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We rode into a lake valley that thundered with war drums. Through leaf cover I saw Lake Adego, a sapphire sunken into the heart of the valley, with a dark stone manse crowded onto the island at its center. On the eastern shore the host of the Northern Mane spilled like dark ants over rough dug redoubts, fresh red earth crowded with all manner of desert tents like some lost flock of birds settling for a rest. They spilled over their own barricades of downed trees. Everywhere their crimson pennants snapped in the wind. Across the bare shore to the west, a perfect square wall had been cut into a hillside; a few solitary legates paced the wall top, their silhouettes passing before a perfect checkerboard tents and high mounted dragon banners.

The plain overlooking the lake from the south lay bare, as if awaiting our preordained entry, so we made haste. And although the rocking gate of my guar mount nearly brought me to regurgitation, neither army moved against us even in our state of disarray. I assume neither trusted the other enough to offer their backside, so they simply watched our arrival.

Chavalier Rokash, Mistress Vendrela (the real one this time, I even grabbed her bony hand to confirm at the cost of a lip-splitting slap), and I rode together at the head of the army. We no longer had the luxury to quarrel amongst ourselves.

Chevalier Rokash, bruiser though he was, proved himself every bit the commander we needed however. We had barely reached the water’s edge before he was bellowing for levies to dig in and build us some measure of defense. Telvaani slave soldier's dug in as well, more than a few of them seeming more practiced as farm hands than fighters, as their warlocks fanned out to hold the perimeter.

It all felt a bit overly dramatic until the battle horns began blowing to our north-west.

"Form up!" howled Vendrela, and the slave soldiers threw down their shovels and took up long spears. Meanwhile several nobles chased their levies into shield walls, hissing from senche-back. I was paced on guar back and forth behind a wall of two hundred Khajiiti archers as I observed.

Although the legion was directly across the lake from us there was only a mangrove forest between us and the northern army. Rough terrain that I had expected any attack would need to circumvent, yet looking through the hanging vines I saw the figures of the Bosmer rangers on their raptor mounts, skipping across arched roots. Several held long spiraling antlers to their lips, and blew out a horrible bleating cry.

I cursed, believing either Benezia had failed or that my deviator had sent the rangers to their certain death, regardless of Findulain's presence, in his mad quest of expanding the war. Perhaps, I reasoned, Findulain was already slain against the legion (I would only later learn for a fact that no blood had yet been spilled).

And so it was with equal shock and relief that I saw the prince burst forth at the head of his men, a frill of wild jungle bird feathers trailing his headdress, but I saw only in my mind's eye Lady Elindel's face gray with mourning. The rangers charged up the clear slope, directly towards us.

"Make ready!" roared Chevalier Rokash, resplendent on his beside the archer line. And the air rattled with hundreds of arrows being drawn from bamboo quivers. Ahead of them the warlocks’ hands began to light up with hellfire — some red, some blue, and still others an unworldly dark that ate the light.

I closed my eyes against it, the last image of Findulain barring down into us at some distance, the tip of a 'V'-shaped charge against a massively superior force. I only had the strength to look again when Vendrela began cursing under her breath. "Stranger, what are they on about?"

I opened my eyes to see their feathered backsides bouncing away.

"What is this," she cried. "A distraction?"

I hesitated to answer until Findulain leapt off his avian steed and into waist deep water. The men of his guard formed a close ring around him.

I shook my head. "Not a distraction, an unplanned evacuation."

She looked askance at me, until we saw him begin to have his men splash muddy water on his lower half to hide his shame. As the murmur of confusion ran over the ranks in front of us, I brought her to tears with the full story of “my agent” Benezia on the Northern side.

A more charitable soul would have kept the prince's shame a private thing, but I've always been of a more giving nature when the opportunity to tell a good story presents itself. It was impossible for me to know how quickly the tale would spread of course, as sadly The Fall of Prince Findulain has since become a favorite drunkard’s song known in every tavern of this fair empire.

***

With the immediate threat dispelled, I had the time to assess the situation more fully. With a borrowed looking glass I inspected the manse at the center of the lake and to my shock saw several bolt riddled rafts turned on their side to make a makeshift fort barely taller than a sandcastle, crowded with the dark robed figures of a dozen Lion Head Priests who occasionally peeked out at the defenders walls — chefs and scullions, but no less deadly at distance. Vizier Rokash was among them, I recognized him by his shimmering energy put off by robes and his long oily mane. They were trapped, the failed first wave of an assault that must have been cut off by the arrival of the Imperials. Any attempt at reinforcements from across the lake for they would be easy fodder for the legion crossbowmen, and so the besiegers were now besieged.

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I whispered thanks to whatever master of fates had brought them to such a delicate position, for they were right where I wanted them, their hands in the cookie jar as it were.

Chevalier Rokash needed not know of his deviator yet, and so I kept my lips sealed as the two us organized an emissary party, just the demon masked guard and ourselves. We rode out to meet them under a white banner to a grassy hilltop just above where the failed charge had ended in defecation.

I squeezed the reins of my guar as a procession led by my deviator emerged, he on horseback, followed closely by a black robed tribals and several battle braided Pahmer. As they approached I noted by a few awkward spiral movements that my brother rode on my oldest love, Spinner. We watched them approach in an uneasy silence.

Chevalier Rokash side eyed me. “That man… is it also Berry?”

“I don’t see the resemblance.” I shrugged.

They stopped short and only my brother trotted ahead.

With a spank to its scaly rear I send my guar ambling forward alongside Chevalier Rokash.

His face was still clean shaven, as was mine as of just that morning, but the skin had yellowed as though the burnt amber dye of his robe had been rubbing off on it — my old robe. It hung loose around his neck.

We drew close enough that we could speak in our usual voices, and my scent drove Spinner to whip her head about most excitedly until my brother yanked her reins hard enough to steady her although I could still feel the warmth of a brown eye upon me. My brother's eyes lit up despite his sourly twisted lips. "So it really is you. You survived."

"In legacy as well as the flesh it seems," I pointed to his stolen robe. "You didn't seem to have any thought of me during the trial, but now you take my horse and style for your own?"

"Some tasks still required a Fate Weaver, so I began to fill both roles. And everything you had was on account of my largesse anyway — your existence even."

"Well we certainly wouldn't all be here without you, that's for sure. But I'm not here to relitigate the past brother, I'm here to resolve your mess with as little death as possible."

He looked up at the banner, snapping in the wind over our guard.

“And what do you propose?”

“A duel. A Lunar Duel.”

"A duel? You think your little fat cat will actually have the courage to show up?"

"He will."

He shifted unfortunately in his saddle. "What trick do you have up your sleeve? Some magical charm?"

"Only what magic approve of. I'd have both of us officiate." Rokash cleared his throat, and I quickly added: “With others viewing the plans as well of course.”

A moment of silence, then he nodded. "Fine. Including an exchange of hostages. Winner takes the reins of both armies, no games, no fuss."

“Deal.” I turned to Rokash. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

***

It was quickly agreed that the contest would be held the following day. The Imperials would only be notified that a ritual was being held, but not informed of the purpose and neither would an Imperial representative be allowed to attend, for it was a matter for the people of Elsweyr.

It was agreed that His Holiness' chief astrologist and I would spend the evening in the northern camp to make arrangements for the coming ceremony in collaboration with my brother and His Perfection's cohort of augurs.

This was easy enough as we were granted an overlong tent, thick with pipe smoke as we discussed and rehearsed the choreography necessary for a lunar ascension as described in Eophicles’ writings. My brother said little until we finished, although his eyes bugged out when I mentioned the Miser's Mirror would be necessary. After we concluded he met me at the door.

"A last drink with me before you leave tonight, for old times sake?"

The old astrologist beside me growled some nonsense in warning but I waved him off telling him to return to camp without me and that I'd see him in the morning.

His tent was smaller than my own, like something trappers in Anticlere would use and just as ragged. His only furnishing was a folding floor table which we knelt on each side of, asses on still green grass. A pair of sleep mats rolled against the wall, one with a romance novel and hairbrush atop it.

He poured easily, only a single drop spilling onto the tabletop where it flowered in to dark pool, casting a dull reflection of two candles like eyes.

"To third chances," he said, sliding the full glass over the wood. “Aiera is safe, by the way. She’s in the camp right now, but being held for observation. Her loyalty is still not completely believed by many.”

I licked my lips before lifting it in salute. "Thank you. And for the record I am still considering this the second chance."

He smiled sadly. "I'm worried we're quite past that. Perhaps if I had been smarter and saved you from your current path. I don't see how you think this is a preferable outcome. The Southern Mane would have been helpless without your insights." He spoke to me without the softness he once had, without the fear of our first meeting, yet his lip was dewed with sweat.

"It's preferable if we can avoid an all out war…"

"It's too late for that, it always was! Do you really think the New Order will forget itself so quickly? If His Perfection falls tomorrow then it will haunt your Stranger Mane until his dying day, surely you understand that."

I took a sip, praying there was no poison within. "He won't. Not if you help me."

His eyebrows knitted. "What the hell are you playing at?"

"I've discovered the secret of Eophicles' wisdom."

"And you'll share this with me?"

"If you agree to work with me to stop this madness, the war, the new order, antagonism towards the empire, all of it."

He nodded sadly before steadying himself with a breath. He reached under the table and drew out the Miser's Mirror, its black shroud still clipped on, and leveled towards my face, a finger on the release clasp.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Gods forgive me, but I’m sorry it came to this."

I dared not make any movement. "You don't have to do this."

“Somehow I always knew, from the moment you appeared, that I would. I fought it my every waking moment, but fate is so cruel. Inescapable.”

There was a snap, and the sheath fell down onto the table, covering the droplet.

I saw what I thought I would. Not myself, not my death either. More painful and more familiar.

I met its eyes, and then my deviator brother's, his face red in candlelight, wet with sweat and shaking. I spoke the one word, a name, and it was enough. I felt no pain because I had become the mirror.

The Miser’s Mirror fell against the table with a thud. My brother covered his face: "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

I squeezed his shoulder.

When he looked up his large eyes were searching. "I thought I could help… with everything, I thought I could help."

"I know that better than anyone."

"I've ruined everything."

"Not yet we haven't. And I wasn't bluffing about that second chance still in play. But to succeed we have to pull off our greatest trick yet."