Inro deflected the warchief's thrusting spear with his steel sword, slashing forward with his shadow blade. Crude wicker sliced apart as he sheared through the chief's primitive shield. The man roared in pain as several his fingers fell to the dirt, severed neatly. He swung his spear like a club and Inro's still-injured knee nearly buckled as he ducked the blow.

No cowards, this last proud band of Lizard Hunters. As one, they echoed their chief's roar and charged into the heart of the One Tribe which outnumbered them, surrounded them, and outclassed them in their glinting layers of painted Limn-clay armor.

The warchief lay dead moments later, Inro's blade plunged into his chest from one side and Arca's spear the other. Arca yelled for the opposing tribe to surrender as every warrior they could preserve to join their ranks was precious, but these fools demanded to die to the last. Such stupid, impressive courage.

Wrenching his blade free, Inro turned away from the last bit of butchery and shook his head at the waste. Arca pulled his spear free, his Limn warpaint sparkling except where bits cracked and flaked off during the fighting.

“Damn that woman at the Battle of the Eight Tribes,” Inro growled, limping over to a boulder and leaning against it. “This knee is going to get me killed some day.”

“Inro curses bad luck that his wound heal slow when all else would never walk again after.” Arca shook his head and adjusted his eye patch. “No wonder sister Cairin complain Inro not making a good mate.”

“Sex. Mating. Mate. Related, not the same.” Inro carefully sheathed the Shadow Blade, jerked the lizard-skin headdress from a fallen savage's head, and used it to wipe the blood from his steel sword. “Tell Cairin if she doesn't like it there are a hundred younger women begging to crawl into my tent every night.”

Arca grinned, rubbed his Limn-painted, freshly-shaved head, and pointed his bloody spear at Inro. “Cairin complain, but also sure she will soon rule Inro as Inro rules the One Tribe.”

As if on cue, Inro spotted Cairin leading her slingers to join the looting, mercy killings, and post-battle boasting, back pounding, and accountings of the dead and wounded that accompanied every battle Inro'd fought. In their earlier battles to unify the Lizard Walkers, the spear-wielders denied the slingers their share of the loot and glory. Then one particularly loud individual challenged Cairin to a duel over her demands they be treated as equal. She accepted by blasting him to tiny raining shreds of gristle and bone with a single Limn-painted stone before the words had even finished leaving his lips. And, well, that ended that. No one could argue the devastating effect those stones had, ending many battles before the lines even clashed.

It would be interesting to see how the Legions would stand up to it. Inro didn't envy Baka having to figure out how to deal with it. The thought brought a ferocious grin to his lips.

Inro shook his head to bring himself back to the present. “I don't rule. Arca is Warchief of the One Tribe, everyone knows this.”

“Everyone says this. Everyone knows Inro the Valewalker Warchief.” Arca kept his easy smile even as Inro frowned at him. “My friend worry too much. Conquer all Lizard Walkers first time since Ebon descended out the Caves and Inro worry about women and words.”

After much vain effort, Inro had given up completely on trying to dislike Arca. Such attachment to a menial still troubled him even as he enjoyed the company.

A realization dawned on him. Pushing off his boulder, he hobbled towards Arca. “This verse belongs to no Dynast. Since no proper Tribunal can be held due to a lack of other Dynasts and my Sunset is lost, I'm declaring this my verse and Arca my First Verser Lord.”

Arca clearly understood the solemnity of Inro's tone even if he clearly didn't understand the meanings of the words themselves. Realizing belatedly one further necessity accompanied Arca's elevation, Inro gritted his teeth, unbuckled his belt, and dropped the empty scabbard to Arca's feet.

After a quick wipe down with his now-tattered cleaning rag, he dropped a few drops of precious oil from a nearly-dry flask onto its chipped and marred surface and wiped it again. After a moment's hesitation, Inro held the blade towards Arca hilt-first.

“Arca not idiot,” Arca said, taking a step back.

Stolen novel; please report.

Inro glowered at him. “What are you on about?”

Arca mimed kneeling with sword, then drawing it and killing someone. Rising, he held up two fingers. “Twice Inro do this. Arca not be three.”

It took Inro several seconds before he caught the hint of a smile twitching on Arca's lips. Inro snorted a laugh, slid the sword into its sheath, and tossed it to the dirt at Arca's feet. “There, our ceremony. Feel safe now?”

Arca tried to play off the gesture as if it were nothing, but no one could miss the reverence with which the man picked up the discarded blade. All the warriors nearby had stopped everything to stare. Mouths hung open. In their expressions, Inro read the mix of pride, greed, and respect as they watched Arca carefully attach the scabbard to his heavy rope belt.

“Half-dull, gouged everywhere, and will probably break soon,” Inro muttered to himself, stepping back and refastening his own belt. “Not giving him Stone Eater.”

With slow deliberation, Arca adjusted the belt about his waist. Inro shook his head. “War paint, woven belt, dead lizard on his head, a sword, and naked beyond that. What will they think when I lead you and your savages screaming into the Book?”

“They will tremble in dresses worn in shame of their flesh,” Arca said, flashing teeth. The man stepped close, tears welling in his eyes.

Inro limped away before the man could perform some act of sentimental gibberish. Unasked-for memories of loyal officers, grizzled generals, and young Legionnaires ripped apart and bleeding on the fields of Sunset ground Inro's his teeth so hard his jaw locked. Everyone he might have called a friend, companion, or even servant or slave had died there. He couldn't forget them. Wouldn't.

When he got his jaw moving again, he cleared his throat. “Green People next.”

Quietly, Arca stepped beside him, looking out as their growing tribe enveloped the conquered survivors of the battle. “Inro wants wood.”

“Wood. Fuel for kilns for pots to carry Limn and water. Maybe teach you savages how make bronze if we can find some copper and tin. Also for bow staves and spear hafts. Reeds and young branches for baskets. If we're going to march into the Book warriors aren't enough no matter how brave. What good are a thousand Limn-armored troops if they starve after their first battle and can't carry enough Limn to protect them for a second? A freshly-promoted centurion focuses on tactics and formations, a young general focuses on armor and swords, an old general focus on shoes and meat."

He lifted the head of the dead chieftain. "We won't be facing chieftains leading a band of a few dozen men when we march into the Book. We'll be facing Rega and Baka, perhaps the only other two Dynasts in the Book who can claim expertise anywhere close to my own. Plus dozens of other legions besides.”

"Then we get wood, expand One Tribe to whole verse, then leave to may One Tribe of whole Book." Arca pointed to the west. “Cowardly Green People closest from here. They not like fearless Lizard Walkers. Run into forests, hide, fight with poison and hidden spikes. Only find by stepping on them. Rot spirits hide everywhere, infest wounds of those they fight. Snakes everywhere.”

Inro marched back towards the camp, thoughts grinding endlessly in his head harder than his teeth. “We'll find a way. We have to. Aj is still out there and now that it's awake...”

“Inro says a thousand other Dynasts like Irno. They not kill Aj?” Falling in beside him, Arca rose tall, swelling visibly as more of their warriors spotted the sword at his side and began to cheer.

Stepping back, Inro let them celebrate Arca's elevation. “They will not kill Aj. The Kiss ended with the thing killing hundreds of us but only the handful of us who are still alive from back then even believe Aj is real. And of them, I'm the only one who knows it's awake. If Aj is to be stopped, it will be us or no one.”

He looked out over the battlefield, warriors hugging, swapping loot, or tending their few injured. "Let them celebrate our victory, do whatever it is we need do to smooth things in One Tribe to be sure everyone's united, and rest up for the march. When we reach the forests, we'll make the Green People join us or become the Dead People."

Arca grinned and slapped Inro on the back. "Nothing unite Lizard Walkers like strength. Inro is ten tribes strength even injured. We will be hunting through woods before the Green People even know we come. The cowards will join in rush to not face Inro and Arca with One Tribe behind us."

"These Green People, they live in tribes like the Lizard Walkers?"

"No think so," Arca said, spitting with disdain. "They fight selves too much, each family stand only for self. Hunt, kill, even eat others of kind."

"Cannibals, perfect," Inro muttered. "So they have no leaders to convince, no armies to conquer?"

"No," Arca said. "Though family all marry within to keep pure. Twisted, bent, mad people in Green People . No trust, no sacred, no holy, no honor."

"Perfect," Inro said, limping towards Cairin. As the battle-rush faded, he'd always felt the need for a woman and, fortunately, Cairin seemed to have similar opinions about a man. Inro had brutally punished many good soldiers for fraternization in the ranks, but the fact that these were warrior savages and not disciplined Legionnaires eased the indignant part of him busy criticizing their relationship.

"Enjoy sister and no worry Inro. We rule Green Lands within ten sunsets of One Tribe cut first tree." Arca pounded him on the back and turned as his people gathered to hear their warchief retell them the tale of this battle, laying the seed for the saga their shaman would retell and embellish for generations.

As Arca walked among his brethren calling out individuals to retell their personal acts of glory, Inro stared off towards the horizon Arca had indicated the . "We better end them quickly or there'll be nothing left outside this verse by the time we leave."