POV: Varr

“He stormed off after a big fight with Milder, our leader. Something about us not understanding him.”

“And where's this Milder from?”

“The island of Stinnr.” The weird fellow we dragged with us from a mud pit, hung his head in shame. He was definitely not from Stinnr, so the only explanation remaining meant he was involved in the massacre. I nocked an arrow and pointed it at his throat.

Despite my lacklustre attempt to hide my emotions, I still couldn't hide my disgust. “You're both assassins. Now give me a good reason I shouldn't kill you where you stand.” He looked at me, and saw how badly I wanted him dead. I wasn't hiding that either. A few seconds of silence passed, and still nothing.

“I'll help you subdue him. If you decide to kill him afterwards, I won't stop you.” My arm was getting tired from holding the arrow strung.

I was still unsure if he would even keep his word, but we had him tied, so might as well make use of it. “What kind of demon are you? And who hired you and kykvandi?” He shut his mouth hard. He wasn't going to tell us any more. A shame. Footsteps were approaching. It wasn't anyone we knew. The door slammed open and there stood a kinda small lady dress like the doctors of the tournament.

“Dad!” Dad!? But they look nothing alike! I put my arrow away before she saw it.

“It's okay princess, I was just talking with these contestants about partying afterwards.” He was lying through his teeth, as if we hadn't just discussed a major political conspiracy.

“Why are you tied up and covered in mud?”

“It's a long story. I'll tell you later.” He pulled his arms free. Bastard untied himself without us knowing! He got up and just walked out the door.

Crowen looked at me and smiled. “Hey, Varr, I trust you to do the right thing, and not bring goat's sausage. I'll be seeing you in the tournament over morrow.” He waved goodbye and left Djarfr and I. That asshole was leaving us without the answers we needed.

I shot an arrow between both their heads. That got his fucking attention. He looked at me incredulously, but he wasn't even angry. “You saw Seicig before you split up with Kykvandi! Where is she?” I could practically hear his heart sink.

“I'm sorry to tell you this... She's dead. Kykvandi killed her.” His hands were trembling. Saethwyr rammed into him, full force. The elf started punching the crap out of him while the lady was stunned at what was happening. Milder ran in and pulled him back.

Milder shouted. “Bastard! You let her die!” when suddenly The lady pulled Saethwyr off into our room, and closed the door.

Crowen stood up, bloody from having his face mashed. “Hræ, You better listen too.” He sat on a chair and started talking again. ”This morning, While Kykvandi and I were talking, he told me he heard the voice of Milder, I assume that's you who stopped the elf from thrashing me further. Kykvandi was becoming agitated, and was about to explode. I suggested we find somewhere to talk with all of you. Seicig was the only one who came.” Djarfr was about to cry. She said Seicig wanted her to stay in the room.

Saethwyr punched the wall in anger. His own sister was dead. Murdered.

“They had an argument, She made him mad, and he... he grabbed her by the throat and started strangling her. I tried to calm him down, but he was determined to kill her.” The mood has dissipated from impatient to morose. Crowen had us stunned. Kykvandi killed Seicig, just like that. If we didn't stop him now, it was likely he would kill us too.

I was the first to break the silence. “You said you'd help us capture him. How?” If Kykvandi was an assassin, even knowing how to capture a demon wouldn't help us. He was probably versed in a million ways to kill us with a sewing needle.

“Yes Erroi. How will you do it?” Kykvandi was outside the window. He had been listening to us this whole time. He smashed through the window, and glass shards flew through the air. When I uncovered my face, He was standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by us. I almost didn't recognize him when I saw he was smiling.

“I have a better plan. You start praying that the death I give you will be swift.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Crowen walked right up to his face. ”These people have been trying to help you, like I have. You don't want to do this.” He was pushed against the wall.

“I'm glad you volunteered yourself.” He gripped his friend by the face, and lifted him up. Hræ started stabbing at his arm, but it was doing nothing.

Milder tried to hit him with his mace, but Kykvandi used Crowen as his shield, so Milder had to stop himself. ”Why are you doing this? I thought you were our friend!”

”That is why I must kill you. I will have no more masters, no more parasites, no more friends. I will be free.” He had well and truly gone insane.

“WAIT! Before you kill us, I have a proposition for you.” He let go of Crowen, and turned to Milder.

“What could you possibly give me that I couldn't take from your cold corpse?”

“The satisfaction of combat. If you kill us now, there won't be a tournament for you to fight in. Imagine all those people you wouldn't be able to fight. Maybe you're not the only wrath demon there.” He stopped smiling.

“I think you all know what would happen if I won. So if you win, by some miracle. What would you gain?”

“If any of us win, we'll continue on our quest to the south, without you. And you'll leave us alone.”

“You couldn't possibly win this fight. You know what I'm capable of. Your only possible reason for such a stupid wager is that you're bluffing”

“And if I'm not? My team are all skilled in subduing demons. If you aren't our ally, you're just another target.” Kykvandi fixed his gaze on Milder. He smiled his crooked smile again, and laughed like a madman. He turned around to face all of us.

“You're wasting my time. I... I accept. Goodbye.” He stopped at Crowen, who was lying on the floor, bleeding from his leg. Kykvandi put his disguise on again and bolted out the window. I looked at the assassin, and he had a glass shard in his thigh. Milder helped him to the doctors near the ring. I could do nothing while Milder and Kykvandi argued, and I couldn't tell him of the latter's history if we were gonna stay as a team. So now I was asking myself again: How do we defeat him? He was too strong, and too smart for us.

Djarfr gave several great suggestions, but none could be done inside the battle ring. I was getting tired of this, and my head hurt from all the plans. I went downstairs to the inn, to cool down my brain from smart talk. As I approached the man by the kitchen, he offered me a drink and a plate of freshly cooked chicken. It was nice, but it didn't help me with my situation.

Even eating the food made me feel angry. I could be doing anything instead, but I couldn't bring myself to get out of the chair. I just kept mulling over ideas in my head. Hidden cannons would be difficult, hidden guns would be easier, but we don't have any. Poison rings don't do much against wrath demons. Chaining him would break the rules in the ring. Not having any weapons actually is an advantage because he could probably cut us into ribbons.

I finally got the courage to get up and do something.

POV: the windswept plains of the Angels

The gate to their estate was sealed closed, and Gogledd had exited out the common entrance to wait and read the books and documents he brought with him everywhere.

He had been waiting for Cefnu for an hour, and he would wait another to see his brother after his short trip. No matter how their methods and goals clashed, their bond was above the contrived reasoning of other angel politicians. He was pacing, as he was want to do when waiting for someone who wasn't on time, he noticed. He couldn't wait any longer, and extracted from his robe a scroll he had made as a copy of an codex in his archive.

The sentences were incomplete, but still pieced together a story from a race who called themselves “the ones of the grass”. The document spoke of the day their elder was to be buried. They were wreathed in large leaves, and were set to drift in the ocean. They spent that day carving intricate totems of their native wood, which had no name of its own. Then, in honour of their elder's favourite food, they all ate of the berries of the tree.

He looked up to see if he had missed anything with his eyes, and saw a horse, with his brother riding it. Once he came within throwing distance, they walked in unison toward each other. Cefnu was wearing a shirt made of scale armour, his most prized armour. Each scale was dull, and reflected little light. They stood in front of each other, and embraced strongly. Pleasantries were exchanged, and they went inside to eat.

Bison sausage was a recipe Cefnu had bought from a travelling beastman, after partaking in a few. The most important part was the allium. Smoked whole in cherrywood, to give a sweet flavour, and then the sausage was formed from the intestines and fried in the tallow. A recipe like this was too southern to be accepted into angel cuisine, unfortunately. “I had the chef prepare these for you. I feared the smoker was inadequate from your description.”

“Nonsense! the chef always makes the most wonderful foods I've ever tasted.” They both knew of the real reason they were meeting, but they still ate as they were waiting for the other to initiate. Gogledd folded first. “What did you learn?”

“Ddwyrain sent a caravan with gold south to Haski-Munnr. But that's not the weird part. It's joining with a different caravan from his soldiers with medical supplies. Veidimadr has changed advisor again. This time, it's that apostate from Gorllewin's ”

With the news out of the way, Cefnu continued eating, and soon, both brothers were ready to retreat to their respective studies, to plan their political machinations.