The road to Carchal was pleasant enough, long rolling hills, mostly wiled fields flanked the well worn dirt road, a carriage leading an army, with a single grumpy passenger. It would be another two weeks at pace before the valors made their way back to the capital. The diplomat had insisted they return, but he found deaf ears at the mere suggestion they abandon those soldiers with whom they had spent the season. His annoyance clearly brought no small parcel of joy to the Third Axe.

  ‘Friends at court.’ The younger broached up, for what must have been the fourth time that day, so a bemused smile from her mentor, the elder waiting whatever new argument she would broach. ‘Better location?’ a mild change in tactic, mentioning improved chambers and other amenities, food having been her fist attempt, but weather was as much a factor she supposed.

  This was met with a smug grin ‘Where I please.’ her tone laden with certainty, ‘Who bars?’

  ‘Capitol?’ the younger returned, thinking she’d cornered her.

  ‘You.’ A finger jabbing the Eight Sword’s chest. ‘Escort’

  ‘Last attack.’

  ‘Polite.’

  The younger pouted, knowing she was beat. To suggest otherwise would be tantamount to calling her elder rude or at least derelict of duty, protocol being clear. The frame had been placed and she was not aware of a way to escape it.

  ‘Carchal soon.’ spoke one of their retinue adding a much needed interruption to her train of thought. What would she get though,

  Cresting on last hill, the rural town coming into view. Before them first were tended fields, forming a clean break from their wild cousins that had kept the troop company, shops arranged along the main thoroughfare, houses expanding out from that, with some sparsely dotting the fields, that formed the outer most ring of its limits. It was quaint, and it pleased Kirru, as it bore no traces of fortification.

  They approached the outskirts, finding a few of the townsfolk had come to gather at the edge of the shops. Some small amount of cheering, and offerings of gratitude. The two valors of course, gathered no small part of the attention around them. She was offered various sweets, including some of the local specialty. The area of Kirru’s homeland was known firstly for its production of sweet vegetables, tubers mostly, and they featured heavily in local sweets.

  To her surprise, a few of the elders performed a kind of truncated prayer, bearing some markings of local custom, that in its full form would complete the other half of the ritual that gave the valors themselves the ability to tap into the essence of those offering it. The ritual of the Bargoria, was what allowed them to stand before demonkind as equals, or in many cases greater. It was normally distributed enough to not bear risk to those offering their life essence, but too few souls, or a valor’s folly could take the lives of its participants.

  As the crowed thinned enough to allow them to continue their march, the gifts were, by Kirru’s measure more than she had intended to acquire, so she pressed Mauvawen to simply pass through, with her thoughts lingering on the soldiers and their families, and the leverage gained from the bureaucrat's pleading gaze.

  Their march continued for the fortnight, passing through towns every few days, gatherings like that in Carchal grew smaller and smaller, and by the second week did not occur at all. After having been on the front since she gained her rank and proper position among the valors, the difference stood starkly in her mind, but whatever council she had gained, she kept to herself to further mull over.

  Entering the Capitol, the shining city, the Everlasting Baribwal, it was a a different matter. The Third Axe and Eighth Sword were the last of the valors to return this season, but there was still a parade that pulled many of the residents into the streets. There was music, and other accouterments of celebration but to Kirru it felt altogether different, it was to her eyes a show. A grand gesture to be sure, one of celebration , but it bore not the same gratitude to her eyes, she felt no warmth in her heart. Disappearing into the castle at the city’s core, the silence felt almost kinder to her.

  Waving goodbye to the last of their troops, many having departed during their march, her shadow, was the last to leave. She practically forced him, to take a bundle containing a mix of the various sweets she had been given the week before. She’d hoped the minor enchantments the cooks had prepared, had kept them as fresh as when they were first received.

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  Mauvawen was less reticent to accept a similar package. ‘Obligations.’ she spoke after Kirru had handed it over. Kirru was unsure if it was a command, or an admission, but she departed without waiting to clarify. Kirrue had her own obligations to see to though, and went about finding those whose essence she had been using to fight, this season.

  Having to ask several guardsmen for directions, she found them waiting, in a tea room, overlooking the castle gardens. A collection of eleven elders, all dressed in robes bearing a similar pattern, that marked them as the Bargoria of the eight sword. Bargoria was at once a title, for those who serve with a valor, as well as the ancient name for a council of sages who first brought this form of magic to the people, it was unusual and the only one of its kind among the people, but it was what had allowed them for these many years to repel the foul folk of Dol Aram.

  ‘Safe return.’ one spoke, standing from her seat and approaching her sword. ‘Full Glad’ and taking her into an embrace. She knew the elder, and had for many years. She was actually the first to have volunteered to act in the eight swords service, back when her propensity for the type of magic was first discovered. The memory was painful, with Tyrin being the one bright spot from those days. She acted as a grandmother for Kirru. Her warmth, touched her deeply.

  ‘Full Glad’ replied the young warrior. Looking up to see the rest of them, smiling and returning her gaze with a nod, or a raised cup. She had ten when she had first left.

  ‘Hard fought?’ came another, and older man, who had only just reached the age where he would be accepted into his position. Jagner, a retired blacksmith, the last of his apprentices left him some years before, whose strength failed him in that old task. His hands still glowed a faint red from the lingering traces from his oft use of magic. He’d told her stories from his youth where he’d just bend the metal into shape with his bare hands.

  Confirming that they could tell how she’d drained the last of her reserves, refusing to pull no more from them, she had been hoping to avoid worrying them. ‘Seven, slain. Third Axe, thirteen.’

  ‘Rytmer?’ this question coming from an unfamiliar face.

  ‘Unharmed.’ this elicited several sighs of relief, but it visibly eased the old woman who provided the question.

  ‘From Rytmer?’

  A returned nod, followed by ‘Children still.’ the older woman approached and expanded her arms for a hug as well. ‘Sovim Rallz.’

  Embracing Sovim she replied ‘Kirru Shallmar’

  ‘Eighth Sword known.’ the old woman chuckled in reply. ‘Chosen.’ Its true that nearly all Bargoria volunteered, and even then most acted with their chosen weapon, it was still an honor that Kirru wasn’t fully prepared to receive. People trusted her, so soon, with their very lives, without her doing very much at all, she could not simply blame her part as a valor, as with Sovim choosing her, so too did most around her now. Shaking off the tears for another, more solemn time she rallied her cheer.

  ‘Gifts!’ she placed the package she had carried here. ‘From Carchal. Gifts to me.’ she undid the lose twine she had used to seal the bag for transport here, and she set to handing them out. ‘Valors with bargoria, share.’ both their burdens, and their blessings she thought. She was a weapon, their weapon after all.

  The tearoom was a lively place for a while, and stories were traded, of Rytmer and of Sovim’s children, of the battle now past, of Mauvawen, and of winter and its coming doings. She left exhausted, for being the center of so much attention left her drained, but it was yet one the things she was glad to bear. Collapsing into her bed, in a comfortable chamber that she had spent several years in already, her home, as she felt these days, she slept off the days travel.

  Kirru was prodded awake, by a familiar, and less than pleasant figure. It was the sixth spear, the very same one she had sparred against to learn her humility not so long ago, his eyes were urgent, so she pushed her emotions aside.

  ‘Valors called. War room.’

  Arriving last with the Sixth Spear, still shaking the last vestige of sleep from her mind, she found the councilor of war, standing at a table laden with troop markers, surrounded by every valor who could be found within the capitols walls, and with the assembly complete, he spoke at last.

  ‘Ten score strong.’ their commander placed pointed to a cluster of pieces, three of which Kirru had never seen placed on the board. Two matched, with a third large figure, thefigures were assembled at Falner, indicationg their direction of travel was towards Baribal itself.

  Her brow was furrowed, and Mauvawen leaned into whispered to her ‘Commander’ gesturing to the largest of the markers ‘Honor guard.’ bouncing between the two other pieces, ten score in addition made this a force unlike any they had dealt with in generations.

  ‘Scouts?’ the First Flail prompted. A bear of a man, tall by any standard, standing a head taller than the next largest of the assembly.

  ‘Blue flag. Sign of peace?’ The councilor spoke in a measured tone, his gaze hard, as it looked to thee firsts assembled.

  ‘So many.’ intoned the First Bow ‘Too many’ about half of the fifteen assembled valors offered their nods of agreement. It was true the force assembled was more than a major war party, more than than any of them had seen.

  ‘Who?’ Mauvawen spoke quietly, ‘Powerful?’

  ‘Strange report’ the second spear broke in ‘Blinding Aura’ Kirru was familiar with many basic magics she had been trained to use as a valor, detection being one of the simplest and most important. It was fairly common to be able to detect the magical forces in a being with even rudimentary teaching, Valors themselves appeared as bonfires of magic, but for a being to be blinding?

  ‘Impossible.’ the First Flail stated flatly. ‘Real? Why war? Massacre!’ he near shouted, a sentiment that was one that seemed to be shared, as several faces contorted.

  ‘True. Curious.’ the First Bow said, with a defiant sureness ‘Climbed, Looked.’ he pointed up toward the central keep, the highest point in the castle, and in the entire capital. The First Bow himself was known for his unbelievable ability to enhance his senses. ‘Saw, from here.’

  The assembly of valors all bore the shock of that particular revelation. It was as the First Flail had said, such a being would be unstoppable, more than likely, so it would need to be some kind of trick.

  ‘Pray for peace’ Kirru, the youngest of the valors here assembled added, after a dreadful silence.

  ‘Prepare for war’ Mauvawen finished.