- - - > oxx • xxo < - - -

The shiver went deeper than bone this time, past the cold that had sunk into him these last days and clawed for something more. The fort throbbed beneath Gwardus’ feet, each vibration a beat mirroring the fear in his gut. The infirmary's quiet pull was almost enough. Almost. But the courtyard pulsed with a desperate energy – the crash of hammers against steel a jarring accompaniment. Each sound stoked a fire in his belly, mirroring the fort's own desperate preparations.

He pushed through the infirmary doors, the world outside falling away with a heavy thud. He drew a breath, the air clean, the scent of herbs a sharp contrast to the metallic tang that clung to the courtyard. A wave of quiet settled over the room as he entered. The girl rested in the corner, out of sight but not out of mind. He tried a smile for the three recruits, their faces drawn, eyes already holding too much. They stared intently at something beyond him, gazes locked on the heart of the fort. A muscle jumped in his jaw. Whatever they feared, he feared it too. But beneath that fear, another current ran – a storm, sleeping for now.

- - - > oxx Z•L xxo < - - -

From his perch, Zevas watched the lads scramble below, their elemenium tools whining with their energies’ hum. Overhead, stone slabs float, plugging the gaps the Miers could exploit. Each clang of hammer on stone echoed with urgency, pushing them to work faster. "Not enough, not nearly enough," he muttered, his gaze sweeping over the hasty repairs.

The door creaked open, a screech of metal on metal. A draft of cooler air swirled around his legs, carrying the scent of the smoke and something else… something that set him on edge.

He turned. Dofydd, sitting across the room, caught his eye and gave a single nod - sharp, to the point. Beside him, Siebea grunted, her grip tightening on her dagger. He hid a smile. Leave it to the owlet to be ready for trouble before it even walked in the door.

In walked Pythair's lads. Deynfif entered with his usual calm, a stark difference next to Einntyr, who looked about ready to burst out of his skin. But it was Hirua who really caught his eye. The lad usually burned bright, but now... Shoulders slumped, gaze downcast. Something was off. He took a long pull of his lichtwyrt blue tea, savoring the sweet, citrusy warmth. Aye, time to see what this was all about.

He rumbled, "Alright lads, share us what happened. I wanna hear it from you personally.”

"Captain, we were compromised–" Deynfif was in the middle of his report when Einntyr interrupted him.

Einntyr’s words tumbling out in a rush. "Imperial shadows, Captain! Right from the start! But did they think I wouldn't notice?" He leaped up, a dramatic sniff of the air. "Please! More obvious than a muckledeor in a flower field." A slap on Hirua's back punctuated the joke. "Or maybe I'm just that good, eh?"

His chuckle died in his throat. Einntyr's energy was a double-edged sword – infectious, but right now, a dangerous distraction.

Hirua’s mouth twisted, a poor attempt at hiding the eye roll. "Seems your spy skills are about as subtle as a bowl of chili on a hot day, Einntyr. Didn't take long for them to sniff you out, did it?" Hirua's forced smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Einntyr shot outta his chair, flailing about like a scarecrow in a windstorm. "Hah! Thought I didn't notice those shadows, did they? Nah, I was just givin' 'em a show, a big ol' distraction! Let you two slip in unnoticed." He slapped his knee, a big goofy grin plastered on his face.

Deynfif, ever the strategist, added, “If we lingered too long, Captain, they might have made a move. An early withdrawal was necessary.”

Einntyr’s usual bravado faltered for a moment there.

"Alright, alright. Sounds like getting out of there fast was the right call, lads.” He turned to Dofydd. "Dodged a trap, did we?"

"Indeed, Captain," Dofydd agreed, fingers tapping a thoughtful rhythm against his chin. "If Einntyr hadn't noticed, their fabricated story might have held water. A blessing in disguise, perhaps." Dofydd’s eyes narrowed. “Though, curious why you brought a girl with you.”

Hirua’s hand twitched towards... something at his side.

What was that?

Before Hirua could comment, Deynfif cut in. "We encountered her being mistreated. We couldn't just leave her there, Captain. Besides, she might have valuable information about the Miers' plans."

What exactly happened inside that camp? As he sat in his chair, he caught Siebea’s hand twitching in her dagger's hilt. Her jaw was tight, mirroring his own unease.

Bringing a Miers here… He met Siebea's eyes. The subtle tightening of her lips, the slight furrow in her brow—he knew that look. They shared a silent understanding of the risks the lads brought. She gave a slight nod. Let the lads stew a bit longer.

He scratched his beard. "Saving someone in this situation... that's a bold move, lads. Your compassion is admirable."

"However..." A heaviness settled on his chest. "I recognize the lass." He let the words hang in the air for a moment.

Deynfif, stone-faced as ever, stared straight ahead. Or was he looking past him, at something else entirely? Einntyr couldn't keep still, the lad's eyes bouncing around the room like a flea on a hot griddle. Hirua though... that one was about to burst. Sweat gleamed on his face, turning his skin slick as oiled leather.

What were they hiding? He let the silence stretch, thick as bad ale. "I've seen her before," he rumbled, each word a stone dropping down a well, "From Taikas. Miergart's capital."

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Hirua jumped out of his skin. "Captain—" he croaked, voice like the rasp of rusted iron.

Deynfif's hand shot out, silencing Hirua with a look. Whatever the lad was about to blurt out, it must've been bad.

He nodded at Deynfif, eyes jumping between the lad and Hirua. The boy's fists were clenched tight enough to crack stone. “Hold your tongue, lad. Let me finish." His voice was low, dangerous. "Siebea agrees. We were once pawns of the Empire."

Leaning close, his gaze heavy, he locked eyes with each lad in turn. "That lass... Kyura," he dropped his voice to a gravelly murmur, "serves Empress Inaya herself."

Hirua's hand moved to his hip, fingers tapping against something there. The lad shifted in his seat, avoiding his gaze. That wouldn't do. Time for a distraction. His teacup hit the table with a gentle thud. Every eye in the room followed the sound, landing right where he wanted ‘em. He leaned back, fingers drumming on the table. The waxlight glinting on his old axe hanging on the wall. Aye, time to teach these lads a thing or two about being a good leader.

"War is a game," he rumbled. "played not just with elemenium and energy, but with minds, hearts, and souls…” He let the silence hang heavy. Let it sink in. "What you've done out there demonstrates three important tools that can secure victory or lead to ruin.”

Deynfif, bless his cautious heart, was actually taking notes in that little book of his. Even Einntyr had stopped fidgeting for once. But Hirua... lad was a coiled spring, about ready to snap.

"Take information, for example," He pointed a finger at Deynfif. “Deynfif, lad, your caution in leaving that enemy camp early? Smart move. Saved your hides, it did. That's clear thinking, analyzing the situation – that's reasoning.”

Deynfif's nod was sharp, but those fingers, they kept twisting at that scarf of his. Something was eating at the lad.

"Now, lads, reasoning's a fine tool," his voice roughened, "but too much of it, and you end up cold as the wintryshine season. Forget the faces behind the fight, the lives lost for a win. That's not the path we tread, eh?"

He turned to Einntyr, a grin crinkling the corners of his beard. "Your confidence, Einntyr... KHAHAHA, double-edged sword, that's what it is. You sniffed 'em out, good lad," a rumbling chuckle escaped him, "but maybe overplayed your hand a bit."

"But," his grin faded, voice turning gruff, "that same confidence, it's a damn good weapon when you know how to wield it. Lets you charge in, headfirst into the storm, and come out the other side stronger. That's one aspect of presence, lad. The ability to command attention and inspire trust."

Einntyr puffed out his chest, the sheepish grin still plastered on his face. Young pup, probably soaking it up like a sponge, he mused, though whether he truly grasped the weight of it... time would tell.

He held Hirua's gaze. "Hirua, lad, your compassion…" The words caught in his throat. A tremor ran through Hirua's legs, avoiding his eye. Aye, something was amiss.

"Look here, lad. It's a powerful tool, but like any tool, it can be misused. Passion can inspire, yes, but it can also blind you to danger. That's how good people get hurt.”

He pushed himself up, the chair scraping against the stone floor. Turning away, the fort’s energy washed over him - the shouts of his men drilling echoing off the stone walls.

Turning back, he met their eyes. "An effective leader masters reasoning, presence, and passion. They use reasoning for strategy, presence to command, and passion to inspire." He tapped a fist against his chest. "But knowing when to use 'em? That's the real trick."

He let his gaze sweep over them - Deynfif, Einntyr, then Hirua… Hirua’s gaze skittered away. Damn, still nothing.

"The lass…" He let the words hang. A clang of training swords from outside echoed in the silence. “This changes the game, lads. We can't rule out the possibility she's a Miers plant, sent to deceive us. But we also can't dismiss the chance she's telling the truth.”

He turned to Dofydd, the man’s face, as always, unreadable. A curt nod was all he got.

"Yes, captain," Dofydd rumbled, his voice steady. "We will use all three of them to discern the truth. Reasoning to analyze her story, presence to read her intentions, and passion to understand her motivations. Only then can we decide the best course of action.”

"For now… she'll be under close guard. No one may see her until we determine her allegiances." Dofydd added as he turned to the trio.

"Kyura is not a spy, Captain!" Hirua burst out, his voice cracking. The lad’s eyes were now red-rimmed, jaw clenched tight. "She has suffered enough already!"

"No lie, Captain! Hirua's right!" Einntyr chimed in, though even he seemed to have lost a bit of his bounce.

"That is why we brought her here, Captain," Deynfif added, his hand going to the comforting weight of his scarf. "We’re certain she’s not an enemy."

His brow furrowed. "Sure, lads? This isn't some child's play. You three, green as spring grass, waltzing into the Empire..." His voice trailed off, letting the danger sink in.

"She's Hirua's family!" Einntyr blurted out.

Einntyr's words hung in the air, heavy as a battleaxe.

His teacup, halfway to his lips, froze. Beside him, Siebea's shoulders stiffen. Even Dofydd, usually an unreadable statue, let out a low whistle.

Einntyr turned to the others, a helpless shrug twisting his face.

Hirua rose, a rigid line from his jaw to the hand tucked into his breeches.

Siebea's hand twitched towards her dagger. He caught her wrist before it could move further. "Easy now, owlet." he rumbled, though Hirua's stance didn't exactly scream ‘peaceful intentions.’

"Captain," Hirua's voice was stiff, all trace of their usual banter gone. "I stand before you as Dantras Hirua Duzwaard, son of Tevis and…" The lad drew a breath, and for the first time since he'd known him, he saw steel in those young eyes. "...Inaya Duzwaard, Empress of the Miers Empire.”

Silence. His teacup, forgotten in his hand, suddenly felt heavy. What was the word Dofydd used? Illusion? Aye, like one of those flimsy card houses, toppled by a single, careless breath. He caught Siebea's eye. Her hand, never far from her dagger, was a white-knuckled vice on the hilt. Even Dofydd had gone pale. Who was the lad? This wasn't some tavern brawl, some petty Miergartian noble. This... this cut deep. To the bone.

Dantras. The Empress’ son. Dead for years, or so everyone thought. Hirua? the lad who’d shared their meals and their dangers... a Miers? The Empress' blood? His gut clenched. A chill, colder than his wife’s ice attacks, spread through him. Pythair. By the Light, Pythair had known. Why else keep the boy so close? Deynfif, Einntyr... were they in on it too? That lass... what in stone and soil had they dragged into his fort?