Forgo walked back to the Exarch's longhouse with his newly-dressed fireteam of Rites and his scribe in tow. While the Rites expressed about as much emotion as tortoise roadkill, the scribe was starting to warm up to her new position and asked another question.

  "If you don't mind me asking," the scribe began, hurrying up to walk next to Forgo while matching his stride, "what's your weakness?"

  "My weakness?"

  "Apparently, every Pale Spear has one. Except for Alabaster, of course, the First Spear. He's just mute." She glanced up to Forgo's helmeted visage with a look of excitement and curiosity. "Is it true? Have you met him?"

  Forgo nodded, maintaining a forward-facing glance as he spoke to her. "Far as I could tell, he was mute. Hardly made any noise at all. But I don't have a weakness."

  "You spoke to the other Spears earlier about the Spine. You knew her; did she have a weakness?"

  "I suppose so, if she fell to the warlock." He spoke of Fahlnem. "At any rate, they're not really weaknesses as much as side-effects." He felt secure speaking about the inner workings of Pale Spears while surrounded by Lilac Rites in an empty street, just after the tick of noon. "Each Pale Spear has some sort of drawback to inheriting their predecessor's foresight ability."

  "So," the scribe continued in a sing-song tone of voice, "you don't have a drawback?"

  Forgo glanced down at her for a moment, internally musing at her expression before turning back to the vacant street. "What's your name?"

  "Eletris."

  "What have you got written in there so far, Eletris? Let me see." He dispelled his spear and reached out with his right hand for her report journal. She stuttered an excuse but handed it to him anyway.

  Forgo began flipping through the pages, reading it internally as he went. The Forgotten of Vows swept through the room, striking down each terrorist Human rebel with blows of vigor and refined precision. He flipped to the next page.

  She could feel the taste of sweat on her lips, and she examined the looming object in front of her with the slenderness of her fingers. Her digits passed over every vein and impossibly-soft imperfection like a botanist slaving over a massive log, dripping with sap. She liked sap.

   Forgo froze in place. Eletris and the Rites stopped as well, and Eletris fidgeted with her hands. He glanced to her, making sure not to accidentally dispel his helmet which would surely expose the disgusted, flushed expression on his face.

  "Eletris," he kept glancing down at the misery lining the page and back at her. "What the fuck is this?"

  She averted her gaze from his, pursing her lips and playing with her fingers embarrassingly. "It's just something I do in my off-time." She stuttered and waved her hands in front of her face. "Never when I'm with you. Just when I'm not working."

  He slowly handed her back the journal. "Yeah." The group continued walking toward the Exarch's longhouse. "Definitely glad I had to read that."

  "Sorry." Eletris laughed sheepishly. A long awkward pause followed before she spoke again. "...Did you think it was good?"

  "The reports or the smut?"

  "I know the reports are good." She flipped her hair back. "But both. Apologies."

  "The report was concise, if a bit glorifying. But the smut? No comment." His chuckle was followed by a sigh. "Why? In general. Why the smut?"

  Eletris shrugged, blushing still because of the unresponsive Rites who could definitely hear their conversation. "I enjoy writing. It's why I became a scribe and signed up for personal scribehood of a Pale Spear."

  "Understood." Silence followed until they reached the longhouse of the Exarch.

  Forgo entered the longhouse, leaving the Rites outside to stand watch and intimidate anyone tempted to enter while the Twelfth Spear was doing business. He called out for the Exarch.

  "Sylus?" He shouted, as he didn't immediately see him in the main hall. A voice echoed in return from upstairs, and he followed the trail. Eletris followed him up the bifurcated staircase to the Exarch's office, and the two entered.

  "Yes, Spear, what may I do for you?" The Exarch shifted his gaze from the cubby underneath his desk to match Forgo's.

  "I've retrieved my fireteam from the barracks in the checkpoint. Did you know about the uniform change?"

  "Of course. I handled the paperwork for the shipment, boy."

  "You found it more beneficial to be terse than to inform me, Exarch?"

  "I found it more beneficial to disregard that which is irrelevant." The Exarch chuckled, his chest and belly heaving with each gurgle-like huff.

  Forgo frowned behind his helmet. He wished he hadn't come back to the longhouse. "And the interrogation? Have you gained any progress?"

  "No, sadly. Most have died already from the stress and pain, perhaps malnourishment as well." The Exarch's mouth curled into a vile grin. Forgo could hear Sylus' stubble on his upper lip scraping against dry skin like the tip of a sword slowly grating a piece of rusty scrap metal.

  "The protocol was to return any suspects to their homes with all their belongings intact if they were found not to be rebels or rebel-sympathizers. You've been killing them?" Forgo contained his frustration and disgust, but he did take a step forward.

  "You mistake the situation, Forgotten of Vows." Sylus chuckled. "There is little we can do if the cretins expire before their loyalties are determined. I can tell that as far as Spearhood goes, you are still fresh." He emphasized the final word, drawing out the 'sh' in 'fresh' and following it with a chuckle. "Besides-" His body twitched and he hesitated for a moment, squirming in his chair. His gaze glanced down underneath his desk before continuing. "Besides, the sooner they get chopped into bits and thrown into the street, the less of a chance they have to defect."

  The Exarch frowned at Forgo as he said the word 'defect,' the frown turning into a sly grin. Forgo glanced down to Eletris. "Go see if there's anything good to read in the library. The Exarch and I have something more sensitive to talk about." He stepped forward and kicked the Exarch's desk, nudging it a few inches across the floor, tearing carpet as it slid. "You leave too."

Stolen story; please report.

  For a moment, the room was silent. But then a slender and malnourished figure crawled out from underneath the desk. Forgo couldn't identify their sex as they fled from the room, wiping their mouth with their sleeve. Eletris followed soon after.

  "What is this sensitive topic you speak of, Spear?" The Exarch hissed as Forgo approached menacingly. The sound of metal grinding against metal filled the air while Forgo clenched his gauntleted fists. He kicked the desk again, this time from the side, and it flew end-over-end into the bookshelf to his left. The Exarch flinched and cowered before the display of strength and fury before regaining his composure and chuckling in excitement. "Hooo, you do have what it takes to be the Constant of Fury, don't you?"

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  The Lilac Rite ushered another individual off the train and through the checkpoint, following the line of thread before him. He followed his fate, as he had for many years up until that point, clinging to it in laziness. He barely even had to put forth effort. It tugged at him, making actions for him and thinking for him. He recalled that whenever he fought, the actions weren't his own. He hadn't been trained. So it was okay to kill, because it wasn't truly him killing. It was whoever formed the strings, tugging at the slack at the Elven capital of Ianann. The Violet Crown.

  Another citizen offloaded from the train, stepping forward to be searched. They uttered some frustrated complaint, but he couldn't hear anything beyond distant mumbling and muffled cries. A line of thread encircled the citizen, pulling at the Rite's body and prompting him to search for evidence of contraband or anything of the sort. He didn't know why they should be searching citizens. After all, weren't they looking for the warlock? It should be easy enough to determine the identity of someone getting off the train with a single glance, and-

  An overwhelming weight pressed down onto his skull, and his thoughts ceased. The strings continued to pull him along, squirming in the air like worms guiding themselves through a patch of moist soil as they sewed themselves into his skin. But then the worms started to burn up. A hellfire of vengeance sweapt over the Rite's consciousness, purging each and every thread with fire.

  He froze. What was he supposed to do? The threads were burning. They weren't pulling on him anymore. He hadn't acted on his own in years, why should he then?

  He turned to the source of the flame, searching in the crowd until he spotted an individual dressed as a Lilac Rite. But not with the new uniform. An old uniform, vile and sinful. The figure emanated with pulses of heat that bored into the Rite's skull, blinding him and engulfing the fate-threads in fire, until the Rite's superior stepped out of the barracks of the checkpoint, and he could see new threads. Cyan strands, weaving through the air to take hold of the Rite and guide him again. The Seventeenth Spear followed, and more threads danced out of his gleaming figure to the other Rites in the checkpoint. The threads took hold of the Rite once more as he noticed that the threads guiding the Pale Spears themselves were burning as well.

  A brief moment of independent thought had returned to the Rite. And in an instant, it was taken away again as the threads returned, fighting the flame coming from the warlock in the crowd. And it was euphoric.

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  Fahlnem frowned. The Rites had frozen in place, just like the ones at the Maw's checkpoint. Wasn't his disguise good enough? He pressed forward anyway, sifting through the crowd toward the barracks with a broad-shouldered stride. Figures in the crowd stepped out of his way, allowing him to pass through freely. Until two gleaming figures stepped out of the barracks, and the Rites began moving again. They all focused on Fahlnem, brandishing their weapons. The Pale Spears followed the gaze of the Rites to Fahlnem and called spears to their hands. One began sweeping and stabbing into the crowd, tearing away at the Humans. Chaos ensued, and Fahlnem cut his losses, ripping the expired Lilac Rite uniform from his body to expose the drake-scale armor underneath.

  The checkpoint cleared itself of Humans, with a good portion of them remaining on the train. Fuck, Fahlnem thought, I can't rely on putting citizens between myself and the Spears. One of the Pale Spears spoke up.

  "The warlock Fahlnem, I presume?" He shouted triumphantly from the barracks opening. "I am the Eighteenth Spear. My colleague and I will be taking you into custody. If you resist, we have been cleared to execute you." He chuckled, and it pissed Fahlnem off. "You know, even if you hadn't been a mage, I still would have seen through your costume. All the Rites have been re-outfitted, as you can see." He gestured to the fireteam of Rites that assembled in formation, with one of them locking the door to the passenger car on the train. "But I wouldn't have known if you were that mage, you know? I was worried for a moment, before you took the uniform off, that you were the poison mage we had captured inside." Good to know that Desmond's still here.

  "You finished with the monologue, pal? I'm just here for my staff." He fastened his shield tighter to his left arm. To his left was a firm concrete wall, and to his right was the engine of the train and a small drop leading to the other side of the checkpoint. Dead-ahead stood the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Spears, with their fireteam of Lilac Rites in formation behind them. They had a varied set of weapons, while the Spears both held traditional spears befitting their titles. "Unless you two have titles to tell me about? No?"

  Time to get some practice in with these small fry. Then, the staff.