned, leaning forward as though to listen more closely. “What was that, Salas? Have you decided to speak today? Finally found your courage?”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Salas grit her teeth but kept her tongue. The young warrior clenched her hand around the hilt of her sword so tightly that she felt the metal wire cut into her flesh, fresh blood welling up and spilling down the shining steel.

“I thought not.” Verrick sighed as though in disappointment. “As I expected.”

“Gods, what is that stench?” Seleste raised a hand to her mouth, gagging. “Is that you, Salas? You stink of shit. Have you been rutting with the pigs again?”

“She has to,” Sunnit smiled nastily, the too wide expression disturbing. “No real Wellinder man would ever touch her. Not even Grog'Zar would've laid a hand on the half-breed.”

“I wouldn't say that.” Verrick chuckled as they all closed in. Salas fought against her instinct to start running even as terror touched at her heart. She felt her body begin to tremble, her secret weakness starting to reveal itself. Salas began to panic, her breathing becoming uneven as the fear of their closeness encapsulated her entirely. “She has a fairness to her when viewed in a certain light.”

Salas felt the heat of Verrick's breath against her cheek, leaning away involuntarily as bile rose in her throat and her stomach sank into the grass.

“Have you thought upon my offer, Salas? You will find no better man than me. I might even pick you as my wife during my Choosing should our union produce a child.”

“You can do far better, Verrick.” Seleste pouted.

“Like you?” Verrick asked bitingly, causing Seleste's expression to drop. “There must be a reason that Clo'dorsha prefers the company of Imperial whores. I won't know the truth of the matter until I take one to my bed.”

“I'd rather bed the pigs!” Salas snarled, losing herself in the heat of the moment as she pushed the man away. Her blood may be tainted, but she was still of the Zar and her strength was not insignificant. Verrick tumbled backwards, landing in the dirt between Sunnit and Seleste who immediately dropped their hands to weapons at their hips.

“You dare to put your filthy hands on him, half-breed!” Seleste sneered as she ripped her axe free from her hip. “We're going to have fun with you now!”

“What is going on here?”

The voice was familiar, comforting, and caused a wave of relief to flow through Salas' body. It had very much the opposite effect on her assailants. Both Sunnit and Seleste became utterly still, their weapons still in hand as they paused mid attack. The panic in both of their eyes was more than a little satisfying for Salas, who smiled at their discomfort.

Then she looked to Verrick. She saw him for who he was then, not who he pretended to be. He looked to her with a glare filled with an implacable hatred, his hands gripping at the dirt he was laying in.

“I asked what was going on here. Don't make me repeat myself for a third time.”

Nanali'Zar wandered up the hillock, staff in one hand and a bag of herbs in the other. The old woman was small, age having robbed her of the great height she'd said to have had decades before, but she was no less tall for its loss.

The ancient seer may have been a pleasing sight for Salas, but not so for her assailants. Many in the Zar feared the old woman, for she walked in step with the Weave, the force which bound all things in its thread. There was an aura to Nanali, a presence which rivalled even that of Salas' own father. It made the very air stifling, as though it had suddenly become thick, viscous. The Zar held great respect for the Seer, for the traditions that she upheld, but that was matched by their unease when spending time in her company. Nanali's piercing eyes could see through the veil that bound the past, present and future. None in the Zar wished to earn her ire, for it was said that the seer could also effect the outcomes of her telling, and manipulate the Weave should she wish it. Utter nonsense, or so Nanali said, but belief was a hard thing to shift when it became engrained.

“N- Nanali'Zar,” Seleste stuttered, a hint of terror in her eyes as she returned her axe to its sheath. “We were only asking Salas'Zar for some instruction in the forms. We have been struggling as of late and thought it best to...”

“T-To ask her for help!” Sunnit spoke up, his own fear far clearer than Seleste's. “All know of Salas' prowess in combat, of her training with Clo'dorsha. Who better to ask for aid than the daughter of Murdu'Zar?”

Nanali nodded along slowly, her expression blank and without clue as to her true thoughts, but Salas knew enough about the seer to know that she saw through lies as easily as the Weave. She looked to Verrick then, the large warrior still on the ground and glaring bloody murder at Salas'Zar. “Is this true, Verrick'Zar? Were you seeking Salas' instruction?”

For a single moment, Salas was sure that the man was about to lose his head. Verrick's face turned as red as blood, his fury so great that Salas half thought he would pass out from the strain of containing his emotions. Then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone once more. Verrick'Zar pushed himself to his feet and dusted himself off with a wry chuckle. “It is, Nanali'Zar. Salas was showing me a technique and I was clumsy, landing on my back.”

Nanali nodded, smirking at the large man as though he was an ant. “I thought that would be the case. You should rise quicker next time, Verrick'Zar. Salas would have killed you in a single instant. You were right to choose her as your instructor. I have watched each of you train over the years and know there are more than a few areas where you are lacking.”

“Thank you, Nanali'Zar, for the praise.” Verrick bowed deep, touching his hands to his knees in supplication, though the expression on his face was anything but contrite. “I will not forget it.”

It was a poorly veiled threat and only made Nanali's smile grow all the wider. “See that you don't, boy. Now be off with you. I must have words with your teacher. You can ask her to make you better raiders another day.”

Seleste and Sunnit all but sprinted in the direction of home, back down the hill towards Gloryhome. Verrick watched them leave with a hint of disgust before turning to Salas, smiling brightly for the benefit of Nanali'Zar. He extended a hand. “Thank you for the instruction, Salas'Zar. It was most informative.”

Salas hesitated for the briefest of instants before she took his wrist in hers as the warrior did the same. The daughter of Clo'dorsha fought to keep the pain from showing on her face as Verrick brought his tremendous strength to bear, squeezing for he was worth.

“You should go back across the sea with the Imperials when they leave, Salas.” Verrick whispered spitefully, his body hiding Nanali from view. “You are nothing but an insect, unfit to be Zar, only good for having a small amount of Clo'dorsha's blood in your veins. My brother has already been chosen as a Berserker and I will follow in his footsteps. One day, I will be Jarl of the Zar. Pereton will see my value and raise me as his heir.”

Salas wasn't sure what set her off. Perhaps it was Verrick's absurd statement or his pointless blustering, either way it made a laugh bubble up inside her throat as she looked into his eyes. The confidence given by Nanali's presence provided her the means to speak once more. “You? Jarl of the Zar? Every man, woman and child would need to die before you became Jarl, Verrick, and even then a rock could do a better job of managing Gloryhome.”

The daughter of Murdu winced as Verrick squeezed all the tighter, his teeth grinding and eyes beaming with a palpable fury. “You will regret those words, Salas. One day, I will end your miserable fucking life. Murdu'Zar will celebrate me removing a burden like you from his sight!”

Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the vile expression on Verrick's face was gone. He beamed as he backed away, walking slowly down the hillock to Gloryhome. “Thank you for the instruction, Salas'Zar. Until our next session.”

The sarcastic goodbye was not lost on either of the women but Nanali'Zar said nothing as Verrick sauntered down the hill, disappearing into the array of huts on the outskirts of Gloryhome. Salas let loose with an explosive breath that she hadn't realised she was holding, stilling her trembling hand as she slid her sword back into its sheath. The act very nearly caused her to cut herself on her own blade, which would have been a rather embarrassing thing to do before someone as notable and dear to her as Nanali.

As for the seer, she continued to watch Verrick until he was lost from sight, muttering curses under her breath as she placed daggers into the boy's back with her eyes. Salas cleared her throat subtly, drawing Nanali's attention. Her face turned from one of sombre regret to great affection in an instant.

“My thanks, Nanali'Zar,” Salas bowed, her own much deeper than the one offered by Verrick. “I'm sorry you had to involve yourself.”

“It is no great feat to cow a viper, especially one so small as Verrick'Zar.” Nanali snorted in derision as she bashed the base of her staff into the earth, approaching Salas with one hand on the bag of herbs at her waist. “But it is disappointing. He has all the potential in the world to be better than his foul cousin Pereton and his idiot of a brother, yet he chooses the same path regardless. A shame for the Zar to lose one who could achieve such greatness.”

Salas didn't know what to say to that, so only nodded in silent agreement. She didn't see what Nanali did in the young man. He was a foul curse for the Zar as far as she was concerned. Nanali seemed to sense Salas' thoughts, for the smile she gifted the young warrior broke apart her hapless facade in an instant.

“I see you don't agree, but then why would you?” Nanali patted Salas' cheek fondly before her smile finally fell, replaced by a bitter frown. “I only wish you had stood for your mother's honour. She was insulted, called a whore, and yet you did nothing.”

Salas felt shame well up and cover her cheeks as she looked away from the kind eyes of Nanali'Zar. The daughter of Clo'dorsha had hoped that Nanali hadn't heard the insults that she was forced to endure but she should've realised that such a thing would never escape the seer's notice.

“I-”

“Do not make excuses, Salas'Zar.” Nanali said softly, but with a sharp and undeniable edge. “You are the daughter of two great warriors, both of whom are worth more than your silence.”

Salas bit back her initial reply, replacing it with a nod and staring at the grass at Nanali's feet in contrition. “You are right, Nanali.”

“I know I am I right, girl. I am never wrong.” The old woman cackled as she reached up to take Salas' chin with her fingers, forcing her face up with a strength that belied her size until their eyes met once more. “And never look away from someone when they give you honest advice. I do not say these things to shame you. I am not Verrick, nor the harpy Seleste'Zar.”

Nanali grunted as though saying the young woman's name left a foul taste in her mouth.

“Seleste'Zar. Her mother should have strangled that one in the crib and saved us all the headache.”

Salas laughed, her smile returning and giving cause for Nanali's to do the same. “What are you doing up here, Nanali? If you needed some herbs, I would've retrieved them for you.”

“I know you would have, child.” Nanali grunted, sitting down on the grass and pulling Salas down beside her with a single hand. Considering their respective sizes, that was no small feat. “You are gentle, like your mother. Too gentle, I'd wager. You should have cut Verrick down where he stood. I've seen you train, Salas. You are better than any other of your age in Gloryhome, so why do you hesitate? Why do you freeze?”

“I...” Salas paused, thinking hard on her reply. Dare she say aloud what she'd only thought about in the darkest and most secret parts of her mind? Could she reveal her shame to Nanali? No. That was her immediate screaming reaction to the question she posed. Instead Salas spoke the lie she'd told herself for years. “It gets worse if I fight back. Better to let them believe they get nothing from me. Like how mother used to laugh in the faces of those that beat her when she was young.”

“Ah, I see.” Nanali replied, though her eyes said differently. The piercing blue orbs, faded though they may be, still made Salas look away again despite Nanali's earlier advice. She disguised her unease by taking in the view of the barely stirring sea, receiving comfort from the scent of salt and the gentle rasp of the waves. “You visit this place often to train.”

Salas smiled, thankful to be off the topic of why she hadn't fought back against Verrick and Seleste. “Papa showed me this hill once, a long time ago. He said that he and mother came here to celebrate after the taking of Gloryhome.”

“Your father's mightiest moment.” Nanali chuckled as she recalled days long since past. “He was truly something to behold that day. None in the Zar or in Wellind had ever been so great in battle as he. Luckily, he has the good sense not to let such things go to his head.”

“When he told me of it he seemed so happy. I've never seen that look on his face before.” Even the memory of it caused Salas' heart to lift. “I've been coming here ever since.”

“Seeking a connection with Ferda? Or is it Murdu?”

Nanali missed nothing. Salas shrugged in response, unsure of how to answer. “Both, I suppose. I never knew mother. Being here helps me understand her a little more. Papa is...”

“He is your father.” Nanali said with a shrug of understanding, her grey hair swirling with the breeze that rolled in from the sea. “He is the strongest of the Zar, the best example of our people, but I know better than most that he is a hard man. After Ferda died he became all the harder still. You have borne the brunt of that.”

“It isn't like that, Nanali'Zar.” Salas bowed her head, immediately rising to her father's defence. “Papa cares for me, I know he does. I just wish that he would-”

“Show you?” Nanali said with a laugh that made Salas blush, nodding. “Oh, dear child. You are too soft for this world.”

Salas clenched her hands even as she grit her teeth. “I am not soft, Nanali'Zar. I am a warrior of this Clan and the daughter of Clo'dorsha.”

“Yet you seek comfort instead of combat, like all others of your age.” Nanali snorted, unmoved by the anger on the young woman's face. “You have not wet your blade in combat, nor have the Speakers whispered of your Song. Do not make the mistake of giving into arrogance, as Verrick has done before you. That leads only to a sad death like the one your father gifted Grog'Zar, may he rot in the depths for all times.”

“Yet Verrick is celebrated as a warrior without peer.” Salas pointed out bitterly. “All in Gloryhome speak of his prowess.”

“Only because you do not reveal how skilled you truly are.” Nanali stated bitingly, her tone striking at the heart of Salas' very soul. “Only cowards complain about the hand the Weave has dealt them, Salas'Zar. You would do well to remember that. Come. The hour grows late.”

Nanali'Zar jumped to her feet with the spry energy of a woman less than half her age, waiting for Salas to join her before the duo began to meander down the hill towards home. Nanali was right, the day had slowly turned to night without Salas realising. She'd been getting into her training over the past few days, especially with everything happening in Gloryhome as all prepared for the eventual raid on Nian. Salas had thrown herself into mastering the fifth form, hoping against hope that she would be struck by inspiration and be able to employ the sequences as well as her father did. Unfortunately, that was not to be. But there was always tomorrow.

Nanali and Salas walked through the huts of a quiet Gloryhome, all in the Clan having either returned home or on their way to do so. The work load for all had increased with the Jarl's declaration that they would help the foreigners attack Nian. Salas knew that Casin'Zar was run off her feet ensuring that the ships would be ready to cross the great distance that separated Wellind and Ragora. Salas had felt her absence keenly in the two weeks since the foreigners had arrived. She had few friends to speak with as it was. Losing one, even temporarily, filled her with cloying sadness.

Nanali's sigh pulled Salas from her thoughts, the old woman examining her herb bag in dismay. “Has all the Twist Weed on this island suddenly disappeared? I haven't found a bundle for days and it should be blooming at this time of year. Troublesome.”

“Perhaps closer to the foreigners camp?” Salas blurted as she pointed towards the lights in the distance. The two Knights and their entourage had built their own place to lay their heads outside of Gloryhome, near the edge of the island on which the capital of Wellind stood. “I'm sure I saw some Twist Weed near the bluffs on the Island's northern tip last season.”

“Perhaps, but I would rather stick my hand in boiling water than risk the chance of interacting with that pestilent woman and her mad dog.” Nanali stated, spitting onto the earth before looking to Salas. “I will bear the loss. Twist Weed can be supplemented with other herbs.”

“Do you think the Berserkers training is going well?” Salas asked softly, her own gaze still very much fixed on the camp constructed by those from the mainland. “Papa hasn't heard anything from them or Pereton in days. He hides it, but I know he grows uneasy.”

“Whether their training goes well or not is of little consequence, I'm afraid.” The seer replied, following Salas' sight as the two came to a stop.

“How so, Nanali'Zar?”

Nanali looked to Salas then with an intensity that took the young woman aback. The sorrow in the seer's eyes was so poignant that it very nearly made Salas gasp. “Make no mistake, Salas, we are a means to an end for those two. They are not of the Zar. They do not give us the tools to make Berserkers out of the goodness of their hearts. They are the twisted and broken toys of an equally broken man. I told your father this, and now I tell you. The Zar will not return from this voyage whole.”

“You might be the only one convinced of that. After Derik'Zar's display many are excited for the return of the Berserkers.”

Many of the Clan had been in attendance when Derik'Zar, one of the Elders, returned from his time in the foreigners camp. He picked up an entire wagon by himself, a feat of strength so monstrous that it made all in the Zar cheer at the sight. Even Salas found herself stirred by it, the idea of the Berserkers return more real than it had ever been before. Derik had answered their questions as best he could, claiming that all one hundred of the chosen had now been Bonded with a Smith. He also gave an incredible amount of praise to Lady Quetzal and Lord Zelato, whose instruction was giving the Zar the means to restore the pride of not just their Clan, but all of Wellind. Pereton'Zar said nothing, standing to the side and beaming at all assembled in pride.

Salas recalled thinking how alive Derik'Zar seemed to be. His smile was bright and didn't fade in the slightest even when faced with the most angry of inquiries. He set the people's fears to rest with ease and when he left, it was with a bounding leap that took him high into the air. Such power, once thought the stuff of myth and legend, was now made a reality. It was difficult not to be caught up in the charged excitement that had clutched all of Gloryhome in a vice since.

“You have not seen true Knights, Salas'Zar.” Nanali reminded the young woman, who was immediately cowed by her instructive tone. “Derik'Zar would stand no chance in a fight against one trained by the Hall of Tyra and their monsters, this I know absolutely.”

“But we won't have to fight any of their Masters.” Salas'Zar protested, “I heard that there is only two in Nian. Even if the Berserkers are forced to face them, it will be fifty to one in favour of the Zar!”

“If only those two did not include Mastan D'viritazi.” Nanali frowned at Salas. “Do not allow yourself to become unfocused, Salas'Zar. The difference between a new-born Berserker and a Master Knight is great indeed.”

“Have you ever seen one, Nanali'Zar?” Salas asked, her curiosity overcoming her sense. “A Master Knight?”

“I have, child. It is an experience I would never wish to relive again, nor do I wish that fate for any of our Clan.” Nanali said as she fixed her herb bag and threaded her arm through Salas' own. The closeness caused a fond warmth to spread through Salas' chest as she smiled. “We of the Zar, and of Wellind, are warriors without peer on the continent, but we must not allow that fact to fool us into believing we are match for their Knights.”

“Papa beat one,” Salas said gently, slightly awed. “And he isn't a Berserker.”

Nanali snorted. “Your father is a special case. He was chosen by Krasihin. There is none like him in all the world. Well... save one.”

Salas raised a brow at that, looking to Nanali with a tilted head as the seer's eyes grew distant. “Nanali? There is another as skilled as father?”

“There is always someone as skilled as you, Salas'Zar.,” Nanali said softly. “That is as true for Clo'dorsha as it is for you and I. You will discover that yourself, soon enough.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Salas replied hesitantly, trying to be respectful even as she expressed her doubt. “Father has never lost a fight since he took up the sword.”

The seer shook her head and chuckled to herself. “Forgive my rambling, sweet girl. I am an old woman, and speak of matters that I should not. It is sometimes difficult to separate the telling of the Weave from reality. It has been a long day and I grow weary of it. I pray that you live to my age, Salas'Zar, then you will know the hardships that we ancients have to deal with.”

“You are hardly ancient, Nanali.”

The old woman cackled as she pinched the young warrior's cheek. “You are kind to say so, Salas, but it is not a burden to be old. It simply means that your journey through life has been a long one.”

“You have many miles to travel yet, Nanali'Zar.” Salas grinned as she leaned in, pressing her forehead gently to Nanali's. It was a show of respect, deference and love, usually reserved for close family. To Salas, Nanali had always been something of a mother, so it seemed appropriate.

“Too kind, Salas.” Nanali sighed as they separated. “Too kind, too gentle. Too good.”

“Is there such a thing?”

“Amongst the Zar, yes.” Nanali nodded fervently, clutching Salas' hand as they continued on to her hut, which had just appeared in the distance, standing next to the enormity of the high hall. “But I believe it will work in your favour one day.”

The duo came to a stop outside of Nanali's hut, the old seer embracing the young woman briefly before she began making her way to the door. With a waved goodbye, Salas turned to leave only for Nanali's next words to stop her in her tracks.

“Your mother laughed in the faces of her abusers because she did not have the means to fight back against them. You do. I know your secret, Salas'Zar. I know why you do not attack them when they hurt you.”

Salas spun in place, fear blooming in her eyes as they met the stare of the ancient seer of the Zar. Salas didn't know what she expected to see there. The last thing she expected to see was any show of kindness, or love, yet Nanali exuded both in spades.

“I-”

Nanali immediately raised a crooked finger to her lips, stopping Salas from finishing her sentence with a sombre shake of her head. “It is best not to say it aloud. You never know who may be listening, especially during times like these. I will say only one thing, Salas, and then you may be on your way.”

Salas fought against her instinct to run, feet shifting in place as she prepared herself to flee. She knew she didn't need to, not from Nanali, but the feeling struck her harshly all the same. Eventually she nodded, not daring to speak lest her tongue betray her.

“I wish to teach you a lesson. It is one that your father, for all his talents, never learned. There is more than one way to be a warrior, Salas. Like any path through life, it is nuanced and shifts as surely as the tides. Yours will not be the same as Murdu's simply because you wish it to be. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you stop believing that you have to follow your father's path at any cost, the happier you will become.”

“Nanali-”

“No more, child.” Nanali'Zar raised a weary hand. “I am tired and wish for my bed. You should go and think on my words. Truly think on them. You are not Murdu, nor are you Ferda. You are Salas'Zar, and your path is your own. Never forget that.”

Salas remained rooted to the spot as Nanali leaned her gnarled staff against the entrance to her hut, removing the bag from her shoulder as she did so. Salas wanted to say something, anything, but no amount of lying would hide her secret from the eyes of the savvy seer. Nanali saw all, so of course she could see through Salas' hastily told lie as easily as Verrick's. The young warrior was arrogant to believe otherwise.

“One more thing, girl,”

Salas raised her head, trying to disguise her inner turmoil as she stared at Nanali'Zar once more.

“Things will get better. No one walks the Weave in a straight line and that is doubly true for you. Would you like to hear something amusing? Verrick'Zar and Seleste'Zar both take great pleasure from insulting you as they do. It is that very vice that will lead to their downfall.”

Salas blinked, confused. “Their downfall?”

“One day, Salas'Zar, there will be one standing beside you who will not stand idle as you are laughed at and mocked. I told you, did I not? I told you that what awaits Verrick at the end of the path he walks.”

Salas nodded before frowning. “Nanali, I don't understand. Can you tell me more? Please?”

Nanali cackled. “You are as bad as your father. You know, most among the Zar just accept my prophecies for what they are instead of badgering me for more information. First, it was that incessant nattering about the Queen you are to battle-”

Salas' eyes suddenly lit up as she felt a distinct mixture of terror and anticipation well up in her chest. “Will you tell me-”

“No, girl! I will not, so stop asking. The Weave, however, allows me to reveal a little more on the other matter. If it was Murdu asking, I would say nothing, if only to enjoy the look of frustration on his face. But because it is you, I will tell you this.” Nanali walked forward without the aid of her staff, placing both hands on Salas' tall shoulders as she grinned. “One day, Salas'Zar, you will have someone who shows you.”

“Shows me what, Nanali?”

The seer of the Zar grumbled as she slapped the young woman's arm. “Are you simple, girl? Show you how much they care. Isn't that what you wish for?”

With those words, Nanali spun on her heels and went into her small hut, slamming the thatch door closed behind her. She left behind a puzzled Salas, who stared at the churned earth at her feet. It had rained recently, she realised, but she couldn't remember when.

After a few moments of thought, Salas began her slow trudge back to her papa's hall. The silence allowing her to think as she smiled sadly, shaking her head at Nanali's little parting joke.

“Who would ever care for a half-breed like me?”