“This is perfect.” Ulf sat opposite Hildrid in her personal study. They’d just gotten the finalized groups for the Healing excursion. Excursions, if nothing goes wrong.

“It is very good.” Hildrid agreed, flipping through the papers looking at all the groups. Each page contained the members of a group’s names, from the first years, to the fourth or fifth year. Including, where they came from, their element, type, and stage. More information, if it was available, mostly that was only from noble sons.

Most teams were led by a healer from the fourth year, since they had more healers than normal in that year. There were plenty fifth years with great combat potential, but they’d had enough training and been to the front lines five times already, so there was little they could gain from this exercise that they didn’t gain from running mock games against each other with a squad of soldiers. That said, there were a few fifth years set aside as backup, should any group send out an emergency signal. Not that it was likely, but a prudent precaution nonetheless.

Ulf hid his grin by rubbing his chin. The fact of the matter was most of the nobles had isolated themselves to their own groups, with only the absolutely necessary amount of commoners. This opened up some of the clinics for straight forwards attacks.

“What do you think of this one?” Hildrid said, dragging Ulf out of his day dreaming. Her gray hair was pulled into a tight bun, making her already stern face, downright severe. The wrinkles and sagging only added to the weight of her authority, making her look like an old sage, wise in her years.

Ulf on the other hand was balding. He knew what hair he did have was too thin and had already grown too long again. He had liver spots on his forearms and forehead that were easily distinguishable. In his youth he’d been rippling with muscle, most of which had withered off his old bones. Now, he looked frail and thin, with a slight paunch.

He’d always disliked Hildrid for her graceful aging into a stern matriarch, while he turned into demented old man. Granted, he wasn’t even close to as bad as Vifil. The sole fact that they were comparable was insult enough in his mind.

Taking the paper, he looked it over. An interesting group. Mostly commoners with a pair of nobles in it.

“And odd pairing.” Ulf looked up at her. “Do you think they were simply unable to fit into a different group.”

“I don’t know. But have you read the names?”

Ulf turned back to the paper. He’d skimmed the contents and seen the extra information on two of them, then rightfully pulled them out as nobles. “Dovar Sworden and Esmund.” His gaze returned to her. “Both? In the same group? What are the odds of that? We should definitely strike this one. Could you imagine getting Esmund on our side already?”

Hildrid’s lips thinned. “Dovar’s been extensively trained, as has Grevor. We will have to look into them further, but I believe there’s a chance they’ll see through any attempts.”

“You don’t believe Esmund is worth it?”

Her gaze turned sharp. “Yes, Esmund is a rare talent. Unheard of. But so is Dovar. From what little I know of Grevor Starstone, he too, is an uncommon talent. They are all lined up to be incredibly strong. Grevor’s already been slated for an advancement early next trimester.”

Ulf’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He lowered them quickly, controlling his expression but he’d given himself away. He hadn’t known Hildrid had been looking into the noble family’s offspring, at least not that closely. “You’re awfully well informed.”

She gave him a dead pan glare. “The fact that I’m aware of the son of a member of the Lord’s Council, doesn’t make me well informed. The fact that you’re not is more telling.”

Ulf grit his teeth, glaring at the old bitch. Instinctively, he tapped into his power. In a split second, he’d embraced the pressure sensing the tiny bits of obsidian that permeated the stone that had been used for the room. The bits of dust they’d dragged in on their shoes. Even filaments in the air. He couldn’t do much with stone that small, but the ones in the stone-

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A will slammed into him, trying to force his surrender. It was strong, beyond powerful, even for him. Its immense weight laid on him, crushing him into the chair. He felt his back bow despite the lack of physical pressure.

But, the power was still at the same stage as he was, and he was no novice Master new to his power. He fought back, reaching for the stones. He felt her touch there too, and knew he couldn’t overcome it. Not with her Supremacy already weighing him down.

“What are our plans then?” He grunted after a long struggle, still fighting against the pressure. At this point, he was going to start to pant for breath.

“I think we leave them be, for now.” Hildrid said. The strain of their struggle didn’t show on her face. He surged against her Supremacy, fighting it back a bit. With gratification, he noticed the single lock of hair escaping her bun and the slightly pinched look on her face.

“You’ll set your grand niece on it?” Ulf asked finally, forcing his voice to sound normal despite the slightly deeper breaths. “Get her to gather Kurri’s Eye?”

Hildrid nodded once. “Unless you had anymore to discuss, I believe we’re done for today?”

“We are.” Ulf didn’t grunt as he usually did when he got up from chairs. In fact, he walked faster and more ably than he had in years just to spite her.

----------------------------------------

Grimar strode through the door to his uncle’s mansion, the walk through his estate had been nice. He’d been spending too much time in the city lately and the gardens had been a nice break. Cleansing.

Throwing his coat off, he strode through the building looking for the leader of the house. Extending his senses, Grimar found him quickly in the northern sitting room. The Serpent-Vein mansion was, despite the size, located nearly in the middle of the Capital, surrounded on all sides by the lush gardens of the estate. From novel prickly plants produced in Ankiria, to the wide leaves of shrubbery common to the Elusrian forests.

The northern sitting room looked out over the garden and past into the city itself. Walking the gardens, one felt isolated from the city. A break from the poor peasants populating the passages and vendors peddling their products. But from the sitting room, you were connected while still remaining above it.

Something Grimar sorely needed. He’d been too deep in the filth of the street, for far too long. Even now, he realized, servants were following his literal trail. With a mental effort, he took hold of the obsidian within the mud on his boots and shunted it off, using it to scrape the leather clean.

“Uncle.” He greeted the older man. “You seem in a pensive mood.”

Leif Serpent-Vein looked up from his recliner, watching as Grimar strode through the plush furniture picking out one of the more sparsely upholstered chairs. Grimar sensed his observation but decided not to comment on it.

He knew what his uncle was seeing. It was a military habit. Despite what the academy had tried to say, he was every bit the Master. His rank was just as earned as any of those old fools. He’d been to the front lines, just like the rest of them. He’d gone from combat, to deep sleep, and back to combat within an hour. Just like the rest of them. Not only that, he’d served more than his required five.

Before his stay at the academy, he’d favored the heavy upholstery similar to many of the chairs in the room. The slight pull of the scar on his stomach was a stark reminder that danger was always closer than you suspected. And not to sleep with too many blankets. So he could no longer sit in a chair he had to fight his way out of, no matter the comfort.

He preferred to fight his enemies, not his furniture.

“I just found out what the Masters’ Council is planning.”

“Oh?”

“They’ve been setting up tents in squares all throughout the city, but I didn’t know why until today.”

Grimar didn’t say anything, knowing the older man would continue in due time.

“They are moving the examination tables in as we speak. The shelves were moved in just earlier today. They’re setting up clinics and triage stations.”

“Clever.” Grimar noted, following his Uncle’s gaze over the city.

“It is. An excellent way of gaining the favor of the common folk.” He quirked a smile. “Unless the common folk know that is what they’re trying to do.”

Grimar sighed. “Should I gather the Varumgándr?”

Leif waved his hand. “No need, nephew. I’ll have word sent out tomorrow, you needn’t bother.” Leif gave him a kind smile. “In fact, you look like you need the break. You’ve been out a lot lately, found anything?”

Grimar shook his head slightly. “He’s a tethered. Smoke, I think.”

“Think?”

“That should be enough reason for us to be terrified.” Grimar ran a hand over his head. “No one should be able to hide from me. From any Master. Yet, it took me two days to be certain he was a tethered at all.”

Leif frowned. “You think he’s a watch dog?”

Grimar grimaced. “I don’t think he was trained to ‘watch’.” He gave his Uncle a long look, though his thoughts wandered to orange eyes that could nearly be mistaken for brown.