Hemmelle grunted, squeezing his eyes shut at the pain.

“I’ve got it.” the young tribesman said, holding up an arrow tip between his bloody fingers.

Hemmelle cursed.

“I didn’t know it was you old friend. How could we have?” Teffal said to Hemmelle, clapping him on the back.

“Do you always shoot your friends before seeing if it’s them?” Hemmelle rose up from his seat, but winced at the pain in his leg.

Teffal and his ilk of the Argu, defenders of the Northern Tribes were arrayed around the three men from Landor. They were in an alcove of rock and earth, a natural feature on the northern side of the Car Lauch, gouged into the earth as if by the gods, these natural alcoves stretched throughout the north.

Men and women who had nothing left but their nation, the defense of the tribes joined the Argu. Many of them bore wounds of battles past. All of them had the look of those that had seen too much death.

“What are you doing here my old friend?” Teffal asked, scratching his gray beard.

“You lot have always shot before asking questions,” Hemmelle retorted.

Hemmelle rolled and tried to get up from the ground.

“Here, let me help -” Ethers said, reaching out to help Hemmelle to his feet.

Hemmelle batted the young man’s hands away.

Ethers said nothing, taking a step back to give Hemmelle Space.

Hemmelle got to his feet, gingerly putting weight on his leg where he’d been shot with an arrow from the tribesmen. He winced. The pain shooting up his leg. He could see Teffal giving a look to Ethers, an understanding passing between them.

“Pit, you had to get luck this time,” Hemmelle cursed.

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Teffal put his hand on Hammell’s shoulder. “No need to be digging up the past, as I remember it you left me on a dock, shouting in anger many years ago, the pain was similar,”

Hemmelle grinned. “And then I returned and let you lot terrorize me until the General came to give your people terms,”

Hemmelle remembered the first days of the Dragon Legion. The Second wiped out, Dragh becoming what he’d been born to be, a Sunborn, a leader. They’d wiped out the men of the East, pretenders trying to inspire a war between the north and Landor.

“Best I did not give you to the Ambi, the green men wanted to string you up and cut pieces away from you,”

“You forget, I let you capture me,”

Teffal laughed now, a genuine sound that echoed in the mountains.

“It has been many years, why are you here Hemmelle? The last I’d heard the Chieftains had sent Cann to the south to treat with your king,”

Hemmelle looked around at the men gathered, the Argu and his two men of the Legion. He gripped Taffel’s arm. “I must speak with you,”

Teffal looked back at the group of men and then back to Hemmelle. “Say what you must, they are my blood pack, You can say anything you need in front of them. They have sworn the blood oath of the Argu. They have only the Argu.

Hemmelle considered the men around him. He’d forgotten of the Argu’s plight. All of the soldiers, men and women both were fierce. They’d been forged in the pain of loss. To a solider, the Argu were made up of those who’d had their families destroyed, killed. To join the Argu you had to give up your tribe, and join anew. The price was your life, to defend the Tribes in the North.

“Pathos, Ethers, swear on the dragon that you will speak none of this,” Hemmelle raised his arm, the black tattoo of the Dragon wrapped around his arm.

Pathos and Ethers both traded looks and then back to Hemmelle.

“Hic Sunt Dracones!” They both responded.

Quiet filled the space as the echo of their shout faded.

“The General has sent me here to find Azal, your holy man. I must seek an audience at all costs. But none must know. The Council and the Church have spies everywhere,”

Whispers deafened Hemmelle, the Argu stirred. Teffal frowned as Hemmelle explained.

“What, what is it?” Hemmelle asked.

“He is not here,”

“Not here, is he at the Spires? We will go where we must, you must take me to him if you can,” Hemmelle implored the older man.

Teffal looked at Hemmelle with a sad look. “I cannot go where he is, and you should not either. You will not survive it,”

It was Hammell’s turn to scoff. “I’ve survived the mountains of the Car Lauch, the killing of my entire Legion and three wars. I can survive a hike, Teffal,”

“He is with the Sinovi, Hemmelle,” Teffal said, his voice lowered as if to ward off some enemy around him.

“It cannot be. They are a myth,” Hemmelle said, stumbling as he tried to walk forward.

Teffal caught Hemmelle as he stumbled. “They are no myth, Hemmelle, if you want to speak with Azal, you must go find the Sinovi, Azal goes to them now,”

“Where must I go?” Hemmelle asked.

—--

“The Sinovi? They are a myth, how can I find a people who are no more than stories?” Hemmelle grumbled.

“So why do we go west, Legate?” Pathos asked.

Hemmelle didn’t respond, he kept walking, the pain in his leg shooting and throbbing as he stepped. Each step a reminder of how much further he had to go.

“Hemmelle?” Pathos asked again.

Hemmelle bit back a retort, remembering his own days a young man in the Second. The Legates, the Primus’ always chewed his head off when he asked questions. He had promised himself he would not become the gruff old man of the Legions.

“Because, Pathos, The General commanded us to find this Azal, and we will find him. We will find him or die on this journey,” Ethers responded.

Hemmelle smiled. The young tribesmen understood honor in a way that the youth of Landor, Pathos did not. Patients had paid Hemmelle back, not having to explain the young Pathos something that time or disaster would teach him.

“Tell me, who are you to the tribes, Ethers?” Hemmelle asked.

The youth gave Hemmelle a dark look, one that spoke of a past that Hemmelle understood.