Mastan's Armour faded even as he stared. It was a gesture of sorts I was sure, but one which was lost on me. Armour or not, the Master Knight was still more than capable of ending my life before I could blink. His actions meant little and his words even less so. In this battle, I'd seen just how out-classed I was by the head of the D'viritazi. Like Vera, I couldn't track his movements through the Storm, it was like he was moving instantaneously. His Strength was greater than mine, though I hadn't quite had the chance to stretch the muscles of our Resonant Gift. I recalled the conversation Elora and I had in my room in Myrin, how I'd foolishly thought our Gift meant we were stronger than someone like Vera which was answered by Elora's laughter at my naivety. In the span of a single second, I went over the fight in my mind, analysing and pulling apart my performance, seeing where I went wrong. I could think of over a half dozen things that I shouldn't have done, but even if conditions were perfect and my form impeccable I wouldn't be able to defeat this man. I swallowed that, internalised it and etched the failure onto the moving flames of my soul. Maybe not today.

But one day.

Mastan stared at me, awaiting my answer, his beard swaying in the breeze. I opened my mouth to respond, my rage taking the place of the disparaging feeling of my soul being pushed back upon itself as I recovered from my ruined attempt to summon the First Sword. I could at least guarantee one outcome of this surprising meeting: He wouldn't like what I had to say.

But the words died on my lips, replaced by bafflement and a hint of panic as light emerged from my chest. It unravelled in the air, the blinding magnificence of Etherin fading and revealing the form of my savage Smith, who was already in the air with both daggers in hand. In her eyes I saw the anger she'd barely been able to contain, now ready to be let loose upon the world as she attempted to take the life of her own father. A scream of bloody hatred emerged from my mercenary's lips as her knives moved blindingly fast, aiming for the Master Knight's eyes.

Mastan did not seem taken aback by his daughter's actions, instead he leaned to the side, just enough for the weapons to slide past their intended targets with millimetres to spare. He raised a hand and I felt my heart leap into my throat, fear fill my body and helplessness take root within my very soul.

“Elora!” I snarled and grabbed a hold of Tess, dragging her around to my side with my left hand as my right hand pulled back, “All of it!”

He was her father. Inside of him, dwelling within the depths of his soul, was her mother, but I wouldn't bet my life on the two not hurting my Tessa. They'd done it before and there was not a chance in the Infinite that I would allow them to do it again.

My Princess responded without a word, my power swelling as she drained our combined souls of Aurum. I loosened my grip on Tess even as I moved her out of harm's way, afraid of tearing her in half with the sheer amount of Strength running through my veins.

'Stronger than any who has come before.'

The memory of Elora's words came to me unbidden. Her belief in me, in my ability to turn away all comers, adding to the mountain that was building within my right hand. A peak that rose higher than Dealanaich itself. I took a hold of it even as she Gifted the Aurum to me. I held it close, tightly, and clenched my hand into a fist that caused the air to warp and strain under the pressure I was exerting.

Mastan's eyebrow raised, his hand coming down as he smiled condescendingly. While our initial battle in the Great Hall had been mostly false, led by the narrative of the Lord of the Nest, one thing about that encounter was irrefutable. Mastan's arrogance, his reliance on his own power, was boundless. He believed that nothing I could do would hurt him and that was his mistake. In a true fight with him, I would lose. But this wasn't a true fight. He just wanted to showcase his abilities, to bask in the awe he so obviously thought he deserved. That's why I knew he wouldn't move. His pride wouldn't allow it.

He would fucking regret that.

My Eye snapped open, the Storm adding to Strength as the wind whipped around my body, prepared to support and aid its sibling, to push its power to new heights. Without Tess, I couldn't use the Speed aspect of Storm, but I didn't need it for this. No, I only needed to summon a portion of its power and let Strength do the rest. I felt Tess cling to me as she was buffeted by the suddenly whipping wind, her head tucking into my shoulder as I threw my last attack. My fist seemed to move in slow-motion, as though it was fighting against some invisible force. Only I knew it was battling against my own weak body. My Gift was restrained by what I was capable of. It boosted my body's natural strength to superhuman levels, but it could go beyond that. I knew it could for I had seen it before when I'd fought Craven, when I'd battled the Knights of Dunwellen. Elora and I contained it, controlled it, we'd worked hard on managing the devastating energy that could be unleashed from the Gift, my Princess most of all.

But control wasn't what we needed now. I couldn't beat Mastan D'viritazi. It was impossible, like an ant challenging a lion. But I could show him that I wasn't helpless, wasn't weak. I could show him the consequences of raising a hand against one of my Smiths.

His eyes widened, realisation swift to take root in his mind. Armour began to form on his chest as he made to move aside but it was too late. As slow as I was in comparison to him, he couldn't bring his power to bear before I collided. As I said, his arrogance wouldn't allow him to believe me capable of harming him. Not until it was too late.

My fist slammed into his still-forming Armour, behind which I had placed all of my anger and frustration and pain. Elora had used what Aurum we had remaining to create an unstoppable attack, one which even a Master would feel.

His Armour cracked, the explosive sound of the impact filling both of our ears. A shock wave caused the Sky-Bridge to rumble and fill the air with the boom of a thunderclap. For a very brief moment, Mastan's eyes and my own met once more. I thought I caught a different kind of smile then, one which was true, without falsehood and lies, but I was robbed of the chance of discerning exactly what the expression meant. Mastan D'viritazi disappeared, his sudden absence causing another displacement of the air, another snap.

I didn't see his flight, such was the speed he was moving, but I did catch his impact. He smashed into the other side of the Sky-Bridge, colliding with the hard rock wall that led deeper into the empty chasm that remained beneath our feet. I watched, hand still extended, body straining, as dust and the remnants of rock filled the air. I felt a grin form on my lips, my whole body shaking so badly that I released Tess for fear of hurting her with the tremors. I felt to my knees and coughed onto the bridge, speckles of blood standing out against the dark, charred stone.

My arm was a ruin. It had turned nearly completely black and I could tell without even looking that every bone had been shattered. I tried to move it but the limb refused to respond, as I knew it would. Reflex demanded I try regardless. I chuckled, a wince swift to follow as the adrenaline faded and pain took its place. It was agonising, but there was a purity to it that made it bearable, knowing it was worth the cost. I knew I wouldn't have to put up with it for long.

“Orin,” Elora's voice sounded heavy, her words slurring slightly. Evidence enough of the effort my Princess had exerted, “We haven't much left. If I use even a little more I'll be thrown from your soul. I don't think I can heal-”

“Don't bother, love,” I responded gently, “Tess can take care of the arm.”

As though my saying her name was a call to action, Tessa turned from where she'd been staring at the newly made crater in the chasm's wall. Her anger was gone, only to be replaced by an acute sense of complete surprise, “You punched him into the mountain.”

“I did,” I responded, as Elora appeared, born from light in the same way as Tess. I grabbed her before she could even fully form, pulling her close with the arm that still worked. The Princess' eyes were closed, her brow covered with sweat and her breath coming in great gasps, “Arrogant fuck.”

Tess smiled slightly, so slight that I almost questioned its existence as she walked to my unoccupied side, her hands touching against the black skin of my right arm gently and prompting another grimace from me with every touch. She looked at me, her harsh expression a complete contrast to the tender way in which she inspected my wounded limb. Tears were soon to follow, touching at the edges of her eyes, only making the frustration she was feeling all the more acute, all the more poignant. I knew the look because, despite my light demeanour, it was what I felt myself.

“I-I'm sorry. I-I lost control again-”

I pressed my forehead against Tessa's, cursing my shattered limb and hushing her without a word. She didn't need to apologise for anything, for nothing. I tolerated the pain of her leaning against my ruined arm. I needed healing, true, but Tessa needed it more. In the moment she'd attacked Mastan, she'd experienced what I had throughout our little bout, the helplessness of facing an opponent who was just beyond you. There was no shame in it, I'd felt it before and I'm sure I would feel it again, but the bitterness that accompanied such a realisation was not easy to swallow. It would be all the more difficult for Tess because I knew she prided herself on being my protector, on keeping me safe, even now. Compounding all of that was that the assailant in question was her father. The failure would haunt her if she was left alone, but she wasn't. She had Elora and I, which had to be enough. Our family of three. As though in silent answer to my thoughts, my wife raised a weary hand and placed it on my Tess' shaking shoulder in silent support. I smiled softly at the display.

“I can't fight him.” The admission was a difficult one for my Tess to acknowledge and so my response was only to press against her all the tighter. Something told me it had more than one meaning, “I can't...”

“We can't, Tess,” I said, breaking off my Smith's spiralling thoughts before they could form into a maelstrom of doubt, “We are one, not three. We don't stand a chance against him, true, but we did just punch him so hard he vanished. Small victories?”

Tessa didn't laugh, nor did she smile. She was consumed by her own perceived weakness. I wish there was something I could say to make it better, my heart aching in time with her own, but I knew there wasn't. She needed to find that on her own. I was just glad that my attack had interrupted her rage, releasing her from its hold. There was something else there, I realised. Within the anger, within the doubt, and within the words she'd spoken moments ago.

It was relief.

Relief that she had failed in her task, her duty. Tess had found herself in an impossible situation. The man who had raised her had tried to kill the man she'd dedicated her life to protecting. The Mastan that Tess remembered, at least from before he'd learned I was alive, had been, by all accounts, a good person. No child should have to kill her father, no matter the circumstances. Yet, for me, Tess had attempted to do just that. Her emotions were a cascade. She was actively trying to hold them from crossing the Bond, but failing in the attempt, such was their intensity. She was locked in a paradox. Ashamed of her failure, but relieved for the same reason. Beneath it all smouldered her rage, which deepened by the second, becoming stronger.

My lips parted as I made to speak, but no sound emerged. This truly was something I couldn't save her from, at least not at that moment. I hated myself for my uselessness.

I looked up towards the archway, where Vera still stood, Illithin in hand. For some reason, she'd yet to cross the threshold. A growl emerged from my throat as I pushed myself to my feet with difficulty, Tessa and a weakened Elora helping me to rise, “I have no intention of seeing that smug fucker again tonight. I hope I broke his fucking neck. Lets go, I want to have a little chat with our 'protector'.”

Tessa and Elora looked to share my sentiment in regards to the First Knight and Smith, their glares sharp enough to cause whole armies to quail.

“I'll deal with your arm,” Tess whispered softly, so much so that I had to strain to hear. She didn't meet my eyes as she grabbed a hold of my wounded fingers, “I have enough Aurum, I think.”

Before I could say anything she'd turned to light and sank into my skin, disappearing into the depths of my inner soul. I ground my teeth, but forced my own feelings from flowing over the Bond to my mercenary. Too much talking would achieve nothing. Tess didn't need my words. She only needed my presence, to know that I was there for her. That would have to be enough.

I felt the Healing flow through me, the Aurum that Tess and I generated being enough to provide relief for my wounds. I exhaled in relief, tightening my grip on Elora as we walked, my steps becoming stronger with every stride. Tessa's control had grown immensely. It was a difficult thing to discern over time, but there was no comparison to how she'd fumbled with the Gifts in Myrin to how she expertly manipulated them now. She wasn't yet Elora's equal in that regard, but the steps she'd taken were immense. I sent my pride of her over the Bond and received a bashful little nudge in return.

A start.

“What the fuck were you thinking!” I roared at the First Knight as Elora and I approached, the woman as unmoving as a statue, staring at my feet instead of meeting my eye, “Sending Mastan to fucking fight us, Vera? Have you lost your mind? Does what little trust you've recovered since Paldrum mean fucking nothing to you!?”

“Lord-”

“Save your Lord bullshit, Vera!” I snapped, stopping her cold, “I thought we were past you setting up little games to test me. Elora and Tess could've been killed, I don't give a fuck what that bastard said-”

“Lord, stop!” Vera raised a hand, the panic in her voice calling to me and making me listen, cutting through my anger like a knife, “The archway!”

I did as the First Knight implored, coming to a halt as I raised a brow at the warrior in confusion. I'd expected to be met with any number of responses, from haughtiness to straight anger, but not fear. Especially seeing as that fear was not for herself. I followed Vera's pointed finger, narrowing my eye in focus as I tried to discern what had rattled her so. I grumbled as I finally caught sight of the problem.

Inscription. Lines of dimly lit runes, so small and precise that I'd missed them upon entry. There must have been hundreds of them lining the border, their meanings lost to one such as me, but my Princess was far more practiced in her learning of the old tongue.

“Contain, stop, protect... Orin, the archway is covered with a barrier.” Elora spoke up, surprised and slightly awed even as she stared. I felt Tess peer through my eyes, her own curiosity roused, “A powerful one. I've never seen such Inscription before. Not even in the palace. This is...”

“The work of a Mage,” Vera finished bitterly, her shame clear for me to see, “One who is fluent in the old tongue, most likely trained in the Hall of Tyra. Forgive me, Lord. I wasn't fast enough. Mastan erected it after he entered, locking me out. He said he wished to discuss training with you. Discuss, not ambush. If I had known-”

“Fuck!” I raised a hand to stop her before she could finish, growling under my breath, angry at myself for making assumptions and at Vera for trusting the snake in the first place, “How do we remove it?”

“I may be able to help with that.” There was that fucking voice, new in my life and already becoming far more trouble than it was worth, doing little but stoking the embers of rage within my soul.

I turned to face Mastan D'viritazi, who stood on the Sky-Bridge without a care in the world, his smile gone and replaced with his customary blank expression, sky-blue eyes peering at me as though I was a rather interesting specimen. Whatever damage I'd done to him was gone. I knew I wouldn't be able to achieve much, knew that I couldn't hurt him, not truly, but the complete absence of any injury only made my heart grow cold within my chest. I punched him into the side of a fucking mountain. You'd think he'd have a fucking scratch, but there wasn't even a hint of dust on his immaculate clothing, “You locked Vera and Annabelle out?”

Mastan nodded solemnly, his beard moving with the gentle breeze that washed over the bridge, “I told you they had little choice in the matter. Lady Vera is a formidable Knight, I didn't want her to disturb our meeting. She wouldn't have allowed me to make the best assessment of how you operated under pressure.”

Vera slammed the base of Illithin into the stone beneath her feet, ice spreading from the point of impact even as the floor shattered. Her touch was light, but her power couldn't be denied. She stared at Mastan with cold focus. Her expression absent anger, only bone tingling calm, “Your word is without meaning, Mastan.”

“I made no promises regarding fighting Orin, Lady Vera,” Mastan pointed out with a shake of his head, “I swore I meant him no harm and that is true. I am, as always, only trying to help.”

Vera laughed, though no humour could be found in the sound, “Your way of seeing the world is warped if you believe such action helps anyone but yourself. Remove this barrier. Now.”

“And if I don't?” Mastan's reply was a threat even if he didn't mean it to be.

“I will bring a Venosian Winter to Ragora,” Vera growled, “And we'll see just how powerful your pet Mage's runes are.”

The tension between the two Masters became a physical, palpable force. The barrier did little to stop Vera's incredible aura from clashing against the sudden swell of the Ragoran Master's. Neither of the two blinked as hot and cold collided, an invisible battle taking place that I could sense through the distant echo of the Storm. I shivered and felt Elora do the same as I clutched her all the closer, dread building in my gut. If Vera and Mastan were to clash here, then I didn't like our chances for survival. I'd never seen a battle between Masters, nor had I seen one fight with all of their power, but I still had sense enough to know to stay out of the way should such a fight take place.

“Very well,” Mastan's soft smile suddenly returned, his intensity retreating as the air cleared. The King of Lightning was the first to flinch, but I didn't for a second believe it was because he was the weaker of the two. Something told me this was another test, another game, but this time I wasn't the player. The man waved his hand and the barrier fell, the sigils dimming as a shimmer passed across the archway. It was incredible really. If it hadn't been for Vera's warning, I'd have never known it was there in the first place, “There. Free to do as you wish. Theadora and I will be retiring for the evening. We hope to see you for breakfast in the morning. I'm sure Arno will send someone to fetch you at the appropriate hour.”

The way he switched from hostile to pleasant host was jarring, setting my teeth on edge as I glared at the man. It was born of his arrogance, the very same that had allowed me to hit him in the first place. I hadn't even rattled his confidence, let alone touched upon his hubris. Even still, the sudden shift in tact was disconcerting, making me wary of another trick. I didn't believe for a second that he wasn't doing it on purpose, keeping us off balance, gauging our reactions.

Mastan walked up to me before coming to a stop, his eyes moving to Elora in my arms before they met my own, “I wouldn't have harmed her, Orin. I was only aiming to stop her assault. She is my daughter.”

“I've seen how you treat your family, Mastan,” I replied, tilting my head at the man, realising for the first time that he was at least two inches shorter than I was, “Forgive me for preparing for the worst.”

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“Of course. I cannot blame you for that. Please let Tessaraina know that her mother wishes to speak with her once she has... calmed. I pray you do not punish Theadora for my own actions,” His seriousness fell away in the next instant, that ability to shift appearing again, and replaced by an excited smile as a spark lit up in his stare, “Two Resonant Gifts... Extraordinary! Alice has three, but that was with the best of tutors from around Ouros teaching her Smiths. You are two for two, Orin. I was right in my assessment. You truly are impressive.”

“Three!?” I nearly choked when he said that, feeling the surprise echoed by Elora and Tessa. I was so taken aback by the claim that the dislike for the man before me was temporarily forgotten. Three Resonant Gifts? How?

“Oh yes. I'm proud to say that Tristan provided one of them. A good man, dedicated to his Heir, but, like her, he is soft. No match for Tessaraina, I'm sure. Her connection to you is intense, focused. Like a razor. I saw that in the way she went for the kill, not an ounce of hesitation in her.”

And just like that, the dislike returned, transforming into disgust and giving cause for bile to rise at the back of my throat. He spoke of his children in a way that went against my very nature, against how I was raised by the Sister. I may have been the reason she came to Venos, may have been her first son and the cause for her to open the orphanage, but never had Sister Erin placed me above the others. She would never say such a thing, comparing us as though we were prized hogs.

Where was the good man that Boldrin mentioned? Where was the Mastan from the stories, the one who was a kind father, a loving husband? I knew for certain in that moment that his admission in the Great Hall was empty, his apology to my Smith worth less than nothing. As much as the thought of that made me sick, I also found some strange sense of peace with the realisation. The man had baffled me at the Hall, his words during the battle and after even more so. I now knew where I stood. Mastan D'viritazi was committed to me, but for my power and nothing more. The Sister's words regarding him back in Myrin jumped to the forefront of my mind.

“Think on my request. I will ask for your answer when we break our fast tomorrow. Talk it over with your companions and your Smiths. I will agree to any terms you set forth, this I swear.” Mastan gave Elora and I a slight bow, before moving through the archway without a backwards glance. His gait was almost mocking in its casual nature and I felt Tessa's frustration grow all the greater. I felt her need to inflict pain on her father. It had waned since her first attempt, but it was far from gone. I didn't believe it ever would be. Mastan had effectively shattered his relationship with Tess. There was no coming back from this, no taking back of what was now lost. The way he'd gone about it, the way he'd disregarded her promise in the Hall... It was all so calculated, so controlled. The most chilling thing was that he'd seemingly done it without a second thought. When I'd mentioned Tess wanted to kill him, he'd laughed it off like a trifle, an inconvenience.

His daughter. His flesh and blood. An inconvenience.

I wanted to tear his head from his shoulders. In that instant I came closer to losing control than I had since the arena, my soul baying for blood. Tess' mind was torn by the encounter and this piece of shit thought nothing of it, throwing her aside as though she was nothing! Then, just as the rage threatened to destroy me, I felt my Smiths touch upon my soul, settling the roar of the black flames, both soothing me, both letting me know that it would be useless to even try. That hurt in a number of ways, even if it was true. The fact that Tess was calming me, despite her own pain, made me feel like the lowest form of shit imaginable. But they were right.

Yes. It would be useless to attack, but not forever. I grew stronger by the day.

Before Mastan could pass back into the Nest, Illithin descended to block his passage. Vera wasn't looking at the man, but with her power she didn't need to, “If you attempt something like that again, Mastan, I will kill you and turn this place into a frozen ruin. Is that understood?”

The man chuckled, shaking his head as though addressing a child, “I understand perfectly, Lady Vera. May I pass?”

For a split second, I believed that Vera was going to attack the man. Her icy facade faded and her rage shone through, evidenced in her reddening cheeks and gritted teeth, before her expression was fixed once more. Her eyes glanced to me and I knew why she'd held herself back. It was the same reason I'd felt a sliver of fear when I'd seen their souls clash. This close to such a fight, Elora, Tess and I would be in grave danger. That didn't even account for what would happen in the aftermath of such a battle. Even if Vera won, we'd be in stuck here, in Ragora. Something told me that the people of Nian wouldn't take the loss well, “You may.”

Mastan nodded politely, with a small bow, before retreating into the Nest, disappearing into the depths with his casual saunter. We all watched him go, Tess included. I clenched my fist, looking down at my ruined arm only to find that it was healed. The skin was now a warm pink and slightly sensitive to the touch, but my mercenary had done a fine job of healing the niggling pain of my injuries, “Thanks, Tess.”

Etherin brought Tessa back into the physical world, her body forming with her arms crossed and head down-cast. It broke my heart to see it. I went to reach for her but she flinched away, nodding in acknowledgement of my thanks as she aimed for the archway. Elora and I followed sedately as I tried not to let the rejection bother me. I suspected the reason for it. She knew I'd seen what she'd felt after attacking Mastan, knew that I'd sensed her relief for failing in what she perceived to be her duty.

As soon as we were out of the heat once more, Vera immediately fell to her knees, Illithin disappearing, turning into motes of light. The First Knight of Venos bowed her head to the three of us, her hands clenched by her sides. I knew her rage came from being robbed of an outlet, of being unable to attack Mastan lest dire consequences be suffered by all of us.

“Elora, Orin, Tess, we have failed you. Had we known something like this would happen we would've stopped it before it took place.” Vera's tone was contrite, the shame I heard in her voice all the reason I needed to stop her apology before she finished.

“It's fine, First Knight,” I said, looking to both my Smiths. Elora's expression was unreadable, as was Tessa's because she was still looking anywhere but at me, but I believed we three knew that the First Knight wasn't the villain of this fucking disaster, “What did you tell him, Vera? About me, about us?”

Vera looked up at me, about to answer, but the opportunity robbed as her sister suddenly appeared next to her in a flash of light. Annabelle, in her incredible dress, curtseyed delicately. Her expression just as furious as her sister's, “We told him nothing, Lord. He asked, of course, but we all refused to speak of you, including Boldrin. He brokered the topic of training almost as an afterthought, and we suggested he discuss such matters with you, Tessa and Elora. We heard what he said, but it is plainly not true. Not a one of us mentioned what you had and had not learned. Most of our time with them was taken up with exchanging pleasantries with Lady Theadora while Boldrin and Mastan exchanged anecdotes. That was the extent of our interaction. When we retired for the night, I felt his soul approaching yours and so we thought to ensure your safety. Mastan disguised the meeting by telling us he was giving you three the chance to be alone. He was... convincing.”

“I fucking knew something was wrong!” Vera said as she rose to her feet, “You told me not to worry.”

“Then why say that at all, and how did he know about First Sword?” Elora asked no one in particular, the gears turning in her head as golden eyes flashed.

“He didn't,” I growled, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, “He didn't know shit, the whole fucking thing was just another game. He didn't act on First Sword until he heard me call out. He was just reacting.”

“And he told us that the information came from Vera, Annabelle and Boldrin to gauge our reaction,” Elora nodded, seemingly satisfied though far from content, “But what possible purpose could that serve? He learns nothing from such a lie.”

I couldn't answer that question. Clearly the man operated on his own terms and I knew he wasn't an idiot. Whatever he'd wanted to learn from me in that moment, he'd clearly gotten his answer. One which seemed to satisfy him, though I couldn't begin to guess why, “We have to tread carefully here.”

“We do,” Vera nodded solemnly, “Which means that, for the remainder of our time here, if you are not in your rooms you are accompanied by us. Mastan is dangerous, in more ways than one.”

“Well, at least he's not Samuel,” I said with a shallow smile, my attempt to brighten the mood doing little. I was quite relieved to hear of Vera's reasonable demand in all honesty. With her as a deterrent, Mastan would think twice about doing such a thing in the future. Despite his dismissal of the First Knight, he clearly respected her power. I looked to Tess, who seemed a little better than she had before, listening intently to our conversation, “That forcefield was interesting, though. Tess, did your books mention anything about that? Inscription in the Nest?”

When she answered, I almost let loose a sigh of relief. Opening up so soon after something so intense was difficult for her, I knew, but if I could get her speaking about anything I would call it a win. I made sure to keep my face studiously static to avoid giving away any happiness at her involvement, “No. Nothing I've read has spoken of it but I'm not surprised. There is much about this place I don't know.”

“We'll just have to be careful in future,” Elora said grimly, “Mastan may not be Samuel, but we've yet to decipher his true intentions. What of his offer, Orin? For training? He will expect an answer, of that I'm sure.”

I smiled at that, though it carried no warmth, “Princess, we're in a fortress sitting at the top of a mountain in a land that is not our own. Mastan didn't extend an offer, he's backed us into a corner. I don't know shit about Heirs, about how they work, how they function. All we have to go on is what Vera and Annabelle know.”

Annabelle nodded, already seeing where I was going with my train of thought, “And that is very little, at least in comparison to a family who has worked with Heirs since the First Knight.”

I glanced at Tessa. My savage Smith reached out and gripped my hand gently, a gesture that was both surprising and comforting in equal measure. I could feel the hesitation in her, the doubt, but also her strength. She finally lifted her head and met my eye with her own. Her jaw was set. Resolute.

“So it really comes down to whether we can afford not to accept. A piece of shit he may be, but one who knows how to make us strong. We need him,” Those last words were like poison as I spat them out, but all present knew the truth in them, even Tess, who sent a small pulse of support over our Bond, “But it'll be on our terms. No more surprises.”

“Until the next one.” Tessa said, her smile small and self-deprecating.

I chuckled at that, squeezing her hand to stave off her despair, her anger, “Until the next one.”

“You've never failed me, Tessa.” I sent this silently, through the Bond, into her very soul, “Not once. Not ever”

My savage Smith looked to me and, for a split second, I saw the indecision and pain she'd been harbouring written into her features. She would've killed Mastan if she could've. Not for a single moment did I doubt that, but I'm glad she didn't. The man was filth, true, but his death shouldn't weigh on her conscience. He'd taken up enough space in Tessa's head as it is. She tried to pull her hand away, but I gripped it all the tighter as I sent another clear message over the Bond, “Don't run away from me. I'd just find you again.”

Tess chuckled, a genuine smile appearing as she tightened her hand in mine, before saying out loud, “Killing Kingdoms along the way?”

“You're Spirit-damned right.” I grinned.

At that moment, a monolith of soft fabric and ale came around the corner. Boldrin was pissed, that much was clear, his eyes near glazed as he hefted the wine bottle in his hand, looking around himself dimly. Under his other arm was a rather terrified looking servant, who seemed to be being held hostage by the giant. As he caught sight of us, a booming laugh of victory left his lips as he suddenly cast the servant away and strode towards our gathered company, “Thank you, you beautiful bastard! Until next time!”

The servant squeaked, despite being of a size with me, before he dashed back the way he came, the need to escape Boldrin the bold apparent in every step, “You see!? Arno was talking shite, all the fuckers need is a little incentive and they'll guide anyone through this Spirit-damned place. The threat of death works quite well!”

Boldrin took another swig from his near empty wine bottle, smacking his lips as he came up for breath after two tremendous gulps that would have knocked out a lesser man.

“Lad, I was coming to your room to share drink and you were gone! You have to try this wine. It's awful, but they have so fucking much of it. Decided to walk the Nest to find you. What did I miss?” The mercenary took another swig of his bottle as he stood before us, his smile slowly fading as he took the temperature of the room before his wild eyes looked past us and towards the broken Sky-bridge beyond the archway, “Shit. I missed something, didn't I?”

* * *

Murdu'Zar stood on the docks of Gloryhome, his brow furrowed against the harsh cold as his bare arms were buffeted by the cutting winds of the White Sea. He'd not moved for hours, his body still as the grave and as immutable as death itself. Others had chosen to wrap themselves in furs to protect against the elements, but such comforts made a man into a mouse, unworthy to be of the Zar.

Murdu embraced the cruel cold of his homeland with open arms, drawing it in and making it his. His body was tempered with every stiff breeze, satisfaction coming when he didn't give into the winds demands. He looked to the meek sops standing around him, gathering behind shelter and shivering in the furs of beasts they had not killed. He sneered at them, judging their weakness. It was hard to believe that most of these men and women were of Wellind, not of some far flung land where the sun always shone.

Murdu's gaze quickly found Pereton's, who looked away as soon as the latter caught his eye. The Jarl looked nervous today, his body wrapped in the great fur of the black bear his greater father had slain years earlier. He hefted the axe on his shoulder, his hands shaking like a child's would.

Clo'dorsha felt his lip turn up at that but said nothing. Pereton'Zar was chief of the Clan and, for so long as that was the case, Murdu would remain loyal. He'd heeded the decision made by the Elders, his own advice falling on deaf ears, but it hadn't been easy to do nothing when he knew Pereton was leading them all to certain doom.

For it was certain now. He could taste it on the breeze, feel it in his bones. The closer they came to the appointed day of their benefactor's arrival, the more sure Murdu'Zar became of the folly that was Pereton's ambition. Now that day had come and the mood of Gloryhome was anything but jovial. Word had spread that their Jarl had broken bread with someone from the mainland, someone who promised the world and expected only small favours in return. Nothing more was needed to be said, all born of the Zar, all born of Wellind, knew what happened the last time a hand was extended to those not of their land.

Many had turned up to welcome their guest, including all of the Elders who had made this foolishness possible. The sycophants and rotten souls stood next to Pereton, hoping to be taken under his wing, to be given power for their pretty words. For once, though, the Jarl seemed unmoved by the seemingly unending stream of compliments, his eyes fixed to the horizon with no small amount of doubt in his eyes. It brought Murdu pleasure to see such a thing. A treacherous thought, and the Gods would be listening, but as time passed he found he did not care. Casin'Zar's words to him after she'd left the high hall still rung in his mind like sweetest of mourning bells. Her plea for him to consider the unthinkable, to question his very beliefs. He'd rejected the notion at the time, but it had appeared unbidden in his mind as the days passed. He found himself distracted while training Salas. If his daughter had noticed his uncertainty she had not mentioned it. Instead, she was throwing herself into her training with renewed vigour. Murdu knew that the child intended on joining a ship for the Autumn raids, but she was still weak. If she wished to earn his approval, she would have to earn it through blood and toil, as he did. Her command of Kylost was questionable at best, though she had potential. Salas had long since moved onto to more difficult forms, but she was still at the beginning of her path.

Ferda would not approve of his pushing her, this Murdu knew with certainty. She would have told him to take it easy on the child, to teach her to know her limits, but the world outside Wellind was not concerned with limits. No, Salas needed to be broken and melted down before she could be forged anew. Only then would she see real combat.

“Do you see, Murdu?” Casin came up on Murdu's left, her arrival spoiled by the whispering wind. The shipbuilder all but glared at the Jarl, her anger for him clear, “Even he doubts his alliance with this foreigner!”

“We shall see, Casin'Zar,” Murdu replied carefully, his gravelly tone soft to avoid being overheard, “It is still early in the day yet.”

The two stood in silence for a time. Murdu appreciated Casin's lack of furs, which showed her pedigree. A shipbuilder she may be, but she was no less a warrior than even the fiercest of shield-maidens, as her mother before her was. For a time, Murdu had considered taking the woman for his own when he was a younger man, a match which many would have blessed, but it was not to be after Murdu met Ferda.

“I have spoken with some of the Elders,” Casin muttered, her fierce eyes on the horizon once more, “Many would support you. You need only say the word and we will be at your back.”

“You cannot continue to envision this fantasy, Casin,” Murdu chided, betraying even his own thoughts, “I am not the man to lead the Zar.”

“Yet we all believe you are the only one who can,” Casin smacked a hand against Murdu's back. It was a familiar act, one which was reserved for those who had fought and bled together, as they had, “I know you will see sense, Murdu. I just hope it is before all is lost.”

Murdu didn't reply and, after the span of a dozen heartbeats, Casin moved on to speak with Hili'Zar, who stood near the back of the formation with his kin in tow. The warrior seemed less than enthused by her arrival and Murdu could understand why. The woman was dangerous, a serpent dripping poison in Murdu's ear, yet it was sickeningly sweet and hard to ignore. Pereton was flaunting laws that had been cast in stone, ignoring rules that were as sacred to the Zar as breathing. His death and Murdu's rise would only be to the clan's benefit, but he hesitated regardless. It was not a feeling he knew well, nor one that he understood how to quell. His entire life he'd known his purpose: Service to the Zar. Not for one moment had he ever questioned his place within his clan. He was Clo'dorsha, the Perfect Warrior, a living embodiment of Krasihin, the God of War. His duty was to lead his clan from the front, to win battles and take life. In this, none could doubt Murdu'Zar's prowess. He'd never imagined himself being a leader off the battlefield as well as on it.

Murdu looked to the sky, basking in the chill that rolled in from the White Sea and trying to discern his destiny from the clouds above. He heard nothing. No whispers or prophecies made themselves known to the greatest warrior in the history of Wellind, no great truths were forthcoming. The Gods were watching, judging and determining his worth. He could look to no one for answers but himself, as he had done all his life.

“Where winds howl, the soul resides,” Murdu muttered. It was an old saying, a Berserker war cry that was all but lost to the steady march of time, yet it still sang deep in Murdu's heart. He had always interpreted it as being a part of the world, of nature. Being one with the elements of the land and sea. It steadied him, settled his hesitation, reminded him who he was.

“Papa.”

The title that meant most to him, one which he had not earned alone, but with the aid of the one who had once been the source of his every happiness, his every sorrow. It was a title that he both coveted and despised, for it marked him as a father but reminded him of his sweet Ferda, more Wellinder than any other he'd ever met.

Murdu dragged his gaze from the sky and looked upon his daughter, seeming so small amidst the giants of the Zar. Her mother's blood shone within her. Others thought it robbed her, but Murdu did not. The same fire burned in Salas as it did in his wife, that same undying and unshakable will. It was a weapon that could be both gift and curse at times. It was Murdu's duty to help Salas harness it, embody it, and turn her into a successor worthy of taking his place, to replace him as the clan's hope, to defeat him in battle and earn her own title. It was why he'd given her the name Salas.

Salas'Zar, Salaszar, the name of old for flame.

'A great bear comes.'

Murdu shook his head of errant thoughts, though this one reminded him of the task he sent his daughter to perform, “Did Nanali touch upon your soul, Salas? Did she see you in the great Weave?”

Salas nodded solemnly, her eyes not straying from her father's. She knew she would be struck should her guard be dropped for even a moment. Smaller and slighter than the others she may be, but she was still a Wellinder as well as the daughter of Clo'dorsha, “Yes, papa. Nanali'Zar looked for me in the Weave. She said she saw great things for me.”

Her excitement was barely contained, Murdu could see it in her posture. She was not still, not one with the land. She hopped from foot to foot, aching to tell her father of Nanali's words. A child in so many ways, eager to please and placate. Still weak, but at least she was beginning to have the look of a warrior to her, even if she had yet to earn the beginnings of her story upon her skin, darkened by her mother's blood. Her ruddy face stared up at him, a reflection of his own eyes there as she tried to contain her grin. She never faltered, never showed weakness. The best of him and the best of Ferda, combined. He felt his heart melt at the sight but quickly put an end to the feeling before it could become known to the world. She wasn't a babe anymore. Salas was a woman grown and would soon see combat. He couldn't reveal the depth of affection he felt for his daughter. It was better to hold her at a distance. It made her less of target to his own enemies.

She received affection from Nanali regardless, the old crone always eager to spend time with the child, though this visit had been different. Today Salas was read for the first time, her future given voice. It was a small thing, one which would happen many times over her lifetime, but Murdu had insisted she have a reading today. With so much uncertainty on the horizon, he wanted to ensure his daughter's safety. Nanali knew his reasoning well, her old eyes seeing much more than the physical world.

“And? Do not keep me waiting, girl.” Murdu growled as he turned to face the sea once more, “What did the Seer discern from the Weave?”

Salas' grin burst through then, her joy unable to be contained, “She said my future was bright, said that it shone like a sun in the Weave. She said soon I would face a Queen in battle, a mighty warrior from a far away land. That it would be my first.”

“A Queen?” Murdu's expression darkened as he tried to ponder the meaning behind Nanali's words. Always there was two meanings, sometimes as many as three. Of the many readings Murdu had heard throughout his life he had understood few, though when they appeared before him he realisation of the truth was quick to follow, “Nothing else?”

Salas' grin wavered before falling completely, disappointed at not pulling joy from her father once again. It was a feeling she was used to, Murdu was sure, and one she would continue to feel for many years to come. No matter how much it hurt him to do so, “No, papa. Just that.”

Murdu nodded, “Good. Then she believes you ready for the Autumn raids, wherever they will take place.”

Ragora. Nian. The King of Lighting. Murdu crushed the ember of fear.

The smile returned, brighter than before, “Yes, papa! I am ready-”

“You are ready when I say you are ready, girl,” Murdu scowled at his daughter, her expression falling once more, “You are weak. I will not allow you to fight unless you are strong. Stand next to me and say nothing, learn from the cold. It is a sound teacher and you could learn much.”

“Yes, papa.” Salas replied begrudgingly, a hint of defiance in those words that Murdu let slide. He was not completely without kindness.

“Great One. We have assembled.” Brinda'Zar intoned as she approached from the beach, standing behind her were four other women, each as large and fierce as Brinda herself. Murdu'Zar was gladdened by their presence. Each had served with him for an age, learning from him and standing next to him in battle. His students before Salas took that title for her own. They each had a name that had long since been etched into his history, but to the people of Gloryhome they were the Furies, the harbingers of Clo'dorsha.

These were the exceptions, the greatest warriors he had found over his many years of raiding and fighting. The fact that they were all women had often drawn the ire of young fools, believing the Clo'dorsha building a harem of shield-maidens for his pleasure. Such words were only spoken once before one of his Furies culled such insolence. The fact that they were women meant nothing, only that each was worth a hundred warriors.

Murdu nodded at their coming, looking each woman in her eyes to show his respect. They were worthy of it in a way no other warrior was. They had been with him for years, each having fought by his side and killed at his word. Their loyalty to him was unquestioning, Brinda most of all. Though he did notice how the Fury and his daughter glared at each other. Their old hatred was still there, still burning. That was good. It would push Salas to grow stronger, to overcome Brinda and defeat her. Salas had often spoken of her ambition to be one of his Furies as a girl, but he had put an end to such talk in an instant. She was not to be a Fury, she was to be the one they served. Anything less than that would be failure, “Is there any word?”

“None yet, Great One. I believe we should-”

“There!” The desperate cry of the Jarl, the man they relied upon to lead their clan, echoed to every member of the Zar. Murdu kept his expression even, though it wasn't without difficulty. The clear relief in Pereton's voice was sickening, “On the horizon! They come!”

Murdu followed his Jarl's gaze, taking in the sight of ships cresting the waters. There were three in all, enough to threaten the Zar should the worst come to pass. Clo'dorsha did not think, he merely looked to Brinda, a gesture that was enough to bring the Fury to his side in an instant, pushing Salas unceremoniously out of the way. It was a disrespectful gesture, but one which would only fuel her flame. Murdu allowed it, “See that all are ready should battle be joined. We may have to spill blood this day.”

“Let us hope there are Knights, Great One,” One of the other Furies, Girin'Zar said with a blood-thirsty grin, “My blade tires of mortal flesh.”

Girin was the youngest of the five, and the one who was the least blooded. She had seen plenty of combat, but had never faced a Knight as Murdu had. The encounter had very nearly killed him. A young boy of only twenty winters had nearly taken his life because of the power afforded him. If it had not been for his arrogance, Murdu doubted that he would still be breathing. But breathe he did, a Knight's head at his feet and another story added to his legend, “Arrogance does not become you, Girin. Prepare.”

“Yes, Great One!” The Furies shouted in unison, drawing the attention of all present, their devotion on display for all to see. Pereton looked to them with envious eyes. Murdu knew that he wished he could demand so much loyalty by the mere act of existing, without having to rely on the title his father had gifted him, along with everything else. He knew it would never be. It was yet another reason why he hated Murdu'Zar. No doubt he wished to rescind the order given as well, but in matters of combat, Murdu still held authority over the clan.

“Papa. Should I join the Furies?” Salas asked with eager intent, her hand drifting down to her sword as she looked to the coming ships with hungry eyes. She was anxious to be blooded. That was an instinct that Murdu would have to quell. She was likely to make a mistake when her time came.

“You are my blood and bone,” Murdu said, his voice soft as he chided, “Salas'Zar, daughter of Clo'dorsha. Your place is here.”

Salas looked as though she was about to speak up in open defiance, which would have demanded retaliation. Thankfully, the rage in her quieted down, simmering beneath the surface. She was learning.

“Our future is here, brothers and sisters!” Pereton cried out from his perch, his loyalists gazing up at him with adoring eyes, “Soon we will be as strong as we ever were, stronger even than that!”

The reception to his words was silence with no small amount of apprehension. Pereton could speak all he wished, but the Zar would not listen to his flowery words any longer.

They needed action and it was before them now. They would know within the hour if their leader was the saviour he proclaimed himself to be, or a madman who'd just driven the Zar to extinction.

Murdu was ready, and willing. He almost hoped this was a trap, an assault from the Empire to eradicate the strongest Wellinder clan. There was no need for thought in battle, only instinct and training, the land and sea as one with the self. He ensured Salas was close before touching the axe at his hip as the ships drew ever closer.

Soon he would have the answer to his question and many more.