Thorin … The Hellcat of Kumehn Valley. I still can’t believe my luck, this whole detour has just been one continuous wild ride.

It’s true, my da brought me up on stories of the fortunes of the men and women who graduated from his training and then made good using it on the battlefield, and sometimes off it too. Other stories about the men he served with in his own time too, but … no, ultimately it was the younger warriors who came before me that really fascinated me, the ones who benefitted from the teachings of Edhril Shoon after he retired, who became as great a legacy as the name he earned for himself using Hefdred. Gods know there are some genuinely illustrious names among ‘em.

None who held more of an allure for me than the Hellcat, though. Here was a woman to truly aspire to be like when I was growing up. Fierce, deadly, courageous and dutiful, loyal to her friends and the flag she fought to defend, the very epitome of a Knight of Rundao. Sure, it helped that this particular knight was a woman, she was someone I could admire despite the fact that I could never have that myself. Not in the way she did, at least. I was common born, and the laws of Rundao said that no common blood woman could serve in the military at all. That was only the province of highborn ladies who could be knighted as well as their brothers. The closest I could ever dream to get was to maybe serve in the militias when I was old enough, which meant that the only time I would ever see real combat was if Tabaphic itself were to be invaded. Cruel as irony eventually proved to be in that regard …

The only other avenue open to me in that regard was, also ironically, much like the path I eventually did choose – to become a mercenary, a sellsword hiring my services out as a warrior for pay in the makeshift companies that became affectionately known as the Irregulars. Sometimes they’d even see real battle bolstering the real Rundao army, but they were mostly reserved for scouting, skirmishes or stealth missions, only deploying on an actual battlefield as reinforcements if things got truly desperate. It broke my heart every time my father told me that I would never be allowed to actually serve as a man-at-arms the way he did, but never more than when it finally sank in for real. By the time I was twelve and I was routinely beating the all other boys in my class they all agreed with every officer who would stop by to observe, that the Rundao Regulars would miss out on a hell of an asset because of stupid tradition, and da felt the same.

I never gave up on the dream, though, that one day I might actually cross swords with an enemy of my country in some bloody campaign and find myself fighting alongside the Hellcat herself. That she might actually see me in the fight, and admire my form. And, in later years, I began to imagine maybe she might start thinking other things as well, that might lead to something else in the night after the battle was done …

Well I was fourteen when I started fantasising about that, I’d been well aware for a few years already that I had no sexual interest at all in any of the boys I trained with, no matter how pretty or cool or capable I might have considered them. Never mind that I had no idea what Thura Vezrim actually looked like, mostly I just thought up my personal ideal based on what I found attractive in a girl at the time and just projected that onto her. That would always get my fingers working between my legs in the night, and I’d sleep real soundly after I came.

Thura Vezrim … yeah, she really was the ideal, and not just in that way for me, either. She was barely seventeen when she graduated, and within six months she was at the Northern Front and riding in hard cavalry charges against the Terrors’ lines. Before she was twenty she was leading her own special squad of tough elite knights, with a whole hand-picked pack of Irregulars backing them up, and over the next five years earned herself quite the reputation. The Tektehrans came to fear her name alone, because she had as shrewd a tactical mind as she had lethal skill with a blade.

Then came Kumehn Valley. The Northern Campaign had been raging hot for years, the Terrors constantly trying to find any crack in our lines to try and push in for a viable invasion, and there they came bloody close to finally making it. If their distracting feint ten miles to the east had been any more effective at drawing the majority of Rundao’s forces into open battle they might actually have made it through the deep, narrow hidden gorge in the Reaches and outflanked our main force. The lion’s share of the Rundao army would’ve been crushed between two advancing waves and only the reserves and militias would’ve been left between the Terrors’ vanguard and the Lowlands. It would’ve been a fucking bloodbath.

Except for Thura Vezrim and her Unbroken, as her bloody little band had become known. For three days they held the pass, fifty against ten thousand, with only the narrow, twisting uneven ground they had at their advantage keeping the Terrors from just overwhelming ‘em. That being said, if it had been any other fifty soldiers I doubt they’d have pulled it off – Thura and her Unbroken fought like demons, and for every one of ‘em that fell they left a hundred of the enemy bloody on the ground. By the time the scout they’d sent to alert the reserves of the attempted infiltration made it back with substantial reinforcements the Unbroken were almost done, and Thura was holding the pass nearly on her own. It was almost too late.

They essentially retired her after that. They had to. She was in a bad way, nothing that she couldn’t recover from and come back just as strong, but command decided that she had more than earned her rest from the battlefield after that, and in the end I guess it finally hit home for her that it was probably for the best. Those three days took far more toll on her than just the physical wear and damage. She’d lost almost all her heard-earned friends in that battle, only six others made it out with her while their reinforcements were busy pushing the Terrors back, and for six months after she woke up every night screaming from dark, bloody nightmares. So they shipped her back to Tabaphic and once she was done healing they celebrated her as a true hero of Rundao for a whole month, then sent her home to Untermer for some well-earned rest. While her legend grew all across Rundao and beyond.

The Hellcat of Kumehn Valley, who held back ten thousand Terrors for three days with just fifty fighters behind her. You couldn’t make this shit up …

She’d already been married before that final deployment, but her husband was wounded less than six months before Kumehn Valley, and losing his right arm taking the breach at Livibar had really put paid to his own military career. So when she came home he spent the first three weeks just putting her back together the rest of the way inside her head, and then they started making babies. After that when she deployed again it was always well behind the lines, promoted to staff headquarters and never again allowed to raise her sword in battle, but by then it suited her well enough, even if she did find herself missing it every day. So when she finally mustered out she went without complaint, and more than one sigh of relief. She was a mother now, she’d left battle behind.

Terth Relusk, a middling, somewhat awkward scion of House Gadran who had finally found his purpose and confidence with a sword in his hand had become a knight of some small repute himself when they met. He knew she was well out of his league, but he pursued her all the same, but in truth he really didn’t have to work as hard as he did to win her hand, Thura fell in love the moment she met him. But while she was fierce and bold in battle, she was almost cripplingly shy when it came to love, so it took her a long time to actually make it clear to Terth that she was already his, and while he was also a keen tactician he was almost painfully dim in social matters. So their courtship was clumsy, embarrassing and largely unnecessary, but at least once he got it into his thick head as well that he actually had her heart they became largely inseparable, at least outside of deployment.

They spent most of their collective time on leave in their rooms, making up for lost time, so once they were both home for good it didn’t take long for their family to start growing. Then, a month before his second daughter was born, Terth fell ill with the Black Waste, a nasty little slow-developing souvenir from the Campaign, and they had to confine him to the loft rooms of the manor, quarantined from everyone he loved. Mara never even got a chance to meet her father before he died, struggling for almost two years as he wasted way, with his skin taking on the colour and consistency of ancient rotten leather while his body withered to a grimy, rasping husk that could barely move in its bed. They had to completely gut the rooms after he passed, and had to burn his body where it lay, so he never even got a real funeral. If it hadn’t been for the children, Thura almost certainly would’ve passed on from a broken heart within weeks from the grief, and a part of her did die that day.

It was the children that saved her. Keeping them from falling into a funk along with her was what kept her from disintegrating into her own grief, so she just carried on training Deriel, and then Pela too once she started to show her own aptitude through play. She only started Thadeon’s lessons in the last year, but he’s proving as precocious as his siblings, so she fully expects Mara to follow in the great family tradition before long herself.

“The only reason I didn’t forbid any of it the day their father died is because I doubt any of my own children will ever see a real battlefield themselves.” Thura sighs as she settles into her office chair behind the massive leather-topped oak desk in her expansive study, looking as weary from the telling of her story now as from the energetic bout she recently fought with me. “Unless the Occupation ends while they’re still young I don’t see any chance of their generation being permitted to serve in any kind of military fashion under the current administration. The Terrors are too cautious to risk employing soldiers they can’t be a hundred percent certain they can trust.”

“Sounds about right.” I don’t take a seat in the room’s impressively soft, plush-upholstered furniture yet, instead starting to make a slow circuit of the room as my attention is drawn to the various trophies arrayed around it. Some from her family’s past, I’m sure, but I don’t doubt more than a few of these are mementos of her own time in the service, and I’m already fascinated by the possibilities of what I could potentially find in here. “Honestly, the only reason we can keep doing our work’s cuz they ain’t cracked down on mercs the same way they have on anything more organised.”

“That’s because the Terrors have no interest in being trouble-hunters for the populace as well as peacekeeping it, so they allow the people they’re oppressing to hire people like you to keep the wolves from their doors, both literally and in a more … supernatural sense.” Thura takes a deep breath and lets it out in a heavy sigh as she just languishes for a moment, then pushes herself upright again so she can go to the cut crystal decanters set out in the wet bar in the corner. “It’s not the smartest move on their part, if you ask me.”

“How come?” Art asks as he settles into one of the armchair, dumping his wrapped swordbelt beside his feet.

“Cuz ‘least a third o’ the sellswords out there are remnants of Freedom Legion they didn’t get in the Purge.” I turn right back to what I’m doing as I answer him, preferring to turn my attention to an impressive selection of weapons hung on the wall. “If resistance ever stirred up again half the warriors that’d be fighting in it have had a whole lot of on-the-job practice this past decade to keep ‘em sharp.”

“How about your ladyship?” Dumoli surprises me with that question, and I turn to take him in for a moment before looking at Thura, who’s watching him too with a crystal tumbler in one hand while she’s resting to other on a decanter she ain’t yet picked up. Her expression is … interesting. She ain’t offended in the slightest by the question, despite the fact that, given the conversation, its context is already abundantly clear.

After a moment she smiles, finally slipping the fat stopper out of the neck of the bottle and setting it aside on the bar. Her eyes shift to me then, and that smile seems to grow a little, as if she can already see right through me to what I’m thinking now. “Personally, I’d be all for it too. If the Legion started up again tomorrow I’d sign up in a heartbeat.”

Thorin … I could kiss her right now. It’s interesting, when I met her earlier, I have to admit that, despite being, rather unavoidably, initially starstruck that my own personal hero was right in front of me, once I got past all that, I started to grow a little sceptical. Oh, I had no doubt she was the real deal, I’d already seen what she could do on a training floor … no, it’s just that she’s not at all what I pictured when I stroked myself to an orgasm in my bed at night. I dunno … maybe I really did expect something more like Janna, just with more muscles.

Not that she ain’t attractive to me, mind. She’s clearly looked after herself over the years, still lean and trim and very athletic, lithe and svelte where I was perhaps expecting more burly, robust strength, so in the end she’s more like Shay. She’s got great bones, too, and while she has one hell of a scar marking her face it just adds to her air of danger, but then I’ve always been someone who appreciates the power of a good scar. The corner of it manages to curve the left corner of her mouth up into a subtle permanent smirk, but it’s mostly just striking, and she still has both her eyes. She keeps her hair cropped short, though, likely an affectation from her service she’s never been able to get rid of, but it suits her. Clearly she has more important things to concern herself with.

To be honest, I do still find her attractive, but in a different way now. It’s less that she’s sexy, which she definitely is, more that she’s just … well, she’s a lot like me. This much has become abundantly clear in the time I’ve spent around her – she don’t have time for bullshit, she just says what she thinks, and I like that kind of unflinching honesty, I always thought it was the best way to approach things. But she’s not stupid with it, I suspect she’s lived as long as she has as a prominent, well-known veteran in the Occupation because she knows well enough how important it is to lie her arse off when it’s to the benefit of her family’s continued security. She’s made it abundantly clear that nothing matters more to her than her children’s survival and wellbeing.

That being said, in friendly company like this she don’t go to any pains at all to hide the fact that she has no love at all for the Terrors. It’s no great surprise she holds no office in the current Provisional government, despite her high rank in Rundao nobility – I don’t think the Terrors could ever tolerate the Hellcat holding a position of authority in their Occupation. So she simply tends her family fortune and interests, and the properties and legacy of her house, in the hopes that, when this storm eventually passes, her children, or their children at least, can inherit something better. Or at least that’s what she likes to let them think.

We never knew who the highborn supporters we had in the nobility were when the Legion was still going, it was just safer that way. But now that I’ve met her, I know there’s no way that Thura Vezrim wasn’t one of ‘em, probably her husband too. Her words now are just confirmation.

“I … I have to … is this …” Looking at the weapons mounted on her wall now, I just go ahead and ask. “I’m sorry, but –”

“Yes, it is.” Thura’s smile grows more indulgent now. “And yes you may.”

“Oh … gods, you mean…” Feeling like a small, excited child being treated to something truly special, I reach out with hesitant hands and very gently lift the sheathed longsword from its mounting on the wall. It’s no larger or heavier than Hefdred, but … I don’t know, maybe it’s just the moment, but somehow it feels like more of a genuine weight to me.

Turning it over carefully in my hands, I curl my fingers around the somewhat worn, use-softened leather binding the hilt, then stop, looking back at her now. Thura just nods, still smiling, and I take a very deliberate breath before slowly drawing the sword from its scabbard. Much like I do every time I tend to my own blade, I hold it out at arm’s length and look down the edge, then turn it over and do the same, intensely deliberate now in my inspection.

It's a beautiful piece of work, of similar style to my father’s bastard sword, just a little more richly appointed, the guard and pommel fashioned in somewhat battered bronze rather than the simple heavy burnished steel of my own. The blade is a little wider, the point coming to a more focused triangular tip than Hefdred’s more tapered stiletto-fine point, but it’s no less sharp, and I’d know this perfectly tempered dark metal anywhere. “This is dwarven steel.”

“Yes, it is.” She starts walking toward me now, along the wall at the edge of the room, holding two tumblers full of dark amber liquid. “The best in the world. Your father swore by his, so when I had need of my own after graduation I refused to accept anything less. I went to the Warforges in Haalisbenh and commissioned one especially, made to measure.” She holds one glass out to me. “Gamirred. I named it after an ancient warrior, from the legend of before the Sundering. In all those years it never failed me. Not even in the Valley.”

Breathing out very slowly, I sheathe the sword as carefully as I drew it and hold it out in my left hand while I take the glass from hers with my right. She nods, once, in simple confirmation, and takes her old sword from me.

“It’s beautiful.”

When she smiles this time it’s a little more wistful. “Perhaps. But only as much as any instrument of death is capable of being. I remember you father’s blade very well, it never left his side. Except when he was in their apartments, at least. Adda insisted. There was no danger in their home, she would always insist, so it wasn’t needed there. So he always hung it just inside the door.” Taking a moment to heft it one-handed, she raises the sheathed weapon and lets it rest back in its place on the wall.

“I remember, he still did that after she was gone. He was the same with me, he always insisted if I ever brought any weapons up to our quarters I had to leave them at the door. If I wanted to clean or hone any blades at home I had to do it outside on the balcony.”

This makes Thura grin, and I can’t help doing to same, even if mine feels a little more fragile than I’d like. Finally she raises the glass in her hand. “To Edhril.”

“To da.” I agree, raising my own glass and gently tapping it against hers. I take a little sip and I’m surprised by how smooth it is, there’s very little burn going down. Whisky, rich, but a little sweet, something almost honeyed in its flavour. “Mm.”

As we’ve been talking and toasting, I finally notice, Lady Naru’s been filling more tumblers and passing ‘em out to the others. The same stuff, looks like. When he gets his, Art gives it a good close sniff, and I see the slightest flutter of his eyelids as he takes in the scent. “Oof, what is this?”

“Ah, yes.” Thura chuckles a little. “I brought this back from Haalisbenh as well. The finest dwarven honey whisky, aged for thirty years before they finally cask it. I brought six casks back with me before I left for my first posting, as a present to my father. For helping me get into the war academy.” She catches my eye and cocks a brow. “Of course, making the elite selection and having your father train me I did on my own.”

Raising the glass again, I acknowledge that she has every right to be proud of herself for how good she’s become. Thorin knows she ran me ragged down there. She definitely did da’s training proud.

That said, I didn’t roll over and just give in to her. In reality, what it ultimately came to was something like a somewhat uneasy draw, she has me beat for speed but I’m definitely stronger, and in the end we decided to call it a day before we just wore each other into the floor. But I enjoyed myself immensely, even more than I thought I would – it may have started out simply as a chance to cross swords with my hero, but it soon became more of an opportunity to test my mettle against one o’ my da’s finest achievements as a teacher. To an extent it was almost like trying to fight a ghost, one who fought as hard and fast and agile as he did, even though he was getting old, and it was very interesting for me because I knew all those moves intimately well, because they’re my own, but I still couldn’t beat ‘em. She’s too good for that. In the end I just worked my hardest to keep up, and I feel damn proud enough that I managed that.

I saw the way her children were seeing their mother fighting trough new eyes, too. This time she was clearly up against an equal, someone she didn’t have to hold back with, who could actually genuinely test her, and she fought to her utmost capacity this time. By the end I saw that Deriel was staring dumbfounded at the pair of us, but his mother in particular, and Pela’s eyes were the widest I’d seen them since we met.

In truth, I found it easier fighting with the training sword her son loaned me than I ever would have with Hefdred. At first, she insisted that I use my own blade, but I waved that off quickly enough, insisting it would be an unfair danger in a simple practice bout, I didn’t want to run the very real danger of hurting or, potentially, even killing her accidentally if we got too into it. In the end the blunt practice steel was safer.

That being said, neither of us held back any, and it didn’t feel any different from the real thing. Training steels are forged exactly the same way as real swords, they’re simply left unfinished so their edges blunt and tips are rounded off, so if you catch your opponent with a hard blow it’ll definitely hurt but there’s little danger of cutting ‘em, especially wearing the proper gear. They’re designed to approximate the heft, reach and give of a real blade, but without creating any real danger for the person wielding it, or the one facing it. Even so, I still managed to decapitate a lot of training dummies in the barracks with ‘em when I was growing up, enough that da started making me pay to replace each one I damaged unnecessarily myself, so I stopped doing it after a while.

Altogether, I have a much more mature, healthy respect for this woman than I think I did before, now I’m aware of just how capable she still is. Mostly, though, I just like her, and she’s made it clear that she likes me too.

For a few moments we just stay as we are, Thura taking another sip of her own as she turns to look over her own collection. Eventually I start wandering again myself, until I come to a rather battered suit of plate armour mounted on a standing dummy close to the bar. She quickly sidles up to me again as I’m inspecting it, but doesn’t say anything for a stretch.

Much like her sword, it’s extremely well made but has clearly seen better days, although it’s definitely been looked after well despite the weathering. That being said, there are a few obvious rends and punctures in the thick, tough steel plate that haven’t been repaired, despite the careful cleaning it’s been dealt, and while there’s nothing immediately fatal here, whoever wore it definitely went through it.

When I turn to her, the way she’s looking at the armour very much reminds me of the way she regarded her sword as she put it away again, and I make the connection. “This was your armour. You wore this in the Valley.”

“For three full days, yes. It was a hard battle, and I’ll admit there are several parts I don’t really even remember. The end is still mostly a blank to me, I was so completely exhausted and very torn up. My shield was completely ruined, there wasn’t enough left of it to save. I slept for two whole days after while they did their best to patch up the worst of it, but when they finally got me back to Tabaphic I was still a week in the hands of the clerics before they finally let me go, and it was another month before I could really walk again. I was a mess.”

“You saved us all, though. You fought those bastards back, long enough that the rest of the army could shove ‘em all the way back to the border again. It was a fucking miracle, what you did. You made my da proud with those three days.”

Thura’s smile is more than a little mournful as she reaches up with her free hand and touches my cheek, letting her fingers stay there for several moments before withdrawing again. “Thank you. I am glad he felt that way. I did my damnedest to live up to what he wanted me to be … but I still felt …” She lets a heavy sigh go now, then knocks back the rest of her drink in one big swallow, and it makes her cough a little. “Oh … gods, Kesla. I felt ashamed.”

I honestly don’t know how to respond to that. I open my mouth, but the words just won’t come to me.

“My Unbroken … I led them into a slaughter. They were the best men and women I’d ever met in my life, as good as your da, as fierce and as fine and as kind and as loyal as anyone I’ve ever known. They knew that it was only going to end one way, that they were going to die making sure that those fucking Terrors never made it further south than we’d let them while the very last of us still drew breath, and I held the front for as long as I could through the fight. I saw friends I’d bled with countless times before cut down on either side of me and I couldn’t do anything because if I stopped for a moment to try and help them, the line would have broken and that would have been it. They had to pull me off the vanguard three times and practically force me to sleep for a few hours after a quick meal so I didn’t just drop from exhaustion, and each time I let them I knew my friends were dying up there without me.”

After a deep breath, she stalks back to the bar and refills her glass. When she turns back to me now she just looks haunted. “The Hellcat of Kumehn Valley … I didn’t deserve to be lauded for that. I didn’t deserve all the commendations, the promotions, the celebrations in the capitol. I don’t deserve to be remembered for those three days. I wasn’t a hero. The heroes were the poor bastards that are buried up there because I lived.”

For a long moment I just look at her, feeling shocked and shook and all kinds of guilty now about what I said, or tried to say and failed so badly. Finally I knock back the rest of my own drink too and now I feel the burn as I swallow, but I forge ahead all the same, walking up to her as her eyes widen and she holds a faltering hand up to try and ward me off. I set the glass down on the bar and fold her into a hug and she just melts in my arms.

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She doesn’t cry, and I guess I’m kinda grateful for it, I think I might’ve started too myself. “I get it.” I finally mutter, keeping my voice as low as I can so it’s just for the two of us. “Some battles are too ugly to feel good about afterwards. Even the ones that need to be fought.”

She starts to laugh a little at that, and when she pushes me away I let her. She looks up at me, and while her eyes are wet her smile is mostly just rueful. “Your da taught you more than just combat, clearly.”

“He wanted me to be ready for anything that this kind o’ life would throw at me. I guess that includes the shitty hands fate deals you sometimes.”

Nodding, Thura takes a step past me and grabs my empty glass, then steps back to retrieve the decanter again so she can refill my glass too. Then someone knocks at the door and she straightens up. “Ah. Yes. Finally.” She passes me the tumbler and stalks back across the room again, making a beeline through the clutter for the door.

The others are watching her progress with curiosity, although I detect a note of disquiet in Dumoli now, as if he’s expecting an unpleasant surprise to be waiting on the other side when that door opens. Lady Naru, on the other hand, is already on her feet, but she still looks perfectly calm, as if she’s been expecting this. Maybe she has.

“Just in time, as it turns out.” Thura muses after she opens the door, stepping back immediately as what I can only describe as a force of nature stalks into the room.

I’ve never actually met a fat dragonhalf before, but this one could put in a bid for the role. He’s shorter than most I’ve come across, if you count his horns he’s barely as tall as I am, but he doesn’t seem small because he’s so broad, across the shoulders but also his waistline, although in his case I suspect that might be more due to muscle. Certainly he’s clearly got an expansive personality to match his girth, the way his booming voice reverberates around the room as he announces himself. “I always arrive precisely when intended as you know, my dear! If I promise to attend an appointment I can be relied upon to make good on my commitments!”

This one’s not just an unusual member of his race in terms of his proportions, either. I’ve met plenty of red dragonhalves, and greens, and even a few blues and blacks in my time, but this is the first with brass dragon-blood I’ve ever encountered. His tan leathern scales have a coolly lustrous gleam which is extremely striking, and given his clear personality I suspect he buffs them up at every opportunity to appear even more impressive. His snout is fairly short, but his face is broad like the rest of him, giving him an appearance of somewhat reptilian jolliness that’s definitely enhanced by an easy smile and deep crow’s feet around his glowing blue eyes. His horns are gleaming ebony and there are six of ‘em, all substantial, twirling affairs that add to his general majesty, while his spiky tail seems to constantly wag in a lazy back-and-forth manner even after he comes to a stop in the middle of the room.

He's dressed in a very similar manner to most of the other nobles I’ve encountered in my time, but his long, flowing robes are some of the finest I’ve ever seen, rick silks and brocaded velvets with subtle trims of spider silk-fine lace picked out in shades of deep red and gold. Before he stopped, I caught sight of his boots, which are rich, well-made chocolate brown leather buffed to an even higher sheen than his scales, and his clawed fingers are substantially adorned with thick rings heavily bedecked with gems. I see Art sitting up already as he catches sight of those, and I try not to roll my eyes.

“Yes, yes, that’s all very well.” Thura sighs, clearly nonplussed now. “But I’m sure Lady Naru already made it clear that this was to be a secret meeting as well. Please tell me you at least took the necessary precautions before you came.”

Frowning, which seems like a strangely alien expression on his face, actually, the dragonhalf gives her a look, flicking his fingers at her in something like a shooing gesture. “Oh for the love of … I know, Thura, I’m not an idiot. Your lovely contact already filled me in on the problem at hand, so I left the arrangements to her.”

“So where is the young Mistress then?” Thura matches his look with her own, but this one’s a good deal more forceful. “I know you think the world revolves around you, but I was hoping to get her advice as well in this matter.”

“Now children, please.” Lady Naru places herself between them both now, still seeming perfectly calm and serene. “This is hardly the time –”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Another new arrival closes the door behind her as soon as she’s entered the room, looking very sheepish, and the moment she does her Tulen springs to her feet. “I was coming, I promise, but there was a very inquisitive little girl in the hallway who insisted on asking me if I was a wizard as well. I was somewhat thrown by the last part.”

This makes Thura giggle, covering her mouth too late to stifle it as she rolls her eyes. “Oh Mara … my apologies, my daughter can be quite a handful.”

“Sessa,” Tulen breathes barely a beat after, looking a little flustered now. “It’s … um … hello, I’m … I’m sorry, I thought –”

“Tulen!” The newcomer’s eyes go wide, and her expression is complicated, although there’s as much trepidation in it as surprise. “You’re … but I thought Gael was …” She turns and looks at Lady Naru now, as if searching for help.

“She’s busy, something else came up and she’s dealing with it.” Lady Naru sighs, stepping her way now. “My apologies, things have become quite fluid, I couldn’t relay all the relevant details at once.”

As this somewhat thin explanation sinks in, this new wizard starts to frown, taking a deep breath as, I imagine, she starts to piece things together for herself. I’ll admit, it’s a strange expression on this particular face, but then I’ve never actually met a half-orc mage before.

She’s certainly very striking, tall and broad across her shoulders, particularly chubby for a half-orc but her natural strength still shows through, and she seems comfortable enough in her white and silver robes of office. She’s already thrown back her hood, and she wears her long hair down, thick, silken black curls tumbling heavily over her shoulders and framing her round, cherubic face. As she takes in the rest of us, she fumbles her staff somewhat as she passes it from one hand to the other, and has to scramble a little to keep from dropping it. It’s a simple wooden affair, somewhat like Gael’s old one before it was broken, but made from a much paler wood, tall and thin and topped with a simple capped bowl with its crystal already mounted inside.

“Oh … oh, of course, that’s … yes. I’m sorry, that makes perfect sense.” She licks her soft, full lips, taking another deep breath, and turns to Tulen again, and this time she seems to be getting hold of herself again. “You’re … I mean, you’re here. I thought … I mean, you don’t do field work. Why … what are you … um …”

Tulen’s growing very dark across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, I notice, and while it’s becoming clear to me now that this newcomer is a rather anxious individual most of the time, our dragonhalf friend doesn’t seem to be handling this surprise meeting much better. “Well … I mean, Gael needed help. It’s their da …”

“I heard, yes.” Letting her breath go in a long puff, the half-orc lowers her eyes and reaches up to brush her hair aside from her face in clear discomfort, and I can see a deep blush spreading across her face too. “Um … it’s … it is good to see you.”

“And you.” Tulen manages a wan smile, having trouble with eye-contact herself now. “I mean … yeah, I’ve missed you.”

The girl looks up at this, and when their eyes lock again it’s a genuinely electric moment, and suddenly all the awkwardness starts to make sense to me. Then Tulen just steps forward and folds her into a hug and the newcomer’s only stiff for a moment longer before she just melts and returns it.

For a little while the room is silent, and there are a variety of expressions on display amongst the group at large, although Thura’s simply wearing that same mischievous smile I found so striking before. Then the dragonhalf noble clears his throat somewhat louder than strictly necessary and they both spring apart as if they’ve just been caught out doing something far more inappropriate.

“Oh … I am … so sorry, my Lord.” The half-orc almost squeaks the words as free hand flies up to cover her mouth. “I didn’t mean –”

“No, no, I’m sure it’s fine.” The grin that the noble offers up is a good deal sharper than previous, clearly intended to convey deeper meaning now. “It’s not like our business is urgent or anything.”

“Forgive us, my Lord.” Tulen huffs and puffs some as she tries to cover, but her blush has deepened so much her embarrassment’s still writ large across her. “It’s just we haven’t seen each other for … since Winterheart. Um …”

“It’s cool, Tu.” I step up to her side now, resisting the urge to just wrap my arm round her shoulders and give her a companionable squeeze to comfort her, instead looking the other young wizard over. In truth, I reckon I worked out who she is now, I’ve heard enough about the friends Gael made during their Academy years now to have a good idea. “You’d be Sessa, right?”

The half-orc blinks, surprised, and slowly lowers her hand from her face again. Her own blush is still deep too, but curiosity is taking over from her deep discomfort now. “Um … I am ... oh, yes. Yes, I am. Sorry …” She flaps her hand for a moment, unsure what to do with herself I think, then finally remembers and gives what I’ve come to recognise as the Order’s signature salute, before frowning and extending her right hand after all. “Very sorry. Um … yes, I am. Sessa Ruthik, of the Silver Order. Junior Advisor to the Provisional Government in Untermer.”

Taking her hand, I give it a friendly squeeze and firm pump. “Kesla Shoon. Of nothing in particular, aside from the Creeping Bam.”

Sessa looks me over again, a little more critically now, and starts to smile. “Oh … oh yes, of course. Yes, I do know who you are, yes. Gael’s written about you, all of you. She speaks particularly highly of you.” When she finally lets go of my hand her smile’s grown very warm, and she’s straightened up to her full height, her shoulders losing any signs of a slouch now, and I can see how much more confident she can be when she’s not taken so completely by surprise.

“That’s lovely, of course, but –” The dragonhalf noble’s still smiling, and he seems jolly enough now that the situation’s been defused, although I think he’s still trying to make a point all the same.

Certainly it occurs to Sessa. “Oh! Yes! Sorry … um … yes, sorry. Mistress Shoon, this is Lord Shembad Wralin of House Orlaprax. Formerly of the Royal Council.” She starts to squirm a little now, folding her hands behind her back as she lowers her eyes. “Um … because … you know … of … reasons …”

“The bloody Terrors gave me the boot after they invaded.” he growls as he shakes my hand, but there’s still a subtle smile on his face, albeit a rueful one. “Couldn’t let a decorated general with a reputation for kicking their pale arses at every engagement serve in their precious Provisional sham.” He turns to Sessa. “No offence meant, my dear.”

“Oh, no. None taken, my Lord.” She bows formally. “After all, it’s only an assignment. And I can do actual good where I am, of course. Much like Lady Naru.” She shrugs, growing sheepish again. “Um … well, I try at least …”

“You do good, my dear.” Lady Naru wafts up to her side in almost perfect silence. “Our own dealings between the Court and the Provisionals have always ended most amicably, both here and in Tabaphic.”

“Well, yes, but … I mean, I only advise. None of them have to listen to me. And often enough they don’t.” She sighs. “Mostly I just do what the Order asks me to do, anyway.”

“Which is the point.” Lady Naru smiles at her now. “That’s why you’re so good at your job. You do what you’re told, and you don’t make any waves if you don’t have to. So they accept you as one of their own. Meanwhile you pay attention. Which is invaluable for the real work.”

“Such as what we have here.” Lord Wralin grins, and as expected it’s full of sharp teeth. “Sticking it to the bastards who think they can get away with anything they like now. Such as that unpleasant bloodless little monster Hontiresk.”

“Who?” I don’t know that name.

“Refik Hontiresk.” Lord Wralin sucks in his lips, clearly offended by the very thought of whoever it is he’s talking about. It makes him look like he’s sucking on the sourest lemon in the world. “One of the senior Administrators in the Authority here in Untermer. There are a few particularly slippery bastards we’ve had our eye on for a while now, but he’s the top of the list. He rose through the ranks with impressive speed when his father took a fatal tumble down a particularly tall staircase just after the Invasion, now he controls all his family’s interests and a good deal more.”

“Very few people who’ve actually met that loathsome little reptile actually believe his father’s death was an accident, either. Never mind that it was far too conveniently timed.” Thura returns to the group now carefully holding two more tumblers underhand so she can hold onto her own as well, offering both up to the new arrivals. “Of course no-one’s ever come out and said as much. He has a habit of making most people who disagree with him disappear.”

“Most people?” I venture, already suspicious about the answer.

Taking both glasses, Wralin retains one while passing the other to Sessa, who just frowns down at the drink like she’s deeply unaccustomed. “Myself, Lady Vezrim, Madame Daste and a few of his other detractors are a little too important to just … accident away.”

“You reckon this is who we’re up against?” I turn to Thura now. “The money behind Jammund and Vandryss?”

“Hontiresk is in charge of the docks. Jammund’s one of his pets, and from what we’ve been able to surmise, a particularly favoured one.” She folds her arms, letting her glass dangle from her hand as she considers. “This … Vandryss person you’ve described to us isn’t at all familiar, but we’ve had some particular trouble keeping as close an eye on the docks lately as we’d like. Half the people we’ve tried to send in over the past six months or so in particular haven’t come back out again.”

“But I thought you were both just private citizens now.” Tulen ventures, looking a little confused now. “Sessa said you’d retired, my Lord. And you said as much yourself, my Lady.”

“Well, yes.” Wralin regards her for a moment, slowly cocking a brow as he starts to smile again, and I get the feeling he’s getting a good measure of her now. Then he steps forward and takes her hand, which makes her go very stiff, taking her very much by surprise, so when he starts to lead her back through the jumble of furniture to one of the empty spots on a couch she goes without objection. “Of course, my dear. On the surface that’s very much the case. But that never sat well with me, any more than it did with our beloved Hellcat. So we both did what we could when we could, and after that fell through we simply worked with whatever was left available to us.”

As Tulen settles where he’s placed her, Sessa quickly takes up the seat beside her, and the rest of us start to gravitate into the centre of the room too. There’s an interesting moment when Lord Wralin turns and freezes on the spot, looking towards the corner of the room where Driver 8’s stayed since he came in. Thankfully this office is on the ground floor so he didn’t have to navigate the stirs, but the corridor outside was barely wide enough for him to enter without turning, and Big Man found the doorway itself quite the task. He offered to stay outside and just listen in as well as he could through the closed door, but Thura insisted he join us properly, so he squeezed through the best he could without wrecking the place and then planted himself on the spot once he was inside. Very mindful indeed this place is clearly filled with beloved mementos from the Lady’s glorious past that he really doesn’t want to damage.

“Goodness me!” Lord Wralin exclaims before taking a big swallow of his whisky. “Hello there.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lord Wralin.” the golem rumbles “I am Driver 8, known to my friends as Big Man.”

Grinning wide, the dragonhalf tips a particularly deep formal bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, my good friend. It has been a very long time since I’ve encountered an actual honest to gods functional golem.”

“I should very much like to hear about your previous experiences, my Lord.” Big Man can’t smile, of course, but the way he straightens up a little bit tells me he’s beaming with pride all the same.

Chuckling warmly, Lord Wralin nods his assent. “I’d like that as well, after our business is concluded.” He takes another, more modest sip of his drink now as he turns back to the rest of us. “He’s incredible! I really am looking forward to that conversation.”

“Yeah, he’s really something.” Nodding myself, I move to Art’s side as he looks over at Tulen, who I notice has already laced her own hand into Sessa’s as they lean into each other on the couch, sharing an amiable smile now. Reaching down, I get hold of Art’s shoulder and drag him to his feet before he can start to protest. “My Lord?”

“Hmm?” For a moment Lord Wralin just looks at me curiously, then he catches my nod towards the now vacated chair and smiles again. “Oh, yes. Much obliged, my dear.”

Letting go of Art, I studiously ignore him as he starts glaring daggers at me and drop into the remaining armchair, while Lady Naru’s already taken up the empty space on the other couch beside Dumoli. Seeing there’s nowhere left for him to sit, Art scowls at me and stalks over, finally perching on the arm of my chair instead of sitting on the floor.

“That was uncalled for.” He growls, low so it’s just for me as he leans in.

“Really? I thought it was very much called for.” I give him an innocent smile that I’m sure don’t convince him at all. “You gotta learn to defer to your betters.”

Giving me a last hot glare, Art lets out a heavy sigh and sits up again, finally taking a swallow of his drink as he starts to observe Tulen and Sessa again. They both look very comfortable together, my previous evaluation of their relationship seeming to hold up now.

“Face it, Art.” I whisper up at him “You never had a chance there.”

“What?” He snaps it a little louder than intended, I think, so after casting about for a moment he leans in again to whisper close in my ear. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I mean, it’s very clear to me now you’re just not her type.” I nod over at the two young wizards as they start to whisper to each other, and a moment both dissolve into a fit of giggles. Tulen gives Sessa’s hand a little squeeze and the half-orc just rests her head on her friend’s shoulder.

Following my gaze, Art’s frown deepens further, then he glares down at me again. “That wasn’t what I –”

“So, you were with the Legion then, my Lord?” I just run roughshod right over him as I raise my voice again, sitting forward as I turn to Lord Wralin. I can feel the furious weight of Art’s stare but I’ve long since grown immune.

Pausing just after taking a sip, the dragonhalf regards me for a long moment with a somewhat curious look on his face, looking me over as close as I’m doing to him now. Finally he cocks a brow as he swallows, and doesn’t need to so much as clear his throat , but then I’m not surprised. “Not so directly involved as yourself, I suspect.”

I have to smile at that, although it’s a cautious one. “Interesting you could tell.”

“Nonsense, I heard your name several times while the Resistance was still alive. You were one of our best fighters, you did your father proud every day. I’ll admit I’ve found this meeting a refreshing enough revelation simply learning you’re still alive after all. After Tabaphic –”

“Not for lack o’ the bastards trying. Hardly any of us made it out, and that was it. I was stuck hiding in Hocknar for six months, so I had to just disappear. I guess the others felt the same.” I roll the tumbler between my fingers as I look down into the gently sloshing surface of the finger of whisky left in it. “Honestly, there’s times I wish we’d just kept fighting after all.”

”It wouldn’t have helped, we would have simply lost what little resources we had left. You’re all of you too valuable for that.” Thura’s remained standing while the rest of us sat, slowly stalking round the room like she’s feeling restless, which might not be far from the truth. “We’ve looked into the possibility over the years since, but …”

Looking at her for a long, loaded moment, Lord Wralin growls subtly under his breath. “The truth is, we think we might have been compromised in the end. In Tabaphic, it was … ugly. The Terrors, they fell on you all too quickly , and far too well coordinated. As if they knew exactly who and where to hit all at once to cripple the Legion in one fell swoop.”

“You mean …” I grip the tumbler a little tighter than I’d like for a moment before I remember myself, but thankfully the crystal’s well cut, it doesn’t crack under the pressure. “You think it was someone on the inside? A traitor?”

“Quite likely, yes.” Wralin looks to Thura again, and his frown deepens. “Something about how it went down, it felt a little too much like the fall, the start of the invasion itself. The way those bastards were suddenly in our midst like that without us knowing, just a day after they started their push in the North … it was as if someone opened the doors for them to step right in. And then again, in Tabaphic, when the Legion’s core leadership were slaughtered in a single night, and the rest of you were left to scatter like rats under torchlight …” He grimaces, hissing angrily now, and for a moment there’s a subtle, sulphurous smell in the air, while a little wisp of something vaporous wafts from between his teeth, only for him to suck it back in almost immediately, as if he remembers himself. His frown deepens to something close to thunderous now. “”We don’t know who it was. That’s the problem.”

“That’s why none of us have tried to start things up, even though Shem and a few of the others have shown themselves to be above reproach.” Thura turns to regard Lady Naru for a long moment, and the sorcerer takes a thoughtful sip from her glass before looking my way. Her own expression is complicated.

“You too?” I ask her after moment.

“Never in any official capacity. It can be very dangerous, if someone like me definitively chooses a side, but … well, it was an ugly business, the way they just … took over like they did. It never sat well with me. So I always tried to help out however I could.”

“Thank you.” It feels so inadequate, just saying that, but … well, given how standoffish I’ve been with her so far, I just want to do more than that, but I can’t think how.

“There’s no need for it. It was the right thing to do.”

That makes me blink. There’s something about that which reminds me so much of Krakka, the way he was during the Resistance, when I first came to know him. Studiously trying to keep out of the conflict itself, mostly because of the tenets of his faith and his devotion to his goddess, so in the end he just helped anyone who needed it, whether they were Legion or Terrors. But even so, he still had his own preference about who needed the help more, because he was who he was, and he couldn’t just stand by.

I’m really starting to like her, I think.

“So … there are still more of you out there, then?” Dumoli ventures after a few moments of thoughtful silence. “Former Legion, or at least their patrons?”

“Did you serve, Master Bitterbrow?” Thura wonders, regarding him a little more critically than she did when they were first introduced. “I couldn’t place your name before …”

“Not in the Legion, no. I was a Rundao regular, once upon a time, but I mustered out before the Occupation even started. I was already in the merc game, so I suppose I had business on my mind instead. Mostly we never bothered to involve ourselves.” He shrugs. “I mean, we know plenty of former members, but that‘s the way the game works these days.”

Nodding, Thura unfolds her arms before taking another big pull from her tumbler, effectively draining it now. She frowns into it for a moment, then stalks back to the bar.

“There are others left, yes.” Lord Wralin growls “Some here, some elsewhere. Nowhere near as many in Tabaphic as there once were, unfortunately. The Second Purge was a little too thorough, even more so than the First. Whoever the bastard was who turns on us, they did their job too well there in particular.”

“So it was one o’ them then.” Art ventures, then blinks when I look up at him with particularly sharp interest. “Right? I mean … stands to reason, if it hit hardest there, then …”

“That’s the pervading theory, yes.” Thura’s pouring herself another now. “Unfortunately, since we can’t be certain … well, we’re stuck because of it. We don’t know who to trust, so all we can do now is watch.”

“Which is what you say I’m doing.” Sessa muses, looking a little perturbed while Tulen watches her sidelong with wary curiosity. “You’re doing the same.”

“A few of us, yes.” Lord Wralin’s still frowning as he regards her. “We pass on what we can, if there’s reason, but … our hands are very much tied now, I’m afraid.”

“Which is why Madame Daste sent us to you.” I have to smile, and it feels as bitter as it must look. “For what it’s worth.”

“Well, your business is as complicated as ours, it would seem.” Thura returns to the group now, her arms folded across her chest again with her glass clutched under her chin, and her expression is quizzical now. “Right now, it seems our stars have aligned. Though I’d have been mindful to help you anyway.”

“As am I.” Lord Wralin chuckles.

Nodding, I look down into the glass for a moment longer, than take another big swallow to finish my drink. I let it settle in my stomach before placing the glass on the floor by the leg of my chair. “So, this Hontiresk fellow …”

“As we said, there’s no way to be sure.” Thura sighs “But he’s definitely a safe bet. If nothing else he’d been smart to check off the list if he isn’t, just to be sure.”

Lord Wralin finishes his own drink now, swilling it for a moment before swallowing, and again it doesn’t seem to have any noticeable effect on him. Dragonhalves, really. “Personally, I’d be very surprised if he wasn’t your man. This is very much his wheelhouse, and learning that there might be someone worse pulling his strings isn’t that much of a stretch.” He holds the empty glass up now, turning it slowly as he looks into the crystal, rainbow colours subtly shifting in the candlelight. “Besides, he has … unpleasant tastes, I’m led to understand.”

“Like trafficking in people?” Tulen looks somewhat haunted when she asks that.

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” The dragonhalf finally sets his glass down on the arm of his chair and laces his long, taloned fingers together as he settles back the rest of the way into the soft, creaking leather, growing thoughtful now. “You mentioned … I’m not sure, Mistress Ruthik’s report was not so very detailed as I would have liked. Something about a questionable mage.”

“Yeah, there’s one o’ them too.” Art sighs before taking a big gulp of his own whisky. “A warlock, is the consensus. I dunno, ain’t really my expertise, but …”

The look that passes between Thura and Lord Wralin is very dark, the dragonhalf sitting up again so he can lean forward and regard me for a long moment. “You think something eldritch might be going on here?”

“It’s starting to look that way, yeah.” I shrug. “That bitch Vandryss is … worrying. She doesn’t look like anything I ever dealt with before, and our ranger … Yeslee’s hunted a whole lot of dark shit in her time, I been able to surmise, but she don’t recognise her kind any more’n I do. And when we fought …” I grimace, unable to keep myself from shuddering.

“What happened?” Thura’s watching me close, and she almost looks nervous now.

“I ran Hefdred right through her. Right up to the hilt. Through her fucking heart. And she just shrugged it off.”

“Bloody hell.” Sessa’s eyes are real big now, while her voice was real small.

If I thought Thura looked nervous before she looks scared now, and it really don’t look right on her face. Clearly fear ain’t something she shows much at all, but right now she can’t help it. “I … I’ve never heard of anything like that either. And I’ve fought some …” She looks to Lord Wralin. “Does that remind you of anything?”

“Was she …” He frowns deep, but I can sense an undercurrent to his consternation now. Something like fear, much as with Thura, but more well-disguised. “Do you suppose she was undead?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t reckon so. I was face to face with her, an’ I seen plenty undead things in my life … she was definitely alive. Nasty, and wrong, but alive.”

“That’s … worrying.” Lord Wralin turns to regard Lady Naru now, and I notice Thura’s doing the same, but the sorcerer simply shakes her head. I notice she’s become quite solemn now, but ain’t shook like the others now. Then again we did go over this with her once already.

Everyone just ponders for a while, and I look down at my hands, steady, finding no tremors in them despite the turn of our conversation. Eventually I look up to find Tulen’s got her head bowed again, eyes closed, and I’m already sat as far forward as I can get, so I just get to my feet instead. I’ve taken a step forward almost before I realise it.

Art starts to ask what’s up, but then he must notice too, so he just falls silent. Other eyes are turning her way now, and while we wait for her to come out of her induced trance again I feel further tension starting to rise in me. My hands are tightening into fists and I didn’t even ask them to. I want to ask her what’s up but I know it’d be useless until she breaks contact.

It goes on for another short stretch, and I know I ain’t the only one getting impatient. Dumoli’s shuffled forward in his seat now, ready to jump off at the first opportunity, and Sessa’s leaning close to her friend now, looking a little fretful. I suspect her own growing concern’s more due to her reading the reaction in the group, though, since she’s currently less well-informed of the specifics of what the other group is involved with.

I sense someone moving close to me now, and I have a moment where I start to tense up, I can’t help it, I’m just too wired at the moment, but then I see through the corner of my eye it’s just Thura, and I start to relax again, much as I can at least. For a moment she just looks back at me, and when I turn her way she manages a smile, although it looks a little hesitant. “Look at it this way, it might be good news.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, I find it real hard to summon a smile o’ my own. “The way our luck’s been going lately … I dunno.”

Tulen breathes out, long and low, and finally raises her chin again, slowly opening her eyes. For a moment she just takes in all the expectant faces, her gaze lingering on me and Thura as we can’t help both stepping right up to look down at her, and she visibly swallows, seeming nervous now. But then she takes a deep breath, sitting up as she extricates her hand from Sessa’s and takes a moment to smooth down her clothes as she clears her throat. Not wanting to rush, clearly. It must be big news.

“They’re all right. It worked … the raid, I mean. They found Tog, and the others are all right. Darwyn had a close call, but Shay pulled her through fine.” She ponders for a moment, then look right up at me. “They found something else, though. Some-one else. And took him alive.”

That has me frowning, but I feel an electric kind of anticipation stirring in me now all the same. Maybe it’s a break. Gods know we need one. “Who?”

“Gael says it’s Vik.”