"We're with you!" a woman called. "Mother save us!"

Similar cries rang out all among the prisoners, their tightly-bound hands raised high. Every warrior not on the ropes they used to haul Semon up formed a line to keep the menials at bay.

"Hold his feet steady," Eudora said sternly as she took up a wooden mallet and clinked a bronze spike out of one of the baskets laden with them.

The Commander wrestled Semon's feet across one another as Eudora held the mallet's head to the stake, ready to point its sharp point through flesh, tendon, sinew, and bone. Despite all his discipline, Semon couldn't hold his feet still and tried to fight. His eyes darted to the prisoners shoving at the line of guards below, then to the tree line. What was taking so long?

"Strike! Do it! What are you waiting for?" the Commander shouted.

"This," Eudora said, waiting until the Commander's hands crossed. With one hard, precise blow, she drove the spike through both his hands and into the palm tree. As he bellowed in surprise and pain, Strygen exploded from the undergrowth, silver hair arched up from his head like a nest of metallic snakes. Semon's disciples among the prisoners threw off the loosely-wrapped ropes about their hands, drawing long knives to slash apart the ropes binding the menials' hands or binding them all together.

Eudora whistled and shouted, "to me!"

A handful of the warriors among the versal troops drew short swords and slashed at their nearest fellows, striking for maximum affect while confusion reigned. After their initial violence, they drew back to form a knot around Eudora. The remaining warriors found themselves facing Eudora's disguised Legionnaires on one side and a mass of menials suddenly free and furious on the other.

Most of the soldiers threw down their weapons. A few ran and were chased down by a howling, freshly-armed menials. The handful who fought were quickly overwhelmed by the enraged prisoners, given even more fervor by their sudden lifting of their horrible death sentences.

"Leave them be!" Semon cried as Eudora and her troops lowered him down to the sands and cut the ropes free from his chafed-bloody wrists. The warriors who'd surrendered cowered amid a ring of shouting ex-prisoners who kicked, spat, and beat them. "They are forgiven!"

It wasn't until Semon pushed through to stand amid the prostrate, terrified warriors with Eudora and her squad of veterans armed and ready by his side that the violence finally quieted and stilled. Anger still writ across the former-prisoners' faces.

"What you feel is just and justified," Semon called, raising his hands. "But I gave my word and the Mother's word that they would not be harmed if they threw down their arms. Where you see oppressors, the Mother sees trained warriors choosing now to join our holy war to liberate us from the predations of the Black Court, the Dynasts who comprise it, and the Inviolates and Versers they appoint to do their dirty work. Every one of these soldiers you might kill here and now is one less to stand beside us when we face our oppressors again in the future."

The prisoners looked mollified by his words if not entirely happy or certain with his pronouncements. Semon pulled a cowering warrior to his feet, held him by the shoulders, and looked him in the eyes. "Do you swear to stand beside the Mother and those who follow her? Will you promise to protect menials against the all those who would oppress us? Do you vow to spread her word and to stay true even in the face of Martyrdom?"

"I... I do," the young man said, looking about warily. When the crowd cheered, he stood tall and spoke more strongly. "I serve the Mother. Let her will be done!"

Semon pressed his hands against his chest, the motion quickly reproduced among everyone gathered, save Eudora's Legionnaires. Within seconds, Semon was mobbed by the remainder of the surrendered versal troops, literally falling over one another to pledge themselves to the Mother.

He retained his dignity as best he could as they shoved and jostled, repeating the vows with them. As they finished, the former prisoners pressed in, wanting not only to likewise swear their faith, but also to receive his blessings. Demands upon him for such blessings was a recent occurrence, but fortunately he'd come up with a few simple, quick prayers. The fervor and hope shining back from their eyes made everything Semon had gone through to get to this moment worth it.

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The exhilarated horde of the new-faithful hurried down the beach to begin rescuing as many of the tree-nailed Martyrs as they could under the direction of Semon's latest batch of disciples. Meanwhile, Eudora's unit checked themselves for wounds, cleaned and examined their equipment, and made rough jokes and boasts among themselves.

Feeling exhaustion striating him in layers physical, emotional, and spiritual all, Semon turned back towards the tree he'd almost been affixed to. The Commander knelt before it with his blood-soaked arms held high as though worshiping the bronze hammered through his hands.

"It's not quite the same on the other side of the spike, is it?" Semon said softly, knees cracking as he lowered himself to the sand.

"Release me you blasphemous bastard," the Commander gasped. "I'll have you flogged until your skin peels from your bones."

Semon sighed and fussed with his bloody wrists. "The quality of your incentivizing is a large part of why you are the one attached to that tree and not me."

"Please, the pain!" the man whimpered.

"Now you've suddenly shifted to begging? Consistency, or at least the appearance of it, is one of the most important qualities in a leader. Or a liar, I suppose."

"I'm Kin to Dars, Dynast of Azure! He'll track you down wherever you may try to hide in his verse and put ten spikes through each of you for the one you've put through me." The Commander tried to glare and snarl at him, but the twisting motion must have tugged at his hands for he fell against the trunk again gasping.

Wearily, Simon rose. "Tell him to bring twenty spikes then, for I believe you shall soon be receiving a taste of the dish you've been serving here."

"You damned, blasphemous, ungodly..."

Semon moved away to avoid the Commander's futile outburst.

As Semon walked the dark sands, rolling his grumpy shoulders, a tall woman broke away from among the departing prisoners and stopped before him.

"Can I help you, my dear?" he said. "I apologize if I don't stand, but my old bones sag inside my aged meat and worn flesh."

"My dear?" the woman said, with a man's voice. "Oh, yes."

The transformation that followed looked as though a bucket of water dumped on the woman's head to cascade her hair, skin, features, and clothing down her body in rippling washes until she was entirely cleaned away. Hue stood in her place, again wearing his ever-shifting, now-ragged robe. "That went well. Hiding our brothers and sisters among the condemned worked perfectly. Guards were so busy watching for people fleeing, they never saw people volunteering."

"Worked well aside from almost being Martyred, yes. You!" Semon shouted at Strygen. The dusa rose from examining a broken crossbow and walked over.

"What took you an age to get here? If Eudora there hadn't been among them, it'd be me whimpering in pain at the base of that tree there or hanging upon it."

"Found a grave." Strygan said, hunched over and looking anywhere but at Semon. If he hadn't been traveling with the man these last few months, he'd have judged the dusa was lying or making something up judging by his terseness and body language, but now he knew the man simply felt uncomfortable talking. To anyone about anything, so far as Semon could tell.

"A grave. You almost got me killed to look at a grave?"

"Yes." Strygen almost made eye-contact. "Mausoleum. Large. Ruins. Ancient. Curious."

"Oh, well if it was ancient and curious, that's okay then," Semon said dryly.

"Good," Strygen said, straightening from his half-cower like a dog given a reprieve from beating. "Worked okay."

"Barely," Semon said. "Where is Sadar?"

Strygen glanced at the jungle. "Around. Somewhere. With Valeer."

"Ah good. You found a ruined grave but lost our bizarre lad and the most expensive specimen of slavanting in the process." Semon glanced at Eudora and saw them organizing and repacking their packs.

"A Twine."

"What?" Semon said, his head whipping back.

"The lad is a Twine. One soul in-"

"I know what a Twine is. Where is the our half of him? Or the other half for that matter." Semon glanced around for a moment before feeling foolish. If the boy's other body was around, they would have seen it verses ago.

Strygen shrugged, wandering off to look at a swarm of crabs already churning over a dead body lying on the beach. "He talks to him. Must be alive somewhere."

"Heaven's Tread," Semon muttered, thinking all the way back to their journey's beginning and the odd lad who'd followed them into the Vale. "Ocyl. A spy?"

If he was, then Ocyl must be supportive or at least not openly hostile to Semon's mission otherwise they never would have made it this far. That would also explain the dusa's inexplicable desire to accompany him. Semon was instantly suspicious and wondered what larger Dynastic game board he'd become a piece on. Not that he could do much about it now.