 
## Fear's Union

Book One of the Age of Ku

By James Hockley

Copyright 2018 James Hockley

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favourite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

## Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Map of the Mandari Lands

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Epilogue

Thank You

Connect with me

## Acknowledgements

Thanks go to Miai 313 at 99Designs.com for the front cover.

Thanks to Graham Meade for the map font.

## The Lands of Mandari Society

##  Prologue

—Cris—

Cris tried focussing on his surroundings, but it was tedious. There was nothing to look at. Quite literally. Just an endless panorama of uniformity. Parched earth, skeletal scrub, and not a lot else. Even the horizon was boring. Flat and blank. He exhaled, and did it noisily. It was intentional.

His riding partner turned to him and he smiled. The prospect of some conversation piqued his interest, but it was short-lived. The other man just turned away. He always did. Damn it. The silence stretched, like the plains about them.

"Where are we?"

It was a stupid question because he knew the answer, but that wasn't the point. He wanted to talk, he wanted human interaction, and he wanted to get to know...

Was he stupid to think that this man would take him seriously? He had pleaded for the chance to come on this once in a lifetime opportunity, but he was rapidly regretting the decision. He had expected to learn so much from this mandahoi, but the man just ignored him. No, he didn't just ignore him. The mandahoi looked at him like he was muck. And that wasn't fair. He wasn't just muck.

"Aleña."

That got his attention. The mandahoi's head swung smoothly round, and those hawk-like eyes cut right across him. He gulped. And then he furrowed his brow, grimacing. He could never scare this man, but he would at least stand his ground.

"We are crossing the Wastes of Mikaeta."

And then the git turned away once more. End of conversation. He was on the verge of crying out in frustration, but the natural order of authority stopped him. Aleña was in charge, and he was therefore fortunate. This was an opportunity. That was just the way of it.

The mandahoi continued to ignore him, apparently unconcerned for his mood. Silence won over, and the two travellers trekked on in infuriating silence. In the absence of conversation, his mind wandered to some dark places.

Until his stomach clawed at his boredom. _Mother Bright_ was much higher in the sky, which meant it was close to noon. Soon it would be time to find shelter from the day's heat, but first they would eat. It would probably be the highlight of the day.

They started with a rock-hard cheese on claggy bread, and followed it with a stone-like biscuit. And that was all washed down with heavily watered wine. It was meagre, but it was still the highlight of the day. Why had he come? Ah yes.

"Why did you ask for a companion on this adventure?"

The mandahoi looked at him with those eyes once more; they really were hawk-like. They weren't yellow, but something about them gave a suggestion of gold. And the pupil seemed stretched too. He had removed the polished hawk's mask for the meal, and his face was visible, which was rare for a mandahoi. Even his features seemed avian. There was a sharp but compact nose, small pointed mouth, and even a downy beard. It was a hawkish face. Perhaps owlish.

He looked at the razor-sharp weapons at the man's side and raised his eyebrows. Why would he permit such tawdry facial growth? He certainly had the tools to sort that out.

The mandahoi opened his mouth. That in itself was a rarity.

"I have told you this."

"Yes, yes, you need someone to independently verify that you're not mad."

"No-one believes me to be mad."

"Maybe not, but that's not the point. Why me? You have not said one voluntary word to me in more than a stretch of days. Damn it, I've even lost track of the days. Why invite someone along that you can't even stand?"

The mandahoi's head tipped and his face scrunched up in question. Now he definitely looked like an owl. _Bloody Brother_! This was infuriating.

"There has been nothing to say."

"But we've gone days with nothing to entertain us. Are you not bored?" The man shook his head and stayed silent. No! This was the longest stretch of conversation they'd shared, so he was determined to keep it going. "You're really not bored?"

"Cris. I spend almost all of my life on these plains with nothing for company but the wind. I am always searching, and the quiet is good for searching. So no, I am not bored."

He had to keep it moving. "Searching for what?"

"Anything and everything. I am a sensor. This is my job."

The conversation was petering, which was the last thing he wanted. But he had nowhere to go. He had at least been given some insight, which was rare. And actually, perhaps this man was behaving just as he always did. Perhaps the mandahoi had nothing against him after all, and he truly didn't bother with conversation. That hadn't registered before. He had been so desperate for rare insight into the mandahoi phenomenon that he actually had no preconception of what he would find. Then again, he would never have guessed at this. The man was weird.

Then something impossible happened. Aleña spoke voluntarily.

"Why did you come?"

"Because I wanted to learn from you."

Aleña closed his eyes gently, and smiled. Actually smiled. It was such a subtle thing, but powerful. It made the man look small and timid. Weak even. But despite this, reputation alone suggested that the mandahoi could break him with a stare. That contradiction of personality and reputation was strangely disturbing.

"I am not a teacher, and you are not a mandahoi."

That sounded quite final. "So this was a waste of time?"

The mandahoi shook his head. "If I were to give you a lesson, I would say this: observe carefully. You look at much, but you don't often see. Seeing is the first skill of a mandahoi."

His breathing shortened. He was being taught. But then it sank in, and he screwed up his face. What did he mean by that? He could see as well as anyone. "But what—"

The mandahoi's hand went up and his head spun. He focussed on a blank stretch of horizon, and then he was on his feet.

"We leave. Now. We are going to that copse." His hand pointed to a knot of gnarled trees in the middle distance. It was all so sudden. What was happening? Aleña was on his horse already, and he was still sat on the ground, legs crossed. There was nothing to disturb them, and his lips parted. This strange behaviour deserved a question. But instead he licked his lips. Aleña was the master here.

And once they were hidden in the scrub of the copse, he understood. There were horsemen coming, and they were coming for them. They had been spotted.

"Come. We need to dig further in." What was there to do but follow the sensor into the trees. He pushed the mess of question right to the back of his mind.

By the time they were settled, it was getting darker. They had been there a while, and the questions had taken shape. How the mandahoi had spotted the riders from such a distance was bewildering, and how they had been seen was even more so. They were deep in the copse, scraped and clawed by the wiry bushes that they hid within. The mandahoi had set their horses loose on the far side of the trees, which seemed absurd. But he kept the question to himself. They were now deep and watchful. They had been for some time. All was quiet and yet still they waited in silence. Always silent. It was time to ask.

"How did they spot us?"

Those golden eyes turned to him. "When you know what to look for, the signals are bright. Now quiet. We do not want to offer any more than we already have."

So that was what the mandahoi meant by 'seeing'. But there was something unsaid too. He gulped. He had definitely just been reprimanded.

The _Stranger_ was bright in the evening sky, casting an eerie red glow over the landscape. There was a strange crackling noise in the air, mixed with the unmistakable sound of dry brush being trampled. The sensor looked at him once more, and indicated with his fore and middle finger. This was what they'd come for, and his heart raced. What were they going to find?

The noise grew, and the strange crackling grew more complex. There were multiple sources, like it was a language, and every now and then there was a grumble. Or a roar. He couldn't tell. The sounds of feet were all around them, but still he could see nothing. His heart pounded in his ears, but hopefully only he could hear that. Aleña's hand settled firmly over his left fist. He had been clenching and unclenching it rhythmically. The leather glove had been squeaking. A sound erupted and he trembled. Yes, that was definitely a roar.

He wanted to close his eyes, but his companion demanded submission. He was a mandahoi after all. But the noises were all around them. Were they going to be stepped upon by these things? Whatever they were. Aleña grabbed his jaw and pointed his face at a clearing. He searched the darkness, unsure what he was meant to— And then it was there. Before him. It was as if his stomach had fallen though the earth.

It crashed through the scrub, swinging a great brute of black-steel before it. And its body was enshrined in the matt steel too, encased in a mineral bastion. Only the head and hands were exposed, but that was enough. That was enough.

Because the thing was made entirely of shadow. Black flickering shadow. It was darkness personified.

The thing appeared to be looking about – who could tell with a shadow? – but then it screamed in a peculiar combination of clicking and a serpentine cry. It stomped off through the brush. In the other direction. Away from them. Only then did he resume his breathing. It sounded so terribly loud.

He was reprimanded by the mandahoi with a finger to the hawk-mask. Was it truly that loud? He nodded and closed his eyes. His pulse throbbed in his ears and he had a headache. A terrible headache that pushed against his skull, desperate for release. What had he seen?

They waited almost the entire night. He tried speaking on a number of occasions, but each time the mandahoi stopped him with a sharp gesture. The stomping of the monsters had faded entirely, and he was itching. He had so many questions. It was only when the _Stranger_ was dipping over the horizon that the mandahoi finally turned to him.

"Did you see it?"

"Yes." They still spoke at a whisper. The mandahoi nodded, and then slowly crept from the brush. He followed obediently. Aleña was still dreadfully cautious, pointing at the ground and stepping with impossible deftness, but he followed as best he could. He was definitely student here.

But his mind wandered. What was it that he'd seen? A children's story drifted into his head: 'Dusk is Coming. That was about shadow creatures, but that was just made-up nonsense. Wasn't it? Surely it couldn't be—

The ground cracked; a twig snapping beneath his feet. He looked up and the mandahoi shook his head. His master was disappointed. And then it rose, like the clicking of an angry insect. It was a cry, the shout of a sentinel. They had been snared. Dusk was coming to get them.

They ran, but it was never going to be enough. Never. The shadows melted from the trees, surrounding them, crushing them. Dooming them. His breath misted before him, but he couldn't obscure his fate. And this was all his fault. He'd used his eyes, but he had not truly seen.

And his failing was going to be the doom of them both.

## Part One
## Chapter 1

—Anejo—

Anejo sat waiting. Always the waiting. It was so frustrating. She fidgeted a thread at the hem of her uniform, yanking it loose. Making it worse. She should stop doing that. But what else was there to do? This wasn't the Mandahoi life she'd anticipated. She wanted so much more. But no, here they were, just waiting. But waiting for what?

The whole place was grey, just like her mood. The sky was an endless sheet of slate, reaching from east to west and north to south. The various mineral shades of stone may be forgiven their blandness, but even the river in the valley far below was slow and lifeless. What little shrubbery that survived in the place lived in an ashen state, adding to the flavour. And what colour did the notorious Order of Mandahoi wear? Grey. They were called the Greys, and here they fitted right in. Only they didn't.

She had joined the illustrious and much vaunted Order of Mandahoi for the action, not the inactivity. She was supposed to be a fledgling all-purpose warrior! Sitting beside a path was the kind of work a beggar did, not a specialised killer. This was supposed to be her inauguration, but it wouldn't come fast enough. Time scraped by. Slowly.

She rocked back and forth, nothing else to do. "What are we waiting for?"

Her loyal friend barely stirred from her daydream. Xen looked wistful, and then confused, and then vaguely alert. But still confused.

"I'm sorry?"

How could she daydream like that? She really despaired of her friend's wandering mind sometimes, but this was not the place for a lecture. Her friend was probably too fuzzy for a lecture in any case. What was with the girl? She just didn't get it.

She grabbed hold of the thread once more, but decided that it didn't need further worrying. In fact, what it could do with was being mended. She was bored. Argh! She needed stimulation. What to do? Yes. She would go over the facts once more. She had done it many times already.

There were over a hundred of the Grey scattered about the high mountain pass. Most were young like she was, and on the verge of first action, but few appeared to share her excitement. A majority were reclined casually, wiling away the early morning in casual indifference. A few lids were even closed, which was shocking. There was genuine danger here, or at least she hoped there was.

But not everyone was bored. At least one set of eyes betrayed an understanding of the situation, but Aran was wide-eyed for a very different reason. He was afraid. He was always afraid. Why did he pursue this soldiering life? She meant to ask him, but always forgot.

Only a handful of the soldiers, the experienced caste leaders, were alert, but what were they alert to? That was the question that rankled.

She stood abruptly, drawing attention to herself. She didn't care. She had a knack for noteworthy actions, or at least actions that differentiated her. Perhaps it was because she was born into the ruling family of Ahan, but she had an inkling it was actually because she was a woman. Yes, definitely. She was born with a woman's body, and it had been a struggle ever since. But she had forced herself into the Grey, into a man's world, so she had come a long way. And she could still go further. It was time for confrontation.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to speak to Keles."

Xen exploded from her dreamy state and jumped to her feet. Keles, their illustrious leader, was only four years her senior, but that wasn't the point. An ocean of experience separated them. She respected the man, she really did, but there was always tension between them. She didn't know why that tension was there, but she suspected that it was because of her sex. Her acceptance into the Grey had annoyed many people, so why not Keles too? Even if he was almost a brother.

She turned to her friend, the only other female member of the Mandahoi. They had been permitted together, solidarity in friendship. But Xen was very different to her: brushing down and straightening her uniform. She almost laughed. Almost. It was a wonder they were friends at all, so different were their personalities. But they had been friends a long time, and that was a strong foundation. Despite this, they still had their disagreements.

"Don't go pissing Keles off."

Their leader stood some distance up the mountain pass. He was the most respected soldier in a generation, and he was also her field commander. In a Mandahoi system based on order and logic, nothing good could come from agitating him. But she had always swum upstream.

"Would I?"

Keles was contemplating something, but as she approached him, he turned. He did not look terribly forgiving. She breathed in, sucking a healthy lungful of air. She took hold of her weapon's grip, drawing comfort from it. Not that she would use it against Keles; that would be suicide.

It was a fine weapon, a benefit of her illustrious birth, and she couldn't wait to use it. She didn't like all this waiting, but hopefully it was almost over. Head back, shoulders wide, she carried on. She was committed.

"Anejo. Don't do this."

Xen had come too. Such a faithful friend. She turned and grinned at her. Her mouth-guard would hide the gesture, but she was sure Xen would get the point. She reached Keles and focussed on the task at hand. She needed to speak with just the correct amount of antagonism.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but what exactly are we doing?"

He did not look impressed, and the swelling of his wide chest was suggestive. He might actually explode. But he didn't. He deflated, pinched the bridge of his nose, and shook his head. This was a recurring battle.

"Excuse me?"

She needed to prod harder. She needed to find a sensitive spot. Even the pleading touches of her best friend would not stop her.

"Well, sir, we all know that it was someone else who steered us here, so what are we waiting for? No disrespect, but you don't appear to know what you're doing."

The antagonism worked perfectly, but she wasn't surprised. It was a particular skill of hers.

—Xen—

By the will of the gods – all of them – it was hard being Anejo's friend sometimes. But Xen was her friend, even after all these years, and that was really that. In some ways they were a perfect pairing: volatile and stable; rogue and prudent; there were probably others too. And most of the time Anejo's outbursts were relatively innocent. But not this time. That was guaranteed to upset their commander.

Then again, that was exactly what Anejo would have wanted. She was a destabiliser, and it was only Anejo who seemed capable of ruffling Keles. To everyone else he was the cool personification of Mandahoi control. But not here.

She stepped back instinctively. Her commander seemed to expand, like a cobra about to bite. She decided that she needed to isolate herself from the exchange. Her mind wandered.

She gave her uniform a look over, or what she could see at least. It was full of creases and the grimy marks of use. She tried smoothing the rough disturbance in the grey material, but it would not give. The grime was too stubborn. When would they return to civility? It had been too long; it always was. Her hair must be a wreck by now.

"What gives you the right to ask such questions?"

Keles's outburst drew her back. His voice was low, controlled, but there was anger behind it. Anejo had definitely succeeded in unsettling their commander. She put her hand on Anejo's arm, but the suggestion was shunned. Her friend ploughed on.

"Let's say, for now, that I speak as a member of the Jinq family."

If anything about Anejo usurped her boldness, it was her cunning. Her status as member of the ruling family opened many doors, and it was a card she would happily play. But this would be a stubborn lock, not least because Keles was Jinq in all but name. He had been adopted by Anejo's grandfather, so they were almost kin. But she had the name and he didn't. That spoke volumes.

"That holds no weight here. I am your commander."

He remained defiant, commanding, but he did not look happy. He wanted this argument less than anyone, but Anejo was as stubborn as the stains on her uniform.

And then Keles looked at her, and she flushed. No, she blushed most likely, and hid her face. But the look was enough. She imagined embracing him, holding his strong warm body. Hugging him. And he would hold her back, smelling her hair. Whispering in her ear. Nibbling her ear. And then she imagined her clothes falling away, and he would be naked too. _Glorious Sister_ , he was amazing. She just had to lay her hands on—

This was not the place! She shook her head, clearing away the fantasy. She was back where she'd been: a bland and stony path in a grey and rocky valley. Disappointing. This was not the life for her.

"Then how do I get you to speak? Something is afoot here, I know it is, and I think you do too. We gain nothing from silence."

Keles deflated at that, visibly cooling. Anejo had cleverly laid a level path, and their commander was giving it thought. Perhaps Anejo really was right? Annoyingly, she usually was. But then things got worse. The stranger approached.

"What is it you suspect, Anejo?"

This man was the living legend, and yet he was so close to her. It was somewhat suffocating, and she gawped at him. He was Kato, the Axis, a legend even when lined up against the greatest in history. But he was also a foreigner, and he was not welcome. The feats associated with this oddity were beyond the realms of belief, and yet here he was, stood beside her. Breathing lightly. Looking rather inconspicuous if truth be told. Maybe that was the only astonishing thing about him.

She had expected to quiver at the mere presence of the man, but she didn't. He was barely a shadow of his reputation, and unfathomably plain to look upon. But that wasn't the greatest puzzle. This was the question: why was he here in the first place? It just didn't make sense. Even Anejo couldn't work it out, and she thought she knew everything.

"This is not your place, Kato." Keles looked even less pleased, if that was possible. Poor man. He had so much to deal with.

"I am not here to trump your authority. I am merely curious as to the nature of Anejo's thoughts."

It was fair to say that Keles was vast; a great cliff of a man with shoulders that could span a river and legs that could support a house. Such was his size that he cast a shadow upon his antagonists.

And yet the Axis was stubborn in his interference. Just like Anejo, Kato played against natural authority. But it was different too. It was almost as if he was one string shy of a working lute, and couldn't comprehend the situation. He battled authority because he didn't understand the consequences. Fool.

But then there was the reputation. The reputation.

Anejo appeared to have forgotten her involvement in the spat, and just stared at Kato. She didn't respond to the man, which was surprising. This was a fine opportunity for someone of Anejo's aspirations.

Then again, this was Keles's command, and he would not be won over so easy.

"Both of you can go. We will get moving when I deem it appropriate. Now, leave me."

He turned, and his eyes lingered on her for just a moment. She warmed; flushed. Damn it. She looked away, looked down, trying to hide her cheeks. Did anyone see it? Anejo huffed noisily and shook her head. At least one person had seen it, but that was okay. Her friend knew of the secret relationship, though that didn't mean she liked it.

Keles's dismissal eased the pressure, and the two antagonists were left stranded. Phew. She was glad that was over. The daydreaming that she'd been so rudely interrupted from was calling. She took one step away from the congregation, but that was as far as she got. Chaos rose up in the mountain pass, and it was like an echo of her fears.

Her life as a soldier began, and she shivered with discontent. This was not the life for her.

—Aran—

Anejo's display had been outrageous, and Aran found himself marvelling at her confidence. Oh how he wished he could be that bold. But no. He was craven.

But it was not his fault.

Tension infiltrated the students about him, and he was not immune. But his was another sort of tension. The darker side of him, something that lived at the back of his head, bubbled with intent. It was like a warm alter-ego, though sometimes it flared unbearably hot. It was not a nice companion. And recently, the other half had been wrestling him for control. But he did not want to concede. He did not want to be that thing. He had succumbed once in the past, and that had made him a soldier, but that was enough. That was enough. The demonic side of him must stay locked away.

The situation changed, grew more threatening, and he hunkered down. Hiding. He saw the first rider hurtle about the stony corner, sending scree skittering into the river far below. And there was panic plain on the fleeing man's face. The darkness in him bubbled, pushing against his conscious self. Threatening his conscious self. He swallowed it back.

Further horsemen charged about the bend, and they were aggressive. These men were the reason for the other rider's flight. They were giving chase, screaming and waving their weapons threateningly in the air. The sounds of their battle-cries echoed about the valley, loud and angry. It all pressed in on him.

How many were there? Would they get to him? But then the screams died and the pursuers pulled up their horses. One hundred mandahoi blocked their path, and that would not be expected. Or welcome. Mandahoi were quick. Or at least the other mandahoi were quick. He was craven.

It was in a stunning instant that the caste leaders strung their short-bows and let fly. The accuracy was giddying, and the pursuers grunted with the impact. They lingered on horse-back for a moment, but then each slid casually away. Dead. The danger was instantly over, and he exhaled. His demon receded too. For now.

The Mandahoi seniors vaulted quickly up the road. The fleeing rider was eased from his horse, but it was clear that the man was nearly dead. Even he could tell that. Keles quizzed the dying man and Anejo buzzed about him. Every other student, himself included, stood dumbstruck a hundred steps down the path. It was when Keles laid the head of the man gently to the ground and looked up that situation became real. Keles's spoken orders wafted, like they moved through honey.

"Nazalia has been assailed. We leave immediately."

The man who claimed to be Kato disappeared in the direction of Nazalia. That was unsettling. Where Kato trod, danger followed, and according to the stories, it was usually a lot of danger. He gulped.

Soon he would be asked to demonstrate his reluctant learning, and his alter-ego purred in anticipation. He touched a patch of rough skin at his left shoulder blade, contoured and smooth through the material of the uniform. Touching that deformation was a soothing action, essential for a coward like he was. He needed his comforts. He was ushered to his feet, but slow with it.

It was not a long journey to the devastated town of Nazalia. It was a town which, as far as he could tell, had little purpose. It seemed mostly established for trade, and given its position on the border with Gorfinia, it probably elicited illegal trade. But there seemed little reason to attack it. It was a shabby looking town as far as he could tell.

He found himself shivering, half because of the cold and half with fear. But fear of what? Was it fear for what they would unveil in this mountain town? There would be plenty of danger there, for sure. Or was it what lurked within that scared him? No. Perhaps it was neither. Or both.

It was his paradox: he wanted to be a soldier, he truly did, but he could not succeed without conceding to his anger. And that anger stirred the darkness. But the more the demon grew, the more that he regressed. So he could not concede to it for fear of losing himself. He simply could not concede. And so he couldn't be a soldier.

And yet here he was. Walking into battle. And it was a battle.

The scene before him was horrifying. The Mandahoi had arrived at the devastated town, and he was part of a ten-strong group at the boundary. Nazalia was dying before him, its soul being ripped apart by rampant invaders. It made him retch, which he managed to keep to himself. What would Anejo think if she could see that? He was desperate to hide away, but luckily that wasn't necessary. He could blend spectacularly into the background. Anejo sensibly ignored him.

What a mighty soldier he made! The enemy must be quaking at his insignificance. He cringed at his own meekness, but he would rather that than the carnage of the town. Their fate was impossibly worse.

He hunkered down and hoped the horror would pass him by.

—Anejo—

This was not how it was supposed to be. Any semblance of chivalrous bravado was gone, replaced with something foul. And for Anejo, it was a new experience. Her privileged existence had not prepared her for this. It sat in her throat, hot and phlegm-ridden. She twitched with anticipation, perfectly still but poised and ready. Ready for vengeance. Because this was anger of the purest kind, hatred for the revolting scene before her, and she could barely control it. Control it though, she did. She was of the Grey, after all.

She watched the young citizen being roughly handled by her captors. The poor girl was sobbing, but it wasn't a sharp cry for what was coming. They were the racking moans of what has already passed. She could barely be fifteen, but she was over a barrel, her dress hitched up and her legs splayed. Blood was visible on the hitched skirts, but that did not deter her aggressors. The next bastard was preparing himself for his own dose of cruel pleasure. She wanted to see him die.

"You are to lead this group. Is that clear?"

It was Keles; her commander. She calmed herself with a deep breath and turned to face him, smiling behind her mouth-guard. The man's wait for perfection was really grating against her view on the situation. They needed to intervene! Her commander's eyes turned momentarily to the scene of atrocity, and then turned back to her. Not a jot of emotion. But this was not the time for conflict with allies. There were enemies enough for that. She nodded her assent.

"Good. You will use your projectiles until a caste master ushers you out. Wait for the command, and only loose when the signal reaches its zenith. Do you understand?"

She nodded again, but screwed her face up as the girl screamed again. Keles was staring right into her, probing her. Did he see what lay within? Did he see her intent?

"Good luck."

Apparently not. Or maybe he did but he wilfully ignored it. It didn't matter now.

Keles left and she was left to her furious mood, but she caught sight of Xen, clear discomfort on her face. Poor Xen. She was half inclined to comfort her friend, but they were all in the same position. This was first conflict for all of them. Then again, she had other plans, and she was going to leave her companions exposed. But she had to do it. It was the right thing to do. The ache in her gut told her as much.

She turned, and the scene before her reaffirmed her belief. The bastard was still trying to get his cock out. His friends laughed at his incompetence, and the young woman whimpered. This had to be ended.

Her short-bow was in her hands, primed and ready. Even if it was mainly for show. She eased back the chord, and her arm ached with the effort. But she didn't relent.

The tip of the arrow was perfectly angled, targeting the throat of the fumbling man, but there was a breeze and the shot would be tough. And her eyes streamed from the smoke. The town was burning. The effort of holding the chord tight was telling, as was the effort of holding her emotions in check. When would it come?

It seemed to last forever, but then finally, it did. The flaming arrow streaked though the sky, and she loosed. A sharp gust feathered her cheek, and she exhaled like she'd been winded. It was a pleasing release. And then it registered: the fight had started, and the four invaders stumbled at the onslaught. Her life as a soldier began.

Her own missile missed, taken by the wind and deposited harmlessly to the side. But others had more luck, and the bastard who had his chainmail hoisted about his middle slumped forward with grey fletch wedged in his round belly. The young woman was smothered by the dying body and she screamed, but she wriggled free and, in the confusion, ran. The poor girl's skirts tumbled to the floor as she went.

And there it was: her first victory. Even if the victory wasn't hers. But she did not dwell on it. She had other plans.

The other three invaders had rallied against the arrows, and now concealed themselves behind wooden shields. Her fellow apprentices continued their bombardment, but she was more than just a stock. She was a mandahoi. As she moved effortlessly over the rocky landscape, she needed a release. So she shouted. No, she screamed. The hatred drove her on.

She was upon them, and her immaculate weapon clawed at the defences. They seemed surprised, so she screamed again, swinging her blade wildly. Control was now utterly beyond her, and a life that she had dreamed of came into violent being. It was not as she expected.

## Chapter Two

—Xen—

Xen crouched lower to the ground, creeping forward. Shivering. The sounds of battle were all around her. Even hidden in the rabbit-warren of Nazalia's streets, the breath of danger was everywhere. In some ways, being concealed was the worst place to be. The threat was hidden from her; ready to pounce. Then again, the danger was only a part of the problem. It was the weight of responsibility which really tolled. Damn Anejo, and damn her recklessness. She really resented her friend sometimes.

She prayed that the _Brother_ , the pagan god of bravery, was close at hand. She couldn't see him in the cloudy sky. It was oppressively cloudy, but he might still be up there. Hopefully.

She turned to see only shadows behind her. The others were there, relying on her for strength, and she resented them too. She wanted to be hidden as much as the next rookie, but her eight fellow apprentices had followed her as if she were a commander. She was now their leader, their strong-willed director. How stupid was that? Her breathing was tight, oh so tight. And someone had put a lead bar in her stomach too. It dragged her down. She was no leader.

The street was miserable; a filthy place of overflowing drainage. She stepped gingerly, scanning her path for danger. Why had she ever let Anejo convince her to join this forsaken institution? She was no soldier, and she certainly wasn't a killer. She shook her head. Her senses were alert, relaying constant messages, but her will was weak. What she really wanted was a way out. Unfortunately, there was no easy way out.

Something plucked at her gut and she squatted instinctively, searching around her. She puffed her chest out and spread her shoulders, but it was a futile gesture. The devilish looking man jumped from the shadows, axe dropping fast. What should she do? Why had all her training abandoned her? She threw her simple sword up, and steel bit jarringly against steel. She yelped.

"Is that the cry of a woman, is it?"

He spoke with an uneducated thickness that mirrored his size. The appearance of the man was hard, like he lived in the constant grip of danger. And it appeared that he had formed robust protection, both physical and mental, against such a life. He was alert, and definitely angry. But there was also greed there, and something deeply unpleasant. Never before had being a woman been so uncomfortable.

He smiled grimly, revealing a half set of browned teeth. She slunk away, but he kept on coming.

"I'm gonna teach you how a woman should behave, bitch."

What a comic statement. It seemed so out of place in this situation that for the briefest moment she wasn't afraid. Then he continued his approached, and she backed up further.

"Come help me!"

None of her companions responded, and why would they? They were safe. A whimper escaped, and her assailant laughed. His would be an easy victory.

Or would it? She was of the Grey, after all, an organisation with an almost unrivalled reputation for killing. All in the name of the greater good, of course. But this man should be scared of her. He didn't seem it.

She held onto that thread, and recalled what Anejo had done just moments before. It sparked her from her paralysis. She smoothed her uniform, and the bastard laughed again.

No matter. She contained her anger, placing it carefully in a mental box, and ease spread forth. Then she closed her eyes. This was just another day of exercise, just another day of relentless repetition, and in that, her path was clear. It all happened so naturally.

He attacked; a cumbersome strike. Despite its crude execution, it was effective, and would have bowled her clean over. But it didn't. She stepped deftly aside. As her opponent's heavy axe swept past, she pressed her shoulder to his upper back and unbalanced him. He stumbled and fell into stagnant waste, sliding right into the muck. He climbed to his feet, and his face was spread with the filth. She laughed.

"You little bitch." He liked that word.

Anger flared, but it was contained, registering in her consciousness, but not altering it. This was the core skill of the mandahoi, a mental control of remarkable capacity. It was drilled into them year after year, and it was meant for moments exactly like this. Everything was so clear.

The man lunged, and she reacted pristinely, parrying the blow so that his weight shifted again. He was so flat-footed. He stumbled past, attempting to regain his balance, and it was easy to slide her second weapon silkily into his lower torso, right through a joint in his leather plate. She'd never put her weapon in living tissue before. It was a satisfying sort of resistance.

He grunted in frustration, not registering the steel which speared him. She pulled her steel out, and only then did the colour drain from his face. Blood flowed and the bastard stumbled. He clutched his belly and fell to his knees. Blood bubbled between his teeth.

"You will pay for this, bitch."

Her mental control failed, and anger erupted. It was like a shock of light. Her weapon speared his neck, and she gasped, frenzy over. She closed her eyes, but it made a sucking noise when she pulled it out. She looked upon him, and his blood. So much blood. She had done that. It seemed to take an eternity for his body to slump to the path.

Her mood receded and her actions came into sharp focus. It was horrific. She fell to her knees and shivered. She was covered in the red of her victim, as was her sword. It was clammy, like death. The stains on her uniform were dark. That would never wash out.

Her eyes were moist, but she refused to cry. She had killed. It was what she was trained for. And besides, he would have killed her first, wouldn't he? She had to kill him. But looking at him, lying there on the ground, it was hard to hate him enough. In death, he looked innocent. Softer somehow. Did he really deserve to die? Yes, he did! Her fellow apprentices crept from the shadows, and she snapped.

"Why didn't you help me?"

None of them responded. Damn it! She was not an authority figure. She wanted to cower like the rest of them. She hated her friend's recklessness, but she also needed Anejo like her sword needed a clean. She would give anything to bring her here. To make the decisions. What should she do? Everyone was looking at her.

She rocked onto her feet, sheathing her weapon without cleaning it. Her small troop stood there, not returning her gaze. There were only seven.

"Where's Aran?"

The others looked at each other in mock bewilderment. Did she have to do everything? She was certain he'd come with them, hadn't he? But he was missing now. He was the ultimate coward, and she had a strong urge to abandon him. But if anyone was less suited to warfare than herself, it was Aran.

"Bloody craven."

She muttered under her breath, but spoke just loud enough for the others to hear. The sounds of battle continued around her, but she retraced her steps steadily. She had to push her emotions right to the back of her head. This was not the life for her.

—Aran—

Aran was terrified. But of course he was. He was always terrified.

A scream whipped through the town, chilling him. But he was safe down here. Hidden. Yet this was still a place full of frights, and not least the ones that never left him. He rubbed the patch of skin at his shoulder, tracing the change in relief. It was familiar, so he mouthed the old poem too.

"Kunati will rise again."

The last line of the poem brought him such comfort. It was unfamiliar to anyone he dared recite it to, but it was buried in his past. In a forgotten past. A past when perhaps he had existence. But it was his, and in fact, it was probably the only thing that was his. He would hold onto it. He wrapped his hands about his shoulders, singing his song.

"Kunati will rise—"

"ARAN!"

What was that? His heart jumped. Someone had come to take him from this place! Was it Anejo? Yes, it must be. She was the only one who cared. Or was care too strong? It must be her.

He climbed to his feet and peered into the dank street. The barrels that formed his shield were poorly maintained, leaking, but they had served their purpose. He poked his head above the barrel, his hands shaking. He could control it, he was sure he could. He breathed deeply. It would be good to see her again.

"Anejo?"

Silence. Had he imagined it? He stood for a moment, heart beating fast. Please let it be Anejo's voice. Please.

But no. The _Father of Paths_ had never been on his side. It wasn't Anejo.

"Where are you?"

He rubbed his shoulder, wrapping his arms around his body. The voice was Xen's, and she sounded angry. She always sounded angry; at least she did around him. Did he really want this salvation? But it was too late. He had spoken out. He stepped from behind the barrels.

"There, get the little shit!"

There were two of them, running towards him. They looked terrifying; dark clothes, dark hair, evil eyes, and meaty weapons. One of them was tall and sleek with a cruel edge, and the other maintained an almighty beard. Both had murderous intentions, and why shouldn't they? It wasn't every day you got to kill a mandahoi. Prize indeed.

He tore his sword free, clutching it like it was his life. It probably was. His weapon was a _mandible_ , the weapon of an initiate, short and slim. He had trained often enough with it, but it felt unfamiliar. Unfriendly even. He was no soldier. As he prepared himself, he heaved involuntarily. That was the cowardice expanding inside him. His aggressors growled, and he succumbed to a knee. What a gallant showing.

"Get him!"

Beardy came fast, hacking down with a length of iron. It was crude, but it was way beyond his defensive capabilities. His mandible jumped from his hand. He swung his other arm up, though he wasn't sure why, but lost his footing and slipped face first to the floor. This was his moment, and it was almost over already. The darker side of him almost cracked his head in half.

He looked up as his weapon was kicked away. There was no chance of retrieving that, then. Beardy stood over him, and Skinny was just behind, smiling. Perhaps they saw him as a trophy? How wrong they were.

The darker side of him strained for freedom, but he resisted. He'd always held it back. Except once. But now was not the time. Never again. He would rather die than succumb to that thing.

"Who wants to kill him?"

A nod between the men. It appeared Beardy had the honour. The great length of iron went up, balanced over him. Ready to fall. He rubbed his shoulder, and all went dark. A shadow swept into the alley, someone roared, and a short length of polished steel erupted from the neck of Beardy. His eyes went glassy, his arms dropped, and then he was falling to the ground. Skinny was paralysed, eyes wide and mouth open, but the shock was soon over. He received the same length of steel through his stomach.

"Get up will you! You're a disgrace."

Disgrace? Yes, of course he was. That was clearly true. Skinny hit the ground and he clambered to his feet. Xen pulled her weapon free and turned to him.

"In the name of the _Brother_ , you are a mandahoi! Start acting like one."

"I'm sorry." He rubbed his shoulder and mouthed his poem. This was not the life for him.

—Keles—

Immaculate skill with a sword was only part of the Mandahoi armoury. It was the lesser part too. Any well-trained sap could wield a sword with near equalling skill. It was the mind that set the mandahoi apart.

Relentless logic and brutal single-mindedness were part of the formula, but there were so many other components too. Expert interpretation of the senses; the ability to manage and repress emotions; and an unparalleled link between thought and action. These were but a few. The universe of the Mandahoi mental landscape was a complex one indeed. Keles was a master of all these things.

A soldier of unrivalled capability, he was the marvel of a generation. He could marry speed and skill effortlessly with strategy, and this rendered him terrible in combat. He was feared throughout the land, and indeed beyond.

And now it was time to apply this craft in the mountain town of Nazalia.

The enemy were massing about a fountain at the heart of the town square. What was left of the place was an open cobbled patch surrounded by pyrotechnic shells, but the flames did not worry him. He approached the enemy with an ease that could only grow from a lifetime of achievement. They were cowering, like a wounded deer before its final desperate sortie. But wounded creatures were dangerous propositions. Desperation was not to be baulked at.

He strolled in their direction, his feet instinctively searching the slippery cobbles for the surest footing. His weapons were stowed, and he walked with a swagger that would unnerve the most stubborn enemy. These mercenaries were a simple proposition. The enemy shivered as a single entity, and he smiled.

Something disturbed his display. From a dark alley plunged a man in flight, and the reason was soon obvious. A grey fiend stalked behind him, but they were not controlled as a mandahoi should be. The chase was quickly up, and a length of steel punctured the fleeing mercenary. The victim crashed to the floor, and the mandahoi stooped over. She was instantly recognisable despite the concealing uniform, and he ran to her.

"Anejo!"

She turned on him, but she did not look at him. There was something distant about her, anger on her face. She had succumbed to her emotions, and they were controlling her. That was not the Mandahoi way. He needed to cool her and to control her. Then again, Anejo was never controllable. But still. In this moment, he must command her.

"Calm yourself. You are a danger to yourself."

She was squatting over her victim, and she may have actually snarled. That must have been his imagination. Blood dripped from her weapon and pattered on the cobbles. He furrowed his brow and looked right into her eyes. Through her eyes. The Consul, her grandfather, would never forgive him if anything happened to her. He ground a fist into a hand, and she broke. Just like that.

Her breathing turned erratic and she looked down to her victim. Then she jumped, and backed away, staring. Staring at what she had done. It was death, and it was the trade of the Mandahoi. But it was still death.

She had to see this; insensitivity to such horrors was a part of the Mandahoi way. But she was near enough a sister to him, and a young woman. It was easy to make a young man stare at his first kill, but a woman? This was exactly the reason that women should not be permitted into the Grey. He shook his head.

But then he would never have met Xen. That was a source of personal embarrassment.

He placed a hand on Anejo's shoulder, leading her away. He almost asked about Xen, but caught his tongue. That would not do. To her credit, Anejo was quickly restored and managed to calm her breathing. But her eyes remained wide. The reality had struck her hard, as he'd expected it would. He had tried to warn her so many times of the painful reality, but she was stubborn as an ox.

Then again, it was that single-mindedness that he could use to bring her back on side. All she needed was a little direction, and she'd be challenging his authority in an instant. She was always challenging his authority.

"I think you should get yourself to the streets. The town square is not safe."

She was quicker on him than he might have expected, eyes narrowed. But then she looked beyond him, and her face melted into... He didn't know what. Yes he did. It was awe.

He sensed the approaching form behind, and acid climbed his throat. If Anejo was challenging, then Kato was infuriating. He was nothing like the legend of his name. Nothing. Something in that was disappointing, but it was not for now. He had a fight to win and an imposter to ignore. Anejo had just become a welcome ally.

"Or you could help. Shall we finish this?"

She nodded. It was time to go to work. He definitely didn't want to talk to that freak. He stood, still refusing to acknowledge the man, and took a step. Anejo turned to follow him.

"Excellent work. Your students are most adept. It doesn't look like you needed us at all."

He was sorely tempted to just walk off, but the gift was too great.

"I was about to say the same."

"Ahh, but we have only just begun, have we not?"

He turned, and the legend stared with an intensity that he hadn't previously seen.

"Once we have the square secure, then we can certainly call this victory. Do you disagree?"

Kato sighed, and it was different somehow. He didn't know how, but the man was more than he had been before. His heart skipped, but he was resolved. His authority was being challenged, and that wouldn't do.

He pointed a finger at the legend, ready to unleash his disdain, but a rolling thunder spread through the mountains and interrupted his moment. Rain started, light at first but quickly increasing in intensity. He dropped his arm and stated the obvious.

"We're in for a storm."

"You think it thunder?"

There was definitely something different about the bumbling man, a surety that had not previously been there. And the plain gauze mask covering Kato's jaw did little to conceal his facial expressions. The legend was concerned. Why?

"Yes, of course it is a storm."

"If that was thunder, Master Keles, then where was the lightning?"

He felt like he'd been slapped, such was his uncertainty. A second eruption rolled through the mountains, clearer this time with an obvious source. The uncertainty leaked away, but it was replaced with something worse. Much worse. The two monstrosities rose into the sky, and he stumbled back. Onto his arse. They were real, and they were here. By the _Father's_ wanderings, they were real.

"Dragons."

He contracted, as if seeking invisibility. The dragons were vast, the length of five men with writhing snake-like bodies. They were smoky grey, a hint of orange on their underside, with fiery orange eyes. He scampered back across the floor, spinning frantically, searching for the best course of action. For any course of action. There was none. No training had instructed him on this. He was impotent.

And there was Kato, standing openly and defiantly against the monstrous proposition. The legend had arrived, and the man was unrecognisable from the bumbling simpleton of just moments before. He shuddered.

"They are sendeté; not dragons. Semantics I know, but a thing is not worth stating unless it is correct."

He swallowed back the acid again, but this time it was different. He couldn't stand this man, and yet... Could the stories really be true? He was supposed to be a legend, after all.

He watched Kato walk casually away. His doubts over the Axis were being washed away by the steadily increasing rainfall, and he still had no plan. That he couldn't help thinking of Xen only made things worse. How he wished he'd never brought her here.

Anejo was over him and offered a hand. She, at least, wasn't ruffled. If anything, there was a familiar intensity in her eyes.

## Chapter Three

—Anejo—

Anejo watched on from the edge of the square. Hidden away. Like a coward. Then again, these were rather exceptional circumstances.

The dragons dominated, making frequent attacks upon the town, but they were also being drawn regularly north. It was there, against the dark stone of a cliff, that Kato and his pupil could just about be made out. They were climbing. To what ends she had no idea, but they were climbing nonetheless. And they drew the attention of the beasts. The arrogance of the move was bewildering.

Faculty Blasetté, her chaperone, touched her shoulder. She turned to him and nodded. Why did she need to be monitored? It annoyed her, but she could do little about it. And Faculty Blasetté was actually a very senior mandahoi, so it was part privilege she supposed. But Blasetté was obedient to Keles today. This was Keles's day, his command, and it had all gone badly wrong. The dragons screamed and she smiled. Yes, this had been a very bad day for her commander. Perhaps it was Keles who needed the chaperone?

To his credit, Keles remained in the open, defying the dragons and working his sword-craft on an enemy still huddled around the fountain. The forays were generally unsuccessful since they were safely stowed behind a collective shell of shields, but such obstacles did not dilute Keles's enthusiasm. He was determined to show his use.

Urgency flashed, intuition dragging at her gut. She was drawn to a group of five mercenaries erupting from a dark street, but Keles hadn't seen them. He was the target and she must intervene. So she did. It was as simple as that.

She moved quickly, and Blasetté called after her, calling for her to stop. She wouldn't stop for anyone. She accelerated across the square, soaked afresh by the light rain, even if the downpour was easing. The five men did not notice initially, but she shouted out and Keles turned. At that, two of the five were alerted, and turned to her. She grinned behind her mask.

Arrows darted past, carving their way through the sodden air with a subtle patter. She was conscious of the missiles and of how close they were, but she couldn't worry about that. She lofted her beautiful sword, ready to make more death, and was pleased when one arrow thumped into a mercenary's torso. It did enough, and the man fell mechanically to the ground, clutching his stomach. He wouldn't be getting up again soon.

It was one on one. It would be easy. The training of the Grey was notorious, and it produced unrivalled killers. And she was good, too. Her opponent by contrast wielded his sword like an axe, using its weight as much as anything. It was almost unfair. Almost. She stepped into the fray.

Her perfect straight-edge swept up, just nudging the axe a few degrees off, and the change in momentum took the poor sap. She smiled and swept past her opponent, like a dancer. And then she stuck the point in him, in the armpit. It sunk in easy, and she shouted. There was no fight without emotion; at least there wasn't for her. Master Keles would surely tell her off, but her opponent buckled and fell to the sodden cobbles. Her blade was already free, and she wiped it on the leg of her uniform. The defeated man looked at her, pleadingly. She should probably kill him, but the emotion was deflated and it all seemed suddenly harder. She sighed and lifted her weapon. This was her job.

And then something struck her. It was like she'd fallen off a cliff.

She was flung through the air, but held onto her weapon like it was a child. It had been given to her when she was a child. She slid to a halt, her side screaming with pain, but despite this she rolled deftly onto her back, challenging whoever had assaulted her. But anger morphed seamlessly into terror because it wasn't a someone. It was a something. A sendeté landed over her and the wind from its wings pinned her to the cobbles. She stared up at death itself.

It raised itself up, screeched, and the wings flapped smoothly, still pinning her to the ground. It's eyes shone like molten magma, and its teeth were like a phalanx of bone daggers. The beast was on three feet, and already the fourth was plunging towards her. She would be crushed in an instant. There was no mercy here. At least it would be quick. She raised her sword, but it was a weak gesture.

Another gust, and her head snapped to the left. Its great claw was there, supporting the weight of the thing. Balanced. Balanced on a stumpy stone column which looked like it might topple. There was a fleeting moment of freedom as the wings swept up, but not enough to move. It was just enough to appreciate the pain. The claw was coming, and it would not be long. It wouldn't be long. Her head rolled left again, her arm pinned to her body, blade along her cheek. The tip of the straight-edge was pointing straight to the column. It did look precarious. If only it would tip. If only it would buckle.

And with that, it did.

The sendeté stumbled as its weight was pulled from beneath it. The wings reversed immediately, and the moment was earned. She rolled, and she wriggled. She clambered with her one free hand and her two free feet. The scaly claw was there, about to crush her, but she was moving. Would it be enough? So much pain. The sound was like two cliffs coming together, and pain flashed across her vision.

No time to worry about that. Her vision came back to her, and acid streamed up her throat. She pushed against her weight and found she could move. She was on her feet, and there, before her, was its great scaly foot. Right there. With everything she had, she slammed that blade through the dragon flesh. It was like stabbing a stone, but it did relent. Like limestone. The sendeté screamed.

It was a cry that echoed with the millennia. It was a cry so ancient that the very fabric of the world shivered at its outburst. A fundamental balance had been challenged, and she was the antagonist. That was worth a smile. As the beast darted upwards, clawing at its impaled foot, pain blossomed. She fell to her knees, panting.

When Keles came over, he looked different. She couldn't place it until she saw the reflection in his wide eyes. He was impressed. She had impressed him. That was high praise indeed. Her beaten torso throbbed, but she managed a weak smile. It wasn't everyday she earned the respect she deserved. It was just a shame that the cost of that respect was so high. She picked herself gingerly off the ground.

—Keles—

Keles had to say it: they were beaten. Anejo's heroics had faded, and there was only failure left behind. His failure. It wasn't a comfortable sensation, not least because it was unfamiliar. He had no idea how to approach this challenge; literally none.

The two dragons were the perfect tool to pin a hundred mandahoi in this dank mountain town, and so they were trapped. But worse than that, it was Kato who'd led them here. Kato. And yet the legend was now climbing a cliff. Why? And why would the legend lead them here in the first place? The man seemed to be made of questions.

A suffocating roar stretched through the town, and he trembled. He wasn't embarrassed about that. They were dragons. The beast swept overhead, its orange belly bright in the dull light. The rain had almost stopped now, but the passing monster whipped up a tornado of moisture that struck him. He shook the water from his eyes, and his right hand mechanically pumped the hilt of his weapon; his _paw_. It was a great lump of a weapon, half club and half sword, but against these things it seemed small. Sad. What could he do?

His senses fluttered, and this definitely was a source of embarrassment. Nothing about him ever fluttered. He pounded, dominated and shouted. That was how he did things. But here, he was a shell of his former self, cowering under the weight of the challenge. They were dragons for God's sake; what options were there? And then a connection was made. _Rhanna_ , Ahan's non-pagan god, was also a dragon. Had he done something to anger his god?

But Kato had called them sendeté. Did that mean anything? Probably not. The man was insane.

Another sweeping sendeté raised up a wet mist which covered him. He spat out the foul tasting water and wiped his face. Then he shivered. The wind was still wild, and it was cold against his damp clothing – a grey flannel uniform. He stood, watching the dragons wing away again. There really was nothing to be done.

"Sir."

He spun around and came face to face with his... No, she wasn't his sister. But she was as annoying as a little sister.

"What is it? Can't you see I'm busy." He grunted at his own joke. Things were bad.

"I've had a thought—"

"Congratulations." That was probably a little harsh. She had gone toe to toe with a dragon after all. "Sorry. What idea have you had, _magistra_?"

Emphasis on the 'a' at the end. That would annoy her. It singled her out as being of a ruling family, but also of being a woman. Denying this simple fact seemed to be her entire life objective.

"Please don't call me—"

His gut tugged at him, and the hairs on his arms raised. He read the sensation quickly. He grabbed Anejo, pulling her heavily to the ground. The orange belly swept over, low enough to reach out and touch. The breath of the thing lingered, ancient and putrid. But breath couldn't harm him. It screamed. The beasts may have the mandahoi pinned down, but they were not dextrous enough to pick out their victims. At least that was a small reason for contentment.

He looked at Anejo and there was pain etched in the set of her face. No, not pain. Agony. He eased her up, recalling where the dragon had swiped at her. The dragon. That deserved some respect, and he hadn't given it to her. Not properly. But she wound him up, and yet even that was inexcusable. He was a caste master; he should be beyond emotions. Then again...

Where was Xen? He looked around absently, looking anywhere but at Anejo. "I'm sorry; I am frustrated.". She shrugged off his rudeness. She always did.

"It seems to me, sir, that this is a well-considered trap. I think this entire setup was designed."

And then there was silence; nothing more than that. Perhaps she wanted him to coax it out of her?

"A trap?"

"Well, perhaps a detour. These dragons are here to keep us, and our group specifically, busy. They're perfect for the job. We're stuck in a trap, sir, and we need to break out."

It was probably insightful for an _initiate_ , but this was not the time. He had already worked that out and it was no longer the question he worried about. Kato was the question he worried about. Kato and the dragons.

"Your words are duly noted. Now, please return to the fringes and get some rest. You have suffered—"

"What do you think?"

Then he did look into her eyes.

"Of course it is a trap, and we have become embroiled right in it! Your analysis is profound, but it is also useless when stated after the event."

She shook her head and looked down at her bloodied hands, avoiding his piercing gaze. A fair response. She had done more today than he had, so why had he snapped at her? Because he didn't know why they were here in the first place, that was why. And he also didn't know how to escape.

"I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that, but unless you have a way out of this nightmare, your words are weightless."

He looked around the square. His caste masters and the numerous students were all well concealed, but in that they were utterly useless. They were stuck, and he had no inkling as to what the purpose of the trap could be. And why had Kato led them here in the first place? What was his agenda? He looked up to the cliff and to the climbing legend. Maybe death was on his agenda today. Maybe arrogance had soured the man and he actually believed the stories that were told of him? That would be his downfall.

"Something will turn up, sir. We're the Grey, and we'll find a way."

He shook his head as he watched the dragons swooping up the cliff. "I'm afraid that your optimism is misplaced. What we need is a miracle, a bloody god given miracle."

Then there was a tormented cry, and his mouth dropped. It appeared that their miracle was being granted after all.

—Kato—

The wind whistled, clawing at Kato, dragging him down. He climbed nonetheless. The stone was slippery from the rain, and each grip was precarious, but there was no let-up. There never was. He climbed with the same blind faith that had served him all his life. That faith had been good to him.

The sendeté had ignored him for a while, but they'd taken the bait and were now making frequent forays up the cliff-face. Their roaring was the only sound above the shrieking wind, but it was not his sense of hearing that guided him. He recognised the shape of the world around him, but more than that. He could bend the path too. At least his subconscious could. It was why his blind faith was so rewarding. He grabbed at an out-hanging rock and catapulted himself up the sheer face of stone.

The sendeté attacked.

His mind was a blissful peace in a storm of chaos. At the edge of his consciousness, just out of reach, he could sense the maelstrom of his repressed emotions; the humanity that was forced from him long ago. What was left was pure emotionless logic. Gone was the pre-tense of bumbling simpleton and gone was the outward show of social mediocrity; there was no reason to play human now. This was where he thrived, what he was crafted for. The town below was paralyzed, but he was not. He slowly unfurled the phenomenon that lay within.

It was all so clear, even here. Within the majestic confines of his mind, the scene was laid out. The game. He was good at games. Especially games of chance. The sendeté were swooping up the cliff, and coming fast. They were attacking single-file, covering the space in heartbeats. But the way out was clear, and he leapt to his right. He escaped their grip with ease.

He glided perfectly out of harm's way, jaws snapping where he'd been. Not a moment too soon, and perfectly late. The sendeté streaked past, and there was a stink on the turbulent air. He wrinkled his nose. He extended his right arm, grabbing stone with his fingertips, trusting to luck. He didn't even settle. As his feet hit the stone, he vaulted onwards and upwards. He was unrelenting.

But Jilas, his pupil, was not so fortunate. The boy screamed.

The sound of his pupil's torment caught him, and the peripheral cauldron of his mind boiled harder. Emotions flickered to the edge of comprehension, but quickly melted away. They were ghosts at the edge of his consciousness, ghosts he could never touch. He had battled the sensation all his adult life, fighting to grab a fragment of the humanity that was conditioned out of him, but he'd always failed. He was the ghost of humanity.

Here though he didn't need emotions. They would only interfere, blur the shape of things, dull his edge. No. Now was definitely not the time for emotion. But he had spent two years with Jilas, spending every day nurturing the young talent. And yet here was his pupil, dropping to a messy end in this bleak mountain town, and he simply moved on, impassive. The sendeté screeched in triumph but he just climbed. Climbing was the only path.

A pluck of his gut; it was time. His sub-conscious was carving the path. He obeyed his instincts, loosened his grip and kicked gently from the wall. He was falling, backwards, succumbing to gravity, and it didn't make any sense. He fell.

He did not fight the action, did not challenge the deep guidance, but couldn't yet see the path. His conscious mind was too slow. The spectral image of two winged beasts invaded his senses, overlaid his senses, and it became clearer. It wasn't clear, but it was getting there. He had a sense of the path.

The sendeté were approaching in a pincer, cutting off the exits. Now it was clear. This was the only path. The beasts had severed his options, so his subconscious had done the only sensible thing. It had carved a new one, and he was falling. Gravity hauled him down, and his body's momentum dragged him into a reverse spin. The wind whipped, pulling him randomly about, but gravity was greater. He continued to fall.

He was dropping head first, air gabbing at him and snapping his greys. He ignored it. He looked to the ground, dizzyingly far below, but before the ground he could see them; his assailants. One was to the left and the other was slightly right. They appeared pleased with his falling. How foolish they were.

The closer beast was flying with its back to the stone, its wings extended elegantly. Tiny movements of the spiny arms changed the structure of the wing and pushed the sendeté through a delicately managed flight pattern. It was skimming the cliff perfectly, watching him fall. He reached for his swords and was pleased with the feel of them. They were familiar friends. He looked back to his closest victim, and smiled. The grin of the thing evaporated.

The tiniest break was sliced through the heavy clouds, and the sun shone brilliant, reflecting off his straight-edge. What luck. The sendeté winced, and then a wing-tip glanced the stone and the beast flailed wildly. It wriggled, spinning itself around, back to the cliff, moving right into his path. The sun disappeared, but it had done its job. The path had been laid. The sound of scaly hide crashing against stone filled the air, but the beast's attempts were too late. The beast would not escape now.

It was in a state of bliss that he completed the turn and dug two spectral blades deep into the body of the floundering beast. Just like spearing a fish.

His victim writhed, arcing away from the face of stone and wiggling aggressively, moaning. But he clung on, like a limpet. This was the path after all. The sendeté screamed, cried, threw its neck back in an attempt to snap at him, but all failed. He clung to it, steel deep in its body. Its blood leak away; hot; orange; incredibly bright. But this was all incidental. The path was unravelling before him, and he had planned it all. Blind faith. He had always been slave to it.

He eased one blade from dragon-flesh, and shimmied until he was astride the belly. He reached forward, impaling the thing again, and then he moved on. He scaled his prey like a climber on a living mountain.

There was still a second sendeté, but he knew that was planned too. Blind faith dragged him forward and the legend continued.

## Chapter Four

—Xen—

Xen peered about the place. Everyone was mesmerised by the events in the sky; absolutely everyone. The miracle of Kato had won the attentions of all, and a strange truce had broken out. Yes, it was an unfurling story of true majesty, but she was not won over. She simply ignored it. She had eyes for only one.

Keles was standing there, entranced like everyone else and staring into the sky; exposed. He should get down. He really should get down. He was too valuable to lose, at least to her he was. She could not imagine a life without him, a life without that sense of belonging. She was his and he was hers. It was all that really kept her in the greys. This wasn't the life for her.

She smoothed her uniform and looked to him again. Her love. And it was love, she was sure of it. Just being apart was like being broken in half. That was love, wasn't it? All she needed was to see him, and that was enough. Just to know he was there; coming to her. Because he always came to her eventually. He loved her as much as she loved him. He wouldn't say it, but that meant nothing. She could see it in him. They were destined.

There was a strange double noise; two separate sources, but a common goal. It was surprising in the silent reverie of the town, but it was also familiar. She honed in on it, and her stomach dropped. That same anger blossomed, but this time it would not be forced into a box. An opportunistic crossbowman had cocked his weapon, and was taking aim. The bolt was aimed at Keles.

There was no rationality; not anymore. She leapt into the open, not a care for her security. She leapt towards the shell of enemies, and whipped her uncleaned weapon out. It was still hungry. She screamed, and forgot all about her Mandahoi training. That was not the life for her and here it was irrelevant. Could she save him? She must, but the bolt fizzed, and it was too late. Already too late. Keles dropped to the floor, but it didn't stop her. She sprinted across the open space and cried out. She had heard that vengeance was a sweet tonic. Now she only hoped it was true.

She hurtled into their midst, her weapon piercing in a skilled dance. Even despite her state, the training flowed naturally. The enemy was well protected, huddled behind a wall of interlocking shields, but the impact of her attack prised open a small gap. It was enough, and she forced herself deeper into that wound, stabbing and slashing at will. She found necks and joints with ease, such was the poor state of these mercenaries and their cheap equipment. They lay dead and dying in her path, and for the briefest moment, it felt good. A fine tonic indeed.

She swiped right, her short weapon biting steel, but the enemy rallied. The jarring impact knocked the heat out of her, and the loss of Keles wrapped itself around her. It was chilling. This was not the life for her. Keles was all that had kept her straight, and now he was gone. But worse than that: any life without Keles was not her own.

Light faded and the enemy re-formed the protective shell. She was surrounded, but she didn't really care. Keles lay out there, dead, so perhaps this was the best place to be. It was all very sudden, but that was because of the weight in her gut. It hauled down on her, lowering her mood. It was terribly heavy. She didn't think she could sustain it any longer. She lowered her weapon.

The enemy laughed. All of them. It was a deep multi-faceted cackle that rumbled through the private shell. Their leader snarled, showing off his sharp white teeth. Did he file them like that? She shuddered. She didn't want to know.

"You appear to have stumbled into our hive. I hope you can take a sting or two."

She laughed. It was not even that funny, just weird. In fact, it was the frustration that she laughed at. She should be mourning for her Keles, poring over him, but no. She was here. With these weird freaks. Comedy turned to anger, and determination came with it. Resignation was not the way. She would fight on. How would Anejo deal with this? What would she do? It was obvious really.

"You must be the queen." He was not easily provoked.

The queen shuffled forward, a pillar of light illuminating his face. He looked hard and unforgiving, a man driven by the thrill of destruction. His eyes went wide, but then they narrowed and he grinned an evil grin.

"A woman! Alive or dead, you will offer much amusement for my colony. They have been deprived of female attentions for such a long time."

She doubted that. She had seen what was going on in the town. The collective sniggered, and the tension expanded. She licked a bead of sweat from her upper-lip. Now was the time to strike, while they were distracted. She wanted to see her Keles, even in death. What would she do without him? To answer that question, she had to break free. It was time.

She struck quickly, a thrust to the queen's face. He was back-footed and stumbled, but from the shadows a shield was thrown out. Her onslaught was halted. She cursed under her breath, struggling to extract her mandible from the wood, but it would not budge. Then there was a sharp vault of pain up her right leg, and she yelped. She turned and found a short blade retreating into the mass of the enemy. It had punctured her thigh.

"Argh!"

The cry encouraged the hive into a flurry. She was stung repeatedly, though most attacks were halted by the steel-lined leather she wore beneath her greys. But some got through, and they were cruel prods: not deep enough to do serious harm. Her uniform was leaching to black where she'd been stabbed, and she was fading. Her vision swam. She stumbled, but was held upright by the press of bodies. She shook herself back into focus, and jumped at the sight. The queen was just a hand's width from her face. He eased forward so they were cheek to cheek; like lovers.

"I think you'll enjoy my sting best."

Vile hands were over her body, groping at her, tugging at her greys. They laughed, the bastards, but there were many better options. She still held her mandible, now loose of the shield it had impaled. She turned it about so that it pointed hard into her stomach, nudging it below the lip of the leather. She spat at the commander, watching the phlegm running over his grimy eye.

"I will never give you the pleasure." Keles jumped into her thoughts, and she finally heaved. Had he really abandoned her like that?

She was only a fluttering beat from forcing her stomach onto the blade, but for no conscious reason she hesitated. A dark veil descended, the Veil, and she waited. And waited. She would have to do it soon, have to, but she waited. Her patience was rewarded when the world turned to chaos. Everything changed.

Light erupted from somewhere, everywhere, saturating her tear-stained vision. The group of soldiers dissipated, melting away from her, rattled. A crashing noise came from her right, and she found her mouth was full of dust. The sudden invasion of her senses had lifted the Veil, and she sniffed hard, struggling to focus. She used her left sleeve to wipe her tears away. And then dizziness swarmed and she fell forwards, onto her blade. There was nothing she could do to stop herself. She expected a scorching pain, but that never came. It was just a comforting darkness. Her mind drifted, and there was a fleeting image of Keles standing over her, looking worried. Maybe she had passed beyond the Veil and he was waiting for her? After all, the image was incredibly realistic.

—Keles—

Keles was frantic, wilder than he had a right to be. He was beating down on the shell of enemies, battering against the stubborn resistance. But it was in vain. It was all very well having the finest swordsmanship in Ahan, but against solid wood and leather, those skills were useless. Xen stayed locked in that dark shell, and the enemy cackled. Were they enjoying themselves? He battered harder and she cried out, yelping in pain. He wanted to shout back. But a short-sword slipped out of a gap, and he only just wriggled out of the way. The chance was gone. His paw was raised above his head, ready to beat down, but he paused. His world was turned to chaos.

Anejo alerted him to the approach, and he turned, horrified. Lost. But there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He pulled back, cringing at the guttural moans of the perishing beast. Kato was sat on the neck of the dragon, his weapon embedded at the base of its head. He appeared to be using the weapon to control the descent, and he was guiding the sendeté towards the fountain in the centre of the town. He was guiding that mass of dying flesh right at Xen, and he would kill her. If she wasn't dead already. He could do nothing but breathe, and put his hope in a miracle. Two in a day seemed utterly absurd.

The beast hit the ground with an almighty tremor. The whole square shook, a visible shudder at the impact. He steadied himself, but in the chaos there was also an opportunity. Cracks had appeared in the enemy's shell. He wanted to charge, to prise open the defences and rescue her, but logic gripped him. Not yet. He would have to trust to the _Father of Paths_. He never relied on the _Father_ , being a convert to the Mandari god called _Rhanna_ , but now? Fortune was all he had to hope for.

He watched the sendeté continue with awful momentum towards the formation, and it struck with a sickening crunch. Those who were fortunate of the enemy fled in terror, and those who were less charmed were killed instantly. But those who were least lucky of all were injured beyond recovery and left with their senses. The enemy disintegrated under the weight of the impact.

The fountain, which had been the hub of the enemy formation, was obliterated by the dragon's mass. The stone structure crumbled into a cloud of dust. Fiery blood stained the damp cobbles where the beast had passed, and bodies lay strewn everywhere. The enemy that dissipated were being hunted mercilessly by the mandahoi, and the victory that seemed so utterly impossible now accelerated into being. But for him, this was no time for celebration. He scanned the chaos for the lost mandahoi, urgency in his movements. Was she still alive?

He spotted her on her knees, surrounded by dying bodies. Her short-blade was readied just in front of her belly, poised to pierce. She was wavering and could fall either way. She could fall on her back, on her side, but she could fall on her blade too. She didn't even need the will. Her head wobbled and her body tipped forward. She was going to die.

He leapt toward her, slipping in the blood of eviscerated victims and rounding a slick of internal organs. He arrived with fortunate timing, skidding to his knees and catching Xen before she fell onto the steel. Thank you _Father_. She was limp in his arms, and he eased the weapon away from her stomach. When she was lying on the ground, he stroked her hair, whispering comforts. She moaned in response, and whether conscious or not, it was a small comfort. She was living at least.

Her lower torso and upper thighs were covered in dark stains, but none seemed mortal. There was still a lot of blood though, so he ripped cloth from his own uniform and tied it tight around her stomach. She reacted to the pressure upon the wounds, her face scrunching up in pain. That was also a good sign. She was responsive.

He stroked her cheek and removed the plain acolyte's jaw-guard. Even in death, she still looked beautiful. No, not death. Not yet. Once contented, he stood and scanned the area. He needed his finest medic.

"Blasetté!"

The duelling master looked up, his slender weapon spearing the neck of his victim. He nodded in acknowledgment, removed the weapon with grim ease, and then wiped it on the crumpling opponent. Then he rushed over. But Blasetté walked casually, like he didn't understand the urgency. Then again, it was only his urgency. He pulled grim authority onto his face, hoping it was well acted.

"What is it?"

"Xen has been badly injured. She's lost a lot of blood."

Blasetté looked down at her, wincing at the stains on her uniform. He pulled a tight package from his side and unravelled it on the ground.

"How did this happen?"

"She was brave." That was probably a lie. "Will she be okay?"

Blasetté nodded, and then pulled a bottle of spirit and a roll of bandage from the unravelled package. The duelling master's hands moved with the perfect dexterity of a skilled physician, but it was still not quick enough. He watched on for a moment, yearning for an answer, but it didn't come.

"Get out of here."

He sucked down his uncertainty, forcing his mind from her. He could do nothing more for her now, apart from pray. He'd done a lot of that today. Besides, there were other matters that needed his attention. Victory may have been earned by extraordinary means, but he still wanted answers.

He found the industrious form of Kato, clinical in the destruction he had made. Gone was the sense of frustration with this oddity – it had simply evaporated. In fact, he had a sense of wanting to be close to the man, and to question him. How did he do it? But Anejo was also hurtling in the same direction, and he didn't need that. He really didn't need that. She had done great things today, but he still couldn't trust her. She was too wild. He intervened before she could stir up any more mischief.

—Anejo—

Chaos had come, but with it arrived a sense of order. That order was still very much in the making, but Anejo could not wait. Something lay very uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.

But no, hang on, there was more to this moment than her suspicions. How was Xen? Where was Xen? She saw Master Blasetté stooped over her friend, Keles stalking like the fearful lover he was. Xen had enough company already, whatever her state, so she wouldn't interfere. She would indulge her suspicions and she sought out Kato.

She arrived to see him slicing clean through the throat of his victim, and her heart fluttered at the brutality. Yes she had killed, but this man was unarmed and he'd been pleading. Now he was dead. The man's gullet gaped like a wide mouth, cut from ear to ear, and blood flowed freely over his neck. He would be answering no more questions.

"What are you doing?"

Kato stood, and then she understood. Her stomach boiled, and she looked away, retching. The lower half of the deceased was totally destroyed, a devastated mass of tissue and pulp. She just about saw the sharp fragments of proud bone, but mostly it was a red obliterated mess. Kato stated the obvious.

"It was a kindness."

She glanced back at the bloody mess, but quickly spun away, doubled over. Deep breaths. But the nausea did subside, and she turned to find Kato staring intently over her shoulder. Then he looked straight at her; into her. Keles had arrived, but the legend ignored him.

"Anejo. You said that you had suspicions. Can you elaborate on the detail?"

The tone was completely at odds with the dragon-violating authority that the man had proved himself to be. Her mouth just hung, and words would not come out. In reality her suspicions had been little more than a gut-flutter, so what should she say? But she had to speak. Then it was too late. Her commander stepped forward, blocking her.

"This is my conflict—"

"Please Keles, this is not the time."

No-one spoke to Keles like that, not even her grandfather. It was satisfying to hear it after all these years. Kato was still staring at her, waiting for her response, but more than that. He chose to hear her opinions over those of Keles. It made her tingle. Now she had to impress him, this man who was both oddity and legend. It made her giddy.

"I always knew that we'd been brought to this place for a reason, though I question from where the impetus came." At this, Keles looked rightfully sheepish. He had followed where Kato had led after all. It was Kato who brought them here. "The question was why a hundred mandahoi would be herded to this place. I suspected it was a diversion, though for what I do not know. Presumably the enemy is poised to strike where we least expect it."

As she said the words, new paths of questioning opened up. If Kato had led them here, then was he trying to trap them? But he had liberated them too. She chewed her lip and shook her head. That part didn't make sense. Keles twitched beside her, rolling his shoulders and grinding his teeth. It was a bit like a stand-off: her versus her superior, and Kato was the judge. What a judge to have.

"You are correct, Anejo. The true target is Altunia."

She basked in the flash of glory, but it quickly turned sour and she heaved. Altunia. Home.

"This cannot be true. Altunia is defended—"

The defeatist pleas of her superior faded as the facts laid themselves before her. All the evidence settled into place, and she was certain that Kato was right. The whole country had been duped, coaxed to the borders and tricked. Her home was now at risk. She came out of her reverie to find Keles falling silent beside her. The strange legend turned smartly and strode purposefully across the sodden cobbles of the square. He had a plan, and she would hear it. No. She would follow it. She chewed her lower lip and chased after him.

"You think there is still time, don't you?" Kato turned his head. His eyes were astonishing: bland grey-blue, but with a delicate golden ring about the pupil. Would he let her into his scheme?

"If I ride hard, yes. If I can get to the Consul in time, the threat may be averted."

The Consul; her grandfather. Hope fluttered into something tangible, and it turned her to action. There was a path; there always was. It was just a case of seeing it. She looked to Keles, and tilted her head. He looked defeated. Already. Why? Kato didn't look defeated. She turned back to the legend and nodded. He definitely didn't look defeated, and neither was she. Not when her home was in danger.

Her inquisitive streak was burning hot, and she would not be denied. She would follow this strange man. He had little hope of convincing her grandfather, such was the animosity towards his kind, but if she joined him...

"Let me come with you. I can help you convince my grandfather."

Kato cocked his head quizzically. "You think he will not heed my advice?"

She closed her eyes in disbelief. She had seen wondrous things by this oddity, but to witness him so oblivious to the social isolation he commanded within Ahan was strangely out of keeping. But there was a genuine question in the set of his brow. He really didn't understand his alienation, and that was the strangest thing of all. But that wasn't for now. The crisis must be the priority and she had to go with him.

"You must trust me."

## Chapter Five

—Kantal—

Kantal looked out at the ocean. It was like a sheet of glass. No, it was more than that. It was like a highly-polished sheet of steel, the mirror of his intent. He gripped the handle of his great-sword. She was coming with him, and he would be needing her.

The ship cleaved its way through the ocean, moving steadily towards unfriendly waters. The sky above was as clear as the sea below, and that was somewhat unfortunate. All five moons were proud in the sky, and that meant his fleet was illuminated. Clear to see. Even the _Father of Paths_ was prominent, if a bit ghostly, and that moon was rarely bright these days. But maybe that was a good thing; the God of Fortune was watching over him. After all, he'd always been lucky. That was why he'd always been so bold.

His mischief sailed steadily into being, and he smiled.

Reports had come to him before he set sail twelve nights ago, and more had turned up since. The birds arrived on a daily basis. It turned out that gulls were remarkable creatures. He'd never imagined they could offer such value, but out here, isolated as they were, the birds were a lifeline. His plan was unravelling perfectly.

The Mikaetans had descended upon the _Bloody Gash_ in numbers not witnessed for a generation; to the north of Ahan, the Gorfinians were pushing through the _Death's Cowl_ ; and to the south, Ahan was well and truly tied up in knots. A huge Delfinian host was meandering its way along the border, threatening an assault. An attack may be madness, but it still made the enemy nervous and, importantly, it drew them from the heartland. He chuckled. It really was devilishly genius. While Ahan was being drawn to the three gates that it so coveted, he was sailing to the soft underbelly, carried by stealth and subterfuge. He would strike them where the effect was greatest, at their capital, and they would not know until it was too late.

Nazalia was a last moment stroke of genius. The Mandahoi were always a concern; always. He should know; he hadn't earned the nickname Mandestroy without understanding their bite. And they were too numerous and too effective to ignore, but two dragons would do the job nicely. Actually, they were sendeté, whatever that meant, but it didn't really matter. The point was this: the beasts would tie the Mandahoi in knots. They had cost a fortune, but they were worth every gold stallion he had paid. They would wreak havoc for days to come.

A commotion broke his concentration.

"Land afore."

The cry came from the main mast, the voice breaking from just below the highest sail. They were nearing his mischief and he rubbed his hands together.

The crew of the Mithras burst into life, and the sailors slipped smoothly into action. They scurried up the ratlines like a swarm, seeking out the highest points of the ship. Moments later the night air was filled with the soft whispers of 'aye'. What was with that stupid dialect? He'd spent most of his life fighting his own common twang, but the sailors seemed to covet their quirky tongue. He wanted to lord his mastery of language over them – he'd never been in a position to do that before – but out here, at the mercy of the punishing ocean, the sailors were the masters. He bit his tongue.

He peered into the night but couldn't see a thing. As far as he could tell, the entire horizon was a single smooth black line, but the ship marched on, and he finally noted tiny black prominences. The _Pillars of Samal_. That was his gate to Altunia, the back door that would cost a small fortune to prise open. But when his devilish scheme succeeded, he would regret spending none of his king's money. Ahan would fall, and the fee would be repaid a thousand times. He'd dreamed of it for so long that it tasted better with every imagining. And it was almost here. He was finally pushing his purpose. Finally, after all these years of scheming.

Blinding light filled the bow of the ship, and he was dazzled by the flash, colourful blobs swimming across his vision. But he did not retreat: he had been expecting this.

Heavy fog entombed the front of the ship, and a fizzing sound reached him. A threatening glow was visible in the darkening mist, and the cloud slowly dissipated into the almost windless air. The crew were stalking the perimeter, wittering wildly, cutlass's drawn. A fight was threatening.

"Calm yourselves, there is nothing to fear."

His orders were translated and rolled out through the ranks. The atmosphere seemed to ease slightly, the fighty sailors backing away, but weapons were not lowered. The mist still hid something, but as the glowing light faded, a shadowy outline grew clearer. They had a guest. He shook the last dregs from his vision, and approached the newcomer. He hated this man.

"Is such a ridiculous spectacle really required? A simple knock would have sufficed."

Stepping out of the mist was a cloaked figure, a hood of such depth that the face was rendered darker than night. The guest was assured, almost obscenely so, and the metallic clink betrayed weaponry and armour. The advancing figure moved with ease, boots whispering over the wooden deck. A gloved hand was extended in greeting. He took the forearm of the other man in the polite manner, but did it coldly. He held the man's arm almost at the elbow. This was truly a man to be detested.

"You underestimate the power of theatrics, general. I find that showmanship lends circumstance to my intention; a most useful outcome."

His dislike grew afresh, even though it never left him. The 'Enabler' was simply an unlikeable man. He was, though, a useful man, and that's why the freak was here. He would have to endure the company, and he gestured towards the rear of the boat with his free hand.

"Let us consider your wisdom in private, shall we? I find myself a little chilly."

With this, he released himself from the grip of his guest, and then strode to the captain's cabin. His cabin. His guest followed silently behind, like a ghost.

His quarters had been boarded up and the room was illuminated. No-one else in the fleet was allowed that luxury because they were sneaking into enemy territory, but he needed light. He had work to do.

The room itself was luxurious, gilded extravagantly. There was a bed to the left, wide with a down feather mattress. It was better than any bed he'd slept in before, and it was here, on a boat. That was madness. There was a broad desk dominating the centre of the room, a large map spread upon it. There was also a host of tools on the table, none of which made any sense. Some looked surgical and some looked mechanical, and how they fitted with the map was an entire mystery. The desk itself had ornate legs, curved in the likeness of swans; very foreign. The other side of the cabin was filled with expensive furniture and two secure chests. The chests were heavy and they belonged to his king. It was his bribe. That was a lot of money, and he hoped it was being well spent.

He sat behind the wide desk and found himself fingering the edging, avoiding the gaze of his guest who settled opposite. The door to the quarters was closed by a brute of a sergeant; his 'heavy'. He'd hoped the presence of the minder would unnerve his guest, but it didn't seem to have achieved much. His guest just sat there, confident as ever. Why always so confident? There was the familiar flutter in his stomach; nerves. Even with his reputation as Mandestroy, this freak could do that to him.

The Enabler settled himself – itself – stiffly into the cushioned seat. The man really was a freak. He looked into the dark pit hiding the man's face, and his skin prickled. He smiled as broadly as he could manage, but no doubt it looked false. He was failing already, and he needed the high ground. He would achieve this through courtesy.

"Would you care for a drink Master, ah, Enabler?"

His guest's hood was so deep that even in this brightly lit room the upper hemisphere of his face was entirely obscured. But the lower half was just visible, and he cringed. The right side of the face was covered by a heavy iron mask, hard edged with a disturbingly formed pair of lips forged in the design. The left-half of the face was un-masked, and what a shame that was. The flesh of the jaw was a mottled mess of bristly skin and leathery patches. Just like a lizard. He shuddered at what might exist under the mask.

The freak breathed loudly, and there was a faint whistle where the air rushed over the facial deformation. The Enabler flexed those deformed lips, and his skin snapped and cracked. The breath wheezed out in a suffocating blanket.

"A glass of cool water would be adequate. It is peculiar to be surrounded by water, but unable to quench one's thirst."

He expected nothing less of this frugal character. Maybe he should tease him? It was all part of the delicate game of control he must master. It was just a shame that he was awful at that game. He wished his king was here to support him. His king was more of a talker.

"Would you not prefer something stronger to celebrate our, ah, arrangement?"

"You are well aware of my inclinations, General. I would appreciate some consideration on your part."

He shrugged his shoulders and deliberately poured himself a large chalice of red wine. Only then did he pick up a solid silver pitcher and pour water into a wooden tumbler. They were small slights, but he hoped that they would have an effect. The Enabler took the drink with a courteous nod and there was no evidence that he was offended. With an edge of frustration, Kantal took a sip of his drink.

He'd never been big on alcohol, and as someone who struggled with a weak ale, this was truly revolting. Like sipping tar. He swallowed the liquid down, and smiled, smacking his lips. All a game.

He reclined. Everything he tried seemed to fail, and so he needed a new tack. Here he had the Enabler, a man he deeply disliked, in a world where he was master and commander. Surely there was some way to get this man's back up? Yes, he should try. There was little to lose now.

"Why do you wear that deep hood, my friend? Are you a particular fan of Gorfinian fashion, or do you have something to hide?"

The Enabler took a casual sip, which was disturbing. His lips looked impervious to the water, water dripping off them like they were stone. He placed the wooden vessel on the desk and sat forward. Then he smiled in that crackly way. His disfigured mouth curled at the edge, and actually cracked. Like the snapping of a small twig.

"I think you'll find that the origin of Gorfinian attire is hardly a consequence of fashion. Have you ever broached that subject with a Gorfinian, face to face?"

He squirmed. He had no business talking to Gorfinians if he had anything to do with it. His command of the meeting was slipping, which wasn't surprising. His tongue was never meant for such finery, but he had to persist. Unfortunately, this man was an essential peg in his plans.

"Then I suppose you have answered part of my question, but not all. Why do you see the need for such concealment?"

The Enabler laughed, a bristly amusement rolling from the dark space under the hood. The noise seemed to crumble to a halt.

"I believe I suggested earlier that the power of mystique is a wonderful thing. I strongly suggest you consider what it could do for you."

He was being mocked, but he could not quite see how. And that was why he hated the bastard. He was always one step ahead, always had that little bit more information. He would have to attack back, and he would do it with the only tool his tongue had truly mastered: a subtle threat.

"A mystique may have some purpose, but I find an open personality is far more effective when breeding trust. I don't trust you, and I am therefore struggling to maintain faith in the outcomes I am seeking. You will forgive me if I require further evidence before I am comfortable with our, ah, exchange."

The statement lingered, but he would not break the silence. There was not the slightest change in the Enabler's expression. His guest took another sip of water and then reclined in that annoying way he did.

"My work, General Kantal, is to enable. Do you understand what this means?"

He leaned back and shrugged. "By the _Uncle_ , please do enlighten me."

"Do you think that the work I carry out will always please everyone involved? Do you believe that the events I facilitate are beneficial to all parties?" Kantal shook his head. Of course he didn't. "Very wise. Do you therefore suggest that my trade is the nurture of trust when certain parties will invariably be displeased with my activities?"

That made absolutely no sense. Of course he wasn't suggesting trust with all parties. Just with the ones that mattered. "Trust with your clients, that is what I am talking—"

"No, that is not how these things work. I am a facilitator, not a trickster. I have others with whom the bonds of trust are forged. I only enable what others seek. That is all."

He scowled. It still made no sense. He really wished his king was here. He was trapped and he didn't know why. "You dare to suggest that your employers do not always trust you?"

The Enabler reclined casually, and took another sip. He had been outdone, but it still wasn't clear. This was where the bastard lifted the veil of confusion. He knew the routine well.

"I usually find that my client's desire for facilitation is greater than their desire to trust my person. My work is to feed off the greed of others, and greed often usurps more savoury faculties. It is a most useful frailty."

It was a frightening interpretation of the human condition, but it ran disturbingly close to the truth. He could try to argue that he was not hungry for his victory over the invaders of Ahan, but he would be lying. He had dreamed of that victory every moment of his adult life. Ever since his definition. It was his purpose, and it was why his king trusted him. It was what he was made for, and it was why he put up with this bastard. He was Mandestroy, and he would retake Ahan.

But there was no point verbally sparring with this freak any longer. He sat back and supped on his wine, cringing at the taste but not bothering to hide it. This was not going as he'd hoped. The freak tapped his fingers on the desk.

"If you are so desperate for evidence of my faithful delivery, then I will be happy to offer some up. You have news of Nazalia?" He nodded. "And what is the outcome? Have you snared yourself anything?"

He sucked down a deep breath. Nazalia was his stroke of genius, his moment of brilliance that sealed the success of the plan. But it was slipping away.

"One hundred mandahoi have been embattled there." The Enabler stared back, and his dirty grin cracked even wider. He couldn't really mean that, could he? "Are you suggesting you have involvement?"

"General Kantal, do you really believe that one hundred mandahoi would roam about that desolate place without coercion? You have too much faith in fortune. I am the Lord of Chance, general. Not you."

He had not heard that one before. "Lord of Chance. That is a bold title to go by. The gods may look upon that badly."

"Unless, of course, I am the Lord of Chance; the voice of the _Father_. What do you think, General? Would you like to find out the extent of my reach?"

He chilled. His world was crumbling around him, the bricks of his masterpiece revealing varying architects. Why had he thought he could negotiate with this mysterious freak? His back was now well and truly bent, but fortunately, the end was in sight. The Enabler pushed for the goal.

"You were saying something about the exchange. I assume you are happy to proceed?"

He remained silent and walked to the chests. He lifted the lid of the first, revealing a bountiful pile of twinkling coins. In each chest was loaded one hundred thousand gold stallions, a hundred times more wealth than he could hope to own in his lifetime. Handing it over to this foul man was utterly perverse, but it was necessary. And besides, it was not his decision. He had suggested that they bulk the gift out with painted fakes, but his king denied him. His king wanted to avoid dispute at all costs, and dug deep. The sight of the second chest gave him an idea. Maybe he could still save face?

"You will understand if I keep back half of the coin as, ah, security? It will of course be paid once the services have run their course, but I am inclined to keep it close."

The freak sat silent. He was rigid, back straight in his chair. Not reclined. That was probably an indication of emotion, but he didn't know what it meant. Had he gone too far? Maybe he should have kept it simple to ensure a smooth execution. No. This was his plan, and he would command it. He gulped, on the edge between joy and horror. Which way would it go?

"You may deliver the second chest to the Lord Nadari upon completion of your passage. It is him that you will be angering with this pathetic gesture."

The Enabler rose from his seat, drained the last of his water, and moved to the chests. He stepped out of the way, but only just. The Enabler moved in next to him and picked up the other chest with disturbing ease. The freak offered a frigid gesture of thanks with his free hand, turned smartly, and departed the cabin with his cloak flowing gracefully behind. The Enabler's feet barely made a noise.

He skipped lightly to keep pace as the strange man marched to the front of the ship. Once there, the Enabler turned, bowed his head, and then issued a downward swing of the arm. Another great eruption of smoke blew up, and when the mist finally cleared, the Enabler was gone. And so was the gold. The crew chattered wildly once more.

He shook his head. The freak certainly loved a spectacle. The crewmen were muttering in wonder, speculating on whether he had flown from the craft like some winged demon, but something in the timings suggested a more mundane method of departure. He turned to the stern of the ship, noting the gaze of the captain.

"Passage has been secured. You may proceed."

The Mithras continued on its way, and Altunia would fall on the morrow. That was really all that mattered.

## Chapter Six

—Felip—

Damn it, this was not good preparation. Felip had a battle to fight tomorrow. Why had he been woken?

By his reckoning, it was well past midnight. His men were sleeping fitfully, resting before the fight tomorrow, but at least they slept. That's what he should be doing, and that's what he had been doing. But then his chief steward had walked into his dream, and it turned out to be no dream at all.

"What is it?"

"Sorry sir, but the sentries have stopped a pair of intruders. They claim that they are here to see you."

That was suspicious. He was leading a covert reserve force, and he was meant to surprise the enemy tomorrow. No-one, save the Consul himself, knew of their whereabouts. And yet here was someone who'd come looking for him. He stretched the sleep-ache out of his shoulders.

"Who is it?" The richly dressed servant shifted from foot to foot. He was a faithful servant, and he was never nervous like this. It must be grave news.

"One of the two is, ah, of your family."

Anejo. His damn renegade sister. He sighed. Surely she would not be here? His servant must be mistaken. But if it was her, then he had to see her. She would be in big trouble.

He dressed in a loose cotton shirt and casual breeches. He would be in bed again soon, so there was no point in dressing finer than that. He stalked after the steward, stomping over the hard earth, his breath misting. If it was her, she would have a hard time justifying herself this time, and maybe the Consul would finally listen. She needed to be locked away like the _magistra_ she was. She was a woman, and she should live a woman's life. He erupted into the tent, waving his arms aggressively, but he paused when he saw it was her. And he gasped when he saw what happened to her. That was no way for a woman to look.

She was bloody and beaten, blue and black. Red. This was not right, not right at all. She leaned forward in the chair, discomfort on her face and a gash just below the eye. But her eyes shone bright despite all this. What was it that drove her down this path of stupidity?

And there was a man next to her too. A warrior from the Order of the Root – a rootman. This rootman was trespassing. This wasn't his country.

"What is he doing here?"

He spat the words. He had little enough trust for the Mandahoi, but the Order of the Root was something else altogether. They were the very manifestation of religious interference, and they were intolerable.

"You owe him a great deal, of that I assure you. But it is I who wish to speak to you."

"There is plenty of room outside."

"Felip, no. He stays."

Why did she always have to disobey? It was unacceptable, and yet the Consul tolerated the behaviour. None of his troops would speak so disrespectfully to him, so why should she? She should be reprimanded and she should be stowed away, somewhere safe. Where she belonged.

"What do you want?"

She breathed and stretched out her legs, leaning back. Then she winced. She had that look in her, the one she had when she wanted the world to bend around her. The least he could do was listen before he dismissed her. She was always insightful; he had to give her that.

"Altunia is in grave danger. We need to save it, and we need your help. You must march these men to the capital."

He laughed. That was ridiculous, even if the audacity was remarkable in its own perverse way.

"Anejo, that is joke, isn't it? Altunia is protected by the gates – it always has been. From where did you muster this comedy?"

His sister sighed. "We are out of Nazalia, which was invaded. Their commander confirmed as such under, ah, persuasion. Nazalia was another diversion, and the real threat closes on Altunia. But there is still time."

He looked to the rootman, a small and awkward looking man. He would love to squeeze the intruder, but his sister was commanding he room. And yet he had an inkling the rootman wasn involved, which made him boil. What was he doing here? He would love to press the bastard.

But there wasn't time for that. He had a battle to fight tomorrow. He would invalidate his sister's claims as fast as possible and get back to bed.

"And how, sister, do you suppose that such an attack could be made? The approach to Altunia is blocked by the three gates. There is no way in."

Her response was silence. _Bloody Brother_ , how could she turn up and make such claims without even a reasoned argument? He swiped his hand in disgust, and stood. That was the end of it.

"Felip, listen to me. I don't know how, but it makes sense. Altunia, our home, is under threat, and I believe this to be true. The Mikaetans are here to distract you, and so to do nothing would be to play into their very hands. Please Felip, you have to do this. You have to do this to save our home."

That was a guilt-trip; a woman's tactics. That was the very reason she should be sheltered from all of this. Then again, his damned sister was not known for her feminine traits. And she did have a disturbing capacity for being correct.

"No! You have no evidence, and yet you ask me to abandon my station. We will crush the Mikaetans tomorrow, and then we will return to Altunia in victory. I will not abandon my duty, and that is the end of it."

She threw her head back. Her game was almost up. "What if it's true?"

He slammed his fist onto a tall chest of drawers. The guards jumped at the outburst, and Anejo jerked. Only the rootman was not impacted, but that didn't matter. He wanted the matter closed so he could get back to his bed. The following day would be difficult, for many reasons.

"I will not waste words any longer. Goodnight."

He turned and strode away, but halfway to the exit, she called his name. What was she going to try now? He didn't even turn to her.

"Fine, do as you must. But I will go and try to save our home. I'll tell your wife and children that you were too busy to come to their assistance."

He stormed into the darkness, even further from sleep than ever. He was still wide awake when his sister mounted her horse and rode from the camp.

—Aran—

Aran crouched on the battlements, looking around, gaping. He'd never been to Altunia before. It was stunning.

The stone dragon arched over the Citadel, its shadow dominating. The front claws of the statue rested on buildings that were beautiful in their own right, but under the image of Rhanna – the Mandari God – they were lessened. The dragon-god stood elegantly, its chest pumped out, head pointing to the heavens, and sapphire blue flame was shooting out of its mouth. Its wings stretched, like it was laying claim to all below, marking its territory with its shadow. The creature was spectacular, and he decided there and then. He liked the Mandari God. But there were other older gods that he was afraid of. The Stranger scared most people, but it really unsettled him.

"...Kunati will rise again."

"What are you singing? Not that ridiculous ditty again is it?"

Anejo was in a bad mood, he could tell that about his friend. Or was friend too strong? He didn't really know how to define a friend, so it was a hard question. She was angry, but that was not really a surprise. After all, her home was under threat. This beautiful citadel-island was her home, and it was endangered. That in itself was amazing.

He wished he had a home to covet. Not the place he called home: the orphanage, but an actual home. Somewhere he didn't know.

Anejo was still staring at him. Was she expecting an answer?

"Sorry."

"Oh, don't be so impotent. If you want to sing, then sing. Just hold your back straight enough to fight your damned corner."

What a confusing exchange. He hadn't meant to anger her, and yet somehow he had. All he'd done was apologise. Maybe he should try again. "Sorry."

She shook her head, huffed, and turned away. It was still confusing.

"Don't worry about Anejo. She's upset."

Anejo peered at Xen, but didn't respond. She turned back to the burgeoning threat. His friend was digging at the skin about her nails, burrowing down into the flesh. Why would she do that? He pulled his hand from the crusty patch of flesh at his shoulder, and understood. It was comforting. He beamed. Even Anejo needed her comforts. Maybe he wasn't quite the complete coward.

He turned to Xen and she smiled weakly. That was nice. Xen was usually the scathing one, but here she was on his side. In fact, she may have even looked as though she wanted to be here less than he did. Perhaps that was it?

She was sat against a stone parapet, her skin pale and her uniform spotted with dark stains. Her hair was scraped into a tight greasy tail, which was very unlike Xen. She was usually pristine. She averted her eyes, folding her arms over her blood-littered uniform. She was probably uncomfortable, looking as she did, and yet he was staring at her. Idiot. She'd almost died, and she'd saved his life. He looked away. It was the least he could do.

Anejo was in a very different state. She was focussed, staring out at the army marching through her hometown. The dragon-god may cast its shadow over the city, but that did not deter the invaders. They kept on coming.

The three of them, along with the other survivors of Nazalia, were huddled behind the battlements of the Citadel – an island fortress within the city. They were making a last stand, a final desperate defence of Ahan's capital, but against those numbers... He shuddered. Was that the wind? He suspected not.

"They won't cross, will they?"

Anejo turned and craned her neck, but didn't look at him. Then she looked back to the advancing host, still not looking at him. "They would be fools to."

He exhaled. Anejo was always right with these things, so it must be true. She had been the last to arrive alongside Kato, sneaking in before the Citadel was locked up. She'd strutted when she arrived, but Keles put pay to that. He'd sent her here, to the wings, to sit with the injured and the impotent. With him and Xen. That probably added to the mood. She was neither injured nor impotent. Well, she wasn't impotent. Anejo wasn't one to let an injury get in the way of a fight.

She still watched the invaders, so he looked behind, to the inner-Citadel and to the palace. Anejo's home. It was vast.

"Is that really where you live?"

"Yes. Now please shut up." This time she did turn upon him. Her grey-blue eyes were icy. She was not joking.

"Sorry."

"Oh, I give up!"

Apparently there wasn't a correct time to apologise.

A noise disturbed him, and he looked to the Jinal Bridge – the only route into the Citadel. It was a beautiful bridge, built from white stone, gilded extravagantly, and shadowed by the astonishing statue of the dragon-god. How could anyone assault a place of such beauty? It was a crime. A dark man trotted a tall horse onto the bridge and then halted it. He climbed down. His troops tramped either side of him, and then they paused too. The dark man, their leader apparently, then moved to the front of the host and spoke up to the gatehouse. It was Keles who responded.

The exchange was only brief, and it concluded when the Mandahoi strength was revealed. About fifty of the grey stood, and the Delfinian leader looked along the length of the battlements. Perhaps he was shocked? He should be. Anejo too was standing, guarding the doorstep to her home. He wished he had something that he would stand for with such conviction. He wished he had a home.

The moment teetered, the edge between fight and flight. The Delfinian looked around at his ranks. He was deliberating, determining his next move. Anejo was right; they had to flee. There was no other option. Not really.

The dark man turned, looking the way he had come. Just go, please. Even the thought of the battle made him shiver. There was a dark stain drifting across the sky – something burning. The Delfinian leader seemed to focus on it. They were beaten, surely. Beaten. They had to leave.

The Delfinian turned to the Citadel. This time he shouted. "You have brought this upon yourselves."

The mass advanced, and the Jinal Bridge was stained with invaders. Arrows flickered, and just a moment later, a great booming rhythm went up. They were battering their way in, and he cowered. Each thump against the gates stirred the darker part of his mind. He shivered. There was only so long he could hold it at bay.

—Anejo—

Damn the insolent bastards; they still meant to attack. Damn them and all their self-assured stubbornness. Damn them and their numbers. Damn their preparation. Damn them all, and damn that black commander most. Anejo watched as the siege of Altunia began.

She pumped the handle of her blade, nodding rhythmically. It wasn't her own blade, which was lost somewhere – buried in the foot of a dragon – but it was a sword nonetheless. It looked like she may still need it.

The enemy marched smoothly forward, meeting the Citadel gates with purpose. The mass rammed into the gates, but the booming noise suggested something more. A battering ram was safe within the body of the enemy, and they were bashing it rhythmically against the gates. If the gates held then they stood a chance, but... It didn't bear thinking about. She looked back and saw the mass of citizens penned up in the Citadel. If the Delfinians got through, it would be carnage.

Scaling ladders were thrown up, and a stream of men began the climb, wailing manically. But this at least was foolish. The enemy were on a bridge, and it was with grim ease that the ladders were tipped into the river far below. A handful of invaders were spilled, like seeds on the wind. That at least was a victory for the defenders.

But there was more resistance than just that. The Mandahoi presence was strong, and arrows flickered into the enemy mass below. But the battering rams worked rhythmically, and the gates shuddered. She pulled out her bow and nocked an arrow. She had to do something.

Xen still huddled against the battlements, and rightly so. Her friend's injuries may have been light given what happened, but they were still nasty. Xen stared back, face paler than ever, arms hugging her chest. This was as much Xen's home as it was hers, so it was no wonder. They both stood to lose a lot if those gates failed.

Aran too cowered, but his was not excusable. How had he ever made the cut? She made a note to ask him, but she'd meant to do it many times before.

She fired her weapon repeatedly, but from this distance the efforts were useless. The enemy were packed tight, shields locked in formation. They were well drilled. The battering ram continued its rhythm, and the gates bowed alarmingly, but Keles would not lie down. This was warfare, a proper siege, and anything went. And it was her home. She would do anything to protect it.

When the boiling oil spilled over the edge of the gatehouse, her heart actually fluttered. It was a brutal act, but it was right and just. Here it was just.

The boiling liquid scolded the front ranks without prejudice, and the ordered Delfinians were turned to chaos. Only then were the burning brands dropped, and the area became a bright blaze. Soldiers screamed, like women, and on the light breeze, the smell of burning wafted. It was not unlike the smell of a feast.

She wrinkled her nose, but smiled. That would turn them away.

Or not. The enemy re-grouped and came on. Relentless. The battering ram was salvaged, and the rhythm of defeat went up again. Despite all the numerous tactics of the defenders, the enemy came on. The gates miraculously held, but time was against them. Her left hand still pumped her steel, but her bow was discarded. Projectiles were useless, but from here, so was her sword. She couldn't get down there. She had to help save her home, but how? There were no reasonable options. She was stuck.

And then it wasn't about reason.

She was sure of what she'd seen, but it was fleeting. She scanned the bridge manically, but the enemy formation was tight-packed. Eventually though, she saw the flash of gold again. She had been right.

Moving through the mass of soldiers was a darker character still. He was cloaked, and he had a gold mask covering his face. That meant only one thing, and she quickly recognised the rattler being hauled through the ranks. The rattler would be packed with dark powders and wedged against the gates. One spark, and the whole lot would blow. The gates would not last.

She pulled a grappling rope from her side, and flung it at a flagpole halfway along the wall. It held first time, which was fortunate. She was always lucky when it mattered. She climbed onto the battlements, testing the grip that she had. It held firm. She leaned back, ready to jump, breathing heavily. Was she really going to do this?

"What are you doing?"

She turned to Xen. "The Black Guild is down there. Someone needs to stop them."

"No. This is madness."

She smiled, the thrill of the moment taking her. Her friend was right, it was madness. But it was also the only path. This was her home.

"It's only madness if it fails."

And just like that she flung herself into the gates of hell. She crashed onto the bridge, tumbling into a space created by the remnants of the burning oil. She got to her feet, weapon out, bruises shouting already, and she was alone. Entirely alone. Just her and a thousand Delfinians. She growled at them.

## Chapter Seven

—Xen—

Xen couldn't believe her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"The Black Guild is down there. Someone needs to stop them."

No. That was stupid, surely. It was suicidal. She watched, mouth aghast. Was there anything she could do to stop it? Come on, think. She had to stop Anejo. She rose to her feet, ignoring the discomfort.

"No Anejo. This is madness."

Her childhood friend looked back and smiled at her. She was enjoying it! "It's only madness if it fails."

And then she was gone, exploding into the enemy formation. She rolled into space, which was impossibly fortunate in itself. Did every stupid thing she did have to be edged with gold? It seemed that way. Her fortunate streak only drove her on, but no amount of luck was getting her out of this. It was suicidal, however good her swordplay was.

There was movement on top of the gatehouse. Not him too. She watched Keles ready himself, stepping onto the edge of the stone parapet. Waiting to leap. He uncoiled a length of rope, dropping it three-quarters of the way down the gates. Out of reach of the enemy. And then he dropped, descending into hell. At its end, he released the rope and dropped into the death-pit below. He was gone, dissolved into the mass of the enemy. It was suicide.

"Keles!"

She couldn't live without him, so she had to follow. Had to follow. She unclipped her grabber and swung it for the flagpole. The claw slipped over the pole, but ultimately bounced away. She reeled it back in.

"You can't go over there!"

She turned on Aran, snarling. How dare he interfere. Her dearest friend and her lover had just thrown themselves into that chaos. She couldn't just sit back and do nothing. They couldn't all be as cowardly as Aran.

"Shut up, just shut up! Don't tell me what I can and can't do, you little coward?"

That shut him up. He returned to his cowering, where he belonged. She turned to the crisis, a lump in her throat. She flung the rope a second time, but it completely missed, swinging below the flagpole. She should try it again, but what was the point. She'd never had Anejo's luck. She dropped to her knees and sobbed, her chest heaving. Then she slumped to the stone. Aran peered at her, but didn't say anything. They were both left to their own misery.

Her whole life, everything she existed for, was at the mercy of the Delfinian army. They were a famously unforgiving foe.

—Keles—

Keles couldn't believe the stupidity of the girl. It was pure rebellious insolence. She swept into their ranks, skittling men this way and that, landing in a small space. He sent quick instructions, ordering the arrows to focus on her – to keep her alive. What was she doing?

Her blade flashed elegantly, he had to concede that. But ability did not diminish idiocy. And this was an idiotic act. There was no certainty in this outcome, and that spoke volumes. She was too volatile for a mandahoi, and she could never master her emotions. It was her weakness, and it drove her to wild acts like this. She was mindless, dangerous, and idiot—

There was a guildsman down there too. That was why she'd jumped. And there, there it was, in amongst the press of bodies. It was a rattler. The gates would never hold, and she had been right. Was she always right? The _Father_ had a way with her, and he frowned. Maybe the Archmaster was right about her after all.

He rolled his shoulders, loosening himself for his own act of madness. No, not madness. Necessity. He uncoiled the rope and turned to his Mandahoi seniors.

"Keep the arrows flying. Protect Anejo and get that guildsman."

Then he stepped forward, the air snapping his greys, and gravity grabbed him. He was assaulted by the wild whip of the wind, but he dropped straight and true. He pulled his _paw_ from its place on his back. It was a great brute of a thing, half hammer and half sword. He released the rope, dropped the final stretch, and the heavy weapon crushed down on his unsuspecting victim. The poor fellow didn't stand a chance.

The enemy were dazzled by his entry, and the rhythm of the battering ram faltered. He took advantage, and swept his _paw_ in a wide arc. There was nothing deft about this combat, nothing refined and precise. The weapon had weight, and with his bulk behind it, it clubbed great gaps into the opposition. The blunt edge broke bones and battered steel plate, but most would survive his onslaught. But that didn't matter. He just needed to smash his path to Anejo. It was not far.

Arrows whispered as he got closer, and the cries of the dying were more obvious. One last sweep of his club, and he was though the ranks, stumbling into a small clearing. Anejo's killing circle. His breathing was frantic – there was not enough air in the world – but he was alert too.

And there she was. Anejo was spearing her latest target, remarkable efficiency in the act. He had to smile. The arrows flickered past him, and the enemy couldn't close the gap. He strutted into the space, trusting his fellow Mandahoi to avoid him with their projectiles, and went to her. In turn, she was hunting down the guildsman.

A cry from up high caught him, and he turned to see the enemy being rallied. The shield-barrier was re-formed, and the arrows lost their bite. Time was against them. He turned, and Anejo was on the case. She really was rather good, and the guildsman died.

But from under his body, a crackling trail of sparks spread out, and smoke drifted up. The blanket-fuse was lit, and the rattler was primed. The gates would not withstand that blow. Time was very much against them.

"Get here!"

He grabbed her, authority in the act. She had done well, but failure still loomed. They had precious little time. The rattler, a semi-dome of heavy iron, was in position against the Citadel gates. Within that quarter sphere would be packed a frightening volume of powders and explosives. The gates would never hold.

There was only one option, one path, and he reacted instinctively. That was the way of the Grey. He sprinted past the fizzing carpet of dust, dragging Anejo and pushing her into the space between the rattler and the edge of the bridge. The explosive weapon would usually be held in place by long poles and a body of men, but Anejo's impact had startled the enemy. The thing would be uncontrollable when it blew, devastating, but the gates would still succumb. Unless of course...

He threw his _paw_ away – that weapon was useless. He wouldn't need it where he was going. He had never been lacking for strength, but the rattler was a mighty weight of iron. He hauled at it, turning the explosives away from the gate, and his muscles strained terribly. He grimaced, eyes tight shut, fire stretching through him. He heaved like he had never heaved before, like he would not live beyond this moment, which was a very real risk. But the rattler was stuck where it was. It was a stubborn bastard, just like he was.

Anejo added her weight and the margin was earned. The mass of iron slid awkwardly at first, but they gained momentum, and the gaping mouth of the thing yawned; it was packed tight. The enemy stopped their advance, but there was nowhere for them to go. The blanket fuse spread into the mouth, and he pulled Anejo roughly behind the iron dome. He pushed against the pressure of the blast, and held his breath.

The world turned upon him, pressed into him, but he resisted. He was disorientated by the crash in his ears; such destruction. The world grew hot, so damned hot, and he closed his eyes. He screwed them up. His vision was stained with fire, the heat grew, and he retched at the pressure. Anejo cowered within the midst of his embrace. Then the noise peaked, clawing at his ears, tearing at him. But it was more than noise. Vibration pummelled his eyes, his teeth, his bones, until finally, it ceased.

And there was silence. It was a strange state.

Everything stayed white, stamped by fire. It was like a ghostly blanket had descended. The silence broke, but only by a high-pitched wailing sound. He looked about, not seeing anything. Was this death? Was that the sound of the dead coming to greet him, the wail of his past? Was this really the other side of the Veil? No, it couldn't be, it was not the time. He had not said goodbye to Xen. He had not kissed her. He couldn't go just like that. Something moved within his grip, twisting and writhing. He didn't understand, but then it was obvious. Anejo was unwinding in his arms. Was Anejo with him in death? No, this was not death. They lived. Thanks be to the _Father_ for that.

There was a cough, a scream, and the moans of the shattered. The wailing died away, and these sounds became more pronounced. More real. He was alive. Battered, but alive. He turned his head, and his vision stayed blank. Had his vision been scorched? Had he lost his sight? Was he blind? No. There was the hint of green in the blankness. The blanket was just a mighty mist, the cough of the rattler. He felt the wood of the gates, and blissfully it seemed intact. The mist wafted away, and it was confirmed. The gates had bowed terribly, but they still held. Just. They had been lucky.

He looked to the bridge, to the scene of carnage. The enemy were not so lucky. That was enough to turn the bastards back, surely. Surely. The enemy was devastated. But in the white mist, a shadow formed. It flickered, blown about by the wind, and then it grew. And then it had form. A vast weapon unveiled its length, and a soldier came stalking behind it. It was the enemy commander, and he was famous. This was the man they called Mandestroy.

But this was not a fair fight. He had no weapon, no energy, and barely any sense. He stepped and stumbled, steadying himself with a hand. His hand settled on something steel; something. Thank you _Father_. It was a crude weapon, not Mandahoi-made, but any weapon would do. He climbed to his feet, his head lurched, and he fell again. The man came closer; their commander; Mandestroy. Come on!

He climbed to his feet once more, and just in time. The weapon of his opponent swept down, and he responded. But it was slow. He was on the back foot. The weight of the attack was astonishing, and his muscles screamed. He has asked a lot of them already.

He stumbled a third time, rolled away, but his snarling enemy stalked after him. When he had his feet again, the fight was already lost. He was battered to the floor again. It was only a matter of time, and he searched for Anejo. Surely she could help him? No, she couldn't. She was still balled up by the gate, behind the discharged mouth of the rattler. This was his disaster to overcome, but it was beyond him. It was too much. The Mandestroy had come to turn the tide, and he needed a miracle. Another one.

—Kantal—

Mandestroy. That is what most men called General Kantal. The Grey Plague and the Maul were other permutations, but Mandestroy was the original and the best. He had earned that name and the reputation that went with it. It was not earned lightly.

The reputation was how he, the fifth son of a blacksmith, had won his place as an officer. He'd trodden where others didn't dare, and he'd succeeded. He killed the mandahoi, but more than that: he battered them. On that day, the first time, his reputation was forged, and he'd ridden the wave of notoriety ever since.

And here he was, living the name. Growing the legend. And this was Keles too, a legend himself amongst the Mandahoi. Keles's death would taste sweetest of them all, even if he was on his last feet.

The man looked pathetic, wobbling and swinging a scrap of metal wildly. The mandahoi kept opening and closing his eyes, like couldn't see, but he was not one to pass up an opportunity. The _Father_ had always been with him. He dropped his own beautiful weapon in a killing arc. It impacted with a dull ring, and the scrap of metal shattered. His victim was beaten, already. So easy.

His small army had been brutalised by the guildsman's wares turned on them, but the death of Keles would stir the men. He still had the numbers, the battering ram, and the gates looked precarious. Victory was still within his grasp, and he would take it. He had to take it. His king had paid enough after all.

The smell of saltpetre filled the air, mingling with all the other odours. He wrinkled his nose. It was difficult to breathe in this environment, each intake grating in his lungs. But in many ways, this was where he was most comfortable. He'd been made on the battlefield. It was what he was good at. The mandahoi legend was scuttling backwards, fleeing, but it was only a matter of time. His magnificent sword tickled the mist and he smiled. It was almost too easy.

The other mandahoi, the one who'd swept in first, was still balled up by the gates. He would take that trophy too at some point. Why not after all? That would be two new blades with which to embellish his shrine, and this man's would top them all. But he wouldn't take that stump of steel in the man's hand as a trophy. No. He would need to find Keles's true weapon to take from the field. It would be easy to find.

But first, to work. He had to kill the man, this grey demon. He whisked his great sword down in a killing arc once more. And it was stopped.

The other mandahoi had come to play after all.

No, it wasn't the other mandahoi. They were still balled up, by the gates. This was a third one. Oh well, it didn't matter. This one would die like the rest of them. None could withstand the Mandestroy.

He swept at this new one, teeth gritted, growling. This new grey was quick, snake fast, but they all were. It had not stopped him before. His great-sword danced from side to side, swiping at the two slim weapons of his opponent. Two weapons was unusual. It implied he was a master of some sort. But that was okay. He was practised, and he could overcome the best of them. His training was relentless, the _Father_ was in his court, and his stubborn streak was undeniable. He ate Mandahoi for breakfast. Or lunch. They'd been late.

The moment blossomed. He would have his victory, regardless how many mandahoi stood in his way. It really didn't matter.

But this one's greys were paler than usual. There was no caste either; just a gauze jaw-mask. Skirts flowed from the waist, and there was a delicate silver circlet woven into the hood. They were all unfamiliar signs, but that wouldn't stop him. He would not be denied his victory.

The mandahoi angled his arm back in a terribly awkward way. Bad for the mandahoi but good for him. He threw his left hand up and tangled the mandahoi's second weapon in the teeth of his gauntlet. His right hand then hissed forward, great-sword spearing with purpose. He smiled. The mandahoi's armour would never hold up to this.

The sword thrust onwards, and there was almost no resistance. Literally none. But his smile faded as he saw the truth. He had missed his mark completely. His balance failed and he stumbled forward. With that, his victim turned aggressor.

Somehow, unbelievably, ridiculously, the man had twisted his torso out of the way, and his steel had slithered right past. The man's other arm was still bent awkwardly, but in a frightening turn of velocity, the weapon accelerated. Kantal threw himself forward, a last-ditch attempt to avoid the blow. He hit the floor face-first, dizziness taking him, and then there was a mighty blow to the back of his head. And then darkness.

Hazy colours appeared, and then stars, followed by a swimming image of the stone cobbles. His recovery was a stuttering affair. He shook his head, ridding himself of the final dregs of dizziness, and steel pressed into his temple. Sharp and cold. His breathing rattled, and his head throbbed.

"Look."

Of course he obeyed. He had a sword to his head. One weapon was at his skull, controlling him, but the mandahoi's other steel was pointing to the fields of Ahan. The mist was clearing fast now, and there was something out there. It wasn't obvious at first, but after a heartbeat it was. There, in the middle distance, was an army. And it was a much bigger army than he had. The banners of Ahan snapped proudly. He'd lost.

Time was against him, and the gates of the Citadel might as-well have been made of stone. A horn called out, and his ranks of men took to whispering from their place on the far side of the bridge. The effect was immediate. The fight was gone, resilience stripped away, and his men turned to flight. The blade swept from his temple, and he watched the mandahoi walk away.

He got to his feet, and his head throbbed. He scrunched up his eyes, swaying where he stood and balancing himself on a fellow officer who appeared at his side. The undeniable victory he'd planned had soured totally. It was utter defeat, and he would have to give his king the bad news. He may well still die.

But before he went, he had to know. "Who are you?"

The mandahoi turned to him. He was so small, so awkward, and so insignificant. How had he done what he did? The strange mandahoi cocked his head. He looked inane. "They call me the Axis."

The bastard. What kind of fool walks around with an arrogant one-word moniker? The Mandestroy stumbled from Altunia with the taste of blood on his lips. He was not used to tasting defeat.

## Chapter Eight

—Keles—

His head was banging. It was not pleasant. Keles strode through the immaculate open space of the Citadel, head dipped. It must be at least part due to the smoke inhalation, but there was something else. It was more than that. The standard by which he measured himself had changed. He was vastly inferior, and he had a headache.

The Citadel was still bristling with the population of Altunia. The crowds were creating a din which compounded his pain, and he growled. Why didn't they go back home? They probably needed direction, but he was busy. They could sort themselves out. He didn't really care; not now. He would be selfish for once.

So much had been spinning through his mind that he was struggling to piece it all together. But all threads ultimately led to one place – he was less than he had been before. He was a shadow of Kato. He was inadequate. Every fibre suggested he should detest that man, but he couldn't. Not anymore. The feats were simply too... There were no words.

And he also owed his life to the man. That grated.

"Have you made up your mind?"

The bumbling man strolled arrogantly beside him, but it didn't annoy him anymore. Kato's everyday persona was certainly bewildering, but not annoying. Not anymore.

Kato was short, and his physique was slight too. His hood was down and the mask was off, and his face was even plainer still. He had short brown hair, a round face, and dark eyes with an unusual gold band around the pupil. That was the only intriguing thing about the man, that band of gold in his eyes. That and the fact he was a dragon slayer.

"I fear the choice was made for me."

Kato stopped abruptly, getting caught up in the tangle of his own legs. He only just side-stepped an oncoming citizen. How could this walking disaster be the same man? It was ridiculous. Once Kato had returned to his side, he puffed out assertively.

"I do not like to think that I coerced you."

"Not intentionally, no. But your acts offered me little resistance of will. I am a man of intrigue, and you are intriguing. It's simple really."

Kato gusted. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is a compliment." It was hard to believe he'd said it.

He was reconsidering his options, he really was. This man was awkward to be with, frustrating, and even annoying. Genuinely annoying. Did he really want to expose himself to a prolonged period of this? Really? But it was obvious. Of course he did. When the opportunities were so great, the means became almost irrelevant.

But before that, he had to free himself, and to do that, there would need to be two difficult conversations. Well three actually, but only two were really hurdles. Archmaster Hephesta would accept his resignation. Of that he was certain.

"Will you stay here until I return?"

Kato shook his head sharply. He did not like to wait. Was that all he really knew of the man?

"How long will you be?"

"Perhaps ten nights. There are matters to be sorted before I can step out of my old boots. Are your suspicions so urgent that we need to leave immediately?"

Kato seemed to glaze over, switching from social inadequacy to absent wisdom. He really was incredibly volatile. "Nothing can wait anymore. Time is the enemy no-one recognises until it is too late."

What an oddball.

"Nonetheless, you will have to stick around to relay your part in events here."

Kato transformed back into Bumbler, and Bumbler turned to him with a glare. It was unnerving. Until that was, Kato walked into a round merchant. It was hilarious to see the legend bumbling around in apology, but he didn't laugh. He just raised a smile. Kato was most displeased.

"I have no place reporting to your Council or your Consul. These are not my concerns."

"Then how do we explain your quite highly proportioned involvement?"

He turned away, and swept his hands about artistically. "You may regale them with stories of my magnificence for all I care. I need not present myself to those stuffy politicians."

"And how do we explain your mysteriously coincidental presence in the mountains about Nazalia?" That was still the nub of the matter. How did he know? But more than that: why did he lead them into a trap only to get them out of it again? It was undecipherable.

Kato shrugged. "Lie for all I care, or refuse to answer. My sources are my concern, and mine only."

That wasn't quite true. They were probably his now too. Or they would be soon.

"Then say as such to the Consul, but the words must be yours."

Kato skipped around a citizen. "Is that an order?"

"Yes, it is. I still lead here, and you owe an audience at the very least. You never know, the Council might want to heap praise upon you."

Kato snorted. "Will you always be expecting me to obey your requests?"

He shivered at that quip. He would be giving up a lot once he'd committed, but his gut told him that it was the correct thing to do. And a mandahoi always follows his gut.

"I will be your pupil, and I will obey your every command. However, I am not your student until I resign. In the meantime, I command."

Silence followed, and that was probably as close to a response as he would get. Did he really want this?

The pair broke free of the masses and stepped up to the battered Citadel gates. The heavy doors were ajar, partly to allow the population out, but mostly because they didn't close anymore. On the other side were two problems he would need to overcome, and he wasn't looking forward to it. This would not be easy. He turned to his tutor.

"You should stay here. I don't think you'll aid this delicate situation."

Kato shrugged once more. Apparently, that was a positive response. He nodded in return, and walked through the beaten gates, towards his obstacles. The sun was bright on the other side of the gates, but it was not warm.

—Xen—

"Are you okay?"

"Well my hearing is back."

Well, that was good. There was nothing in return, though. It was not as if Anejo was the only one to have suffered. The least she could do was ask after her lifelong friend. So what if she hadn't been battered and beaten earlier today? Yesterday, she had been punctured by numerous lengths of steel. The signatures of that attack littered her body and the pain throbbed in a more integrated way. It had become part of her for the time-being, but it was still deeply unpleasant. All she was after was a little sympathy, but no. Was that too much to ask?

"How about you, are you feeling alright?"

It was fortunate that she tended to keep her opinions to herself sometimes. No, most of the time.

"I've been better."

But her day was instantly improved, and each ache was lessened. He walked into the light, and even his silhouette was warming. He had the frame of a god. He was her god.

She and Anejo were reclined against the Citadel gate, resting against scorched wood. Most of the mandahoi had been ordered away, back to the Academy. There they would start their recovery, their celebration, and their mourning. She and Anejo had stayed behind. Anejo wanted to see her family, and that gave her an excuse to stay too. Keles was the real reason for her lingering.

"Master Keles. I trust you have prepared your yarn?"

She looked at her best friend. Was she trying to wind him up? Did she always have to be so confrontational? She smoothed down her ragged uniform, but didn't know why. It was a state. She looked into her lap and peered from under her eyelids. Her pulse quickened to the pace of a hummingbird.

"I think I only part-own this collection of events. I am minded to leave the yarn-weaving to someone else."

Anejo sniggered. She was so cruel! So what if he had followed Kato's advice? They had all survived, and that was all that mattered. Wasn't it? She shuffled along a bit, away from her friend. There may still be a backlash. Anejo was a superb agitator, especially when it came to Keles. When Anejo spoke her mind, there was little to do but hunker down and weather the storm. She was well experienced with her friend's masochistic tendencies.

"So you're going to be relying on Kato, again?"

The blast never came. She peered up at Keles, expecting to see the familiar shape of anger. But it wasn't there. He was impassive. She looked closer, and there was something else there too: a weakness. That wasn't her Keles. He was not as upright as he usually was, and it was worrying. He was a man who thrived on confidence, so she'd rarely seen him deflated. Or maybe never. She couldn't remember.

"And I'll be relying on you." It was backlash, but not as she knew it.

Anejo stood instantly, breath tight and rapid. Her hands twitched, and she looked at Keles, mouth agape. It wasn't often that her words backfired.

"No way. That is not my responsibility. You were the commander, and so you must report to the Council. I am just a 'prentice."

"And a damned fine one as you insist on telling us. This is the opportunity you've been rebelling for."

That was true. Anejo's every action was designed to build a reputation that her gender alone denied. This was her opportunity to stand toe to toe with her brother and her grandfather, but perhaps that was more than she actually wanted. Probably not, but she was not about to say it. Her friend still scowled.

"No, no way. You must be there. That is the correct procedure."

"And when have you been concerned for the 'correct procedure'? Besides, I have some urgent business to attend to."

That shut her friend up, and she could not repress a small giggle. Anejo's eyes flashed. They were not friends in that moment.

"And what exactly is this 'urgent business'?"

Anejo did not look away from her, but the words were meant for Keles. She looked to her lap again, but despite this, her heart fluttered.

"Believe me. I would rather face the Consul himself."

What? He glanced at her, but it was fleeting. What did that mean? Her pulse raced and she fidgeted, wanting to get up. Wanting to speak. Wanting to... She needed answers! She was breaking.

But he hadn't said anything yet. There was no reason to worry. She didn't know what he meant. It could be nothing. But it could, equally, be everything. She turned to her friend, hands clasped before her.

"Please."

Anejo shook her head slowly, disappointment plain upon her face. There was something else there though, perhaps an understanding. Maybe Anejo had seen the same thing that was giving rise to her own doubt. Why did Keles need to see her? He never needed to see her. She always cornered him. Perhaps that was the root of the issue. She shuddered. It would be cruel to say that her friend would enjoy her misery, but sympathy was not likely. She simply needed this news from Keles, whether good or bad. She would break otherwise.

"Fine, I will cover for you. But you'd better make the most of this situation. My grandfather is unlikely to be pleased."

She nodded and smiled. It was strangely formal. Anejo turned to Keles, glaring. Keles did not melt under the gaze.

"It is your brother I would worry about if I were you. Come Xen, we must leave."

He walked off, just like that. What was this about? Was he leaving her? Anejo grabbed her arm and smiled in a shallow sort of way.

"Whatever he says, remember that I am yours forever."

She nodded and turned. She was going to follow her heart. She only hoped the path was still passable.

## Chapter Nine

—Kantal—

Kantal owed his life to the captain of the Mithras. That was annoying. The man was a smug bastard. This boat was the only one still floating, saved by the foresight of the cursed sea captain. The others were now burning shells, skeletal beings of gaunt angles and distressed lines. Just like his ambitions. The sky was smeared with the grey haze of defeat; his defeat. A few wisps floated over the city, signs of how close he had come, but close wasn't good enough. It never had been. Many had come close, but all had failed. He was another mark on that list.

How?

He leaned against the aft rail, watching his defeat settle in the distance. He had escaped, taken swiftly by his horse to the sanctuary of this ship, but others had not been so fortunate. Many others suffered.

The enemy masses – and they were masses – were spreading over the horizon, descending to the edge of the estuary. Why were they here? They should have been at the borders, embattled. That was the plan. Had the Mikaetans betrayed him? No, that wasn't it. There was no point in that. But the enemy had arrived, and his faithful men were dying.

Some of his men were wading into the water, pleading with him to return and save them. But he couldn't. He had to leave them to their fate, and it was all because he'd failed. They were being dragged under by their heavy armour, and they were doing it willingly. His men would rather die than be prisoners of the Mandari heathens. But he couldn't go back for them. They were dying for his failure, and so he would watch. He recognised a few faces, even at distance, and recounted a few stories. They were good men, lost to some treachery. Yes. Lost to treachery. It must be treachery. It must be. There was no other way his plans could have failed.

What were they doing in Altunia in such numbers? The place should have been empty; a ghost town. But no. The damned Mandahoi monsters were flaunting themselves upon the ramparts. Not just any mandahoi either, but Keles his damned bloody self! The greatest for a generation, a man who should have been patrolling the embattled fringes of the country, and instead he was here. What was he doing here?

"Ouch." He was clawing at the wooden rail, and his nail bent back. He grimaced, and looked into the water, at his disturbed reflection in the wake of the ship. At his failure. He had spent a lot of his king's money, and he had failed. It would be hard to tell his king, and he wasn't sure he'd survive that meeting. They had a strong relationship, but was it this strong? He wasn't so sure.

There was a cough, and he turned. The bastard captain was right next to him.

"Has exit been secured? I was not aware this was a return journey."

The words scalded him, and he jerked towards the man, grimacing. Threatening. No, he couldn't. This bastard was his salvation. He smoothed over his reaction, easing up and putting a hand to the small of his back. He grimaced, pretending pain. It was not hard. His body was a rich feast of the stuff.

"I fear that nothing is certain now. Act on the assumption that enemies will be at every corner. I suspect we have been deceived." That was the truth of it too. He had paid his way through the door, and smoothed every possible crack. It had been underhand, devious, and brilliant, and yet it had failed. It was a double-cross, a bloody double-cross. It had to be. All that planning; all that effort; all that money. Gone. It was the Enabler. It had to be. That was a relationship with an alarmingly lacking basis.

The captain nodded, a sneer at the corner of his mouth. He was regretting his earlier arrogant behaviour, such as it was. But he'd been so confident. It was the perfect plan, and it had failed. And now he had to rely on this man to take him to his king. That was no pleasant prospect.

"I will tread carefully. And oh, by the way. A gull arrived."

He froze. What was this? News of some sort, and probably too late. He grunted in response.

"It was from Nazalia. It appears that two dragons made a grand appearance there, wreaking all sorts of havoc. Remarkable, huh?"

He shivered. "Indeed. What fortune." The captain toyed with him, sneering. "And?"

"The dragons are dead. It appears that the enemy have a dragon-slayer in their ranks."

The captain walked off, leaving him to his simmer. It was the Axis. It had to be. Who was he? He was a freak, that's what he was. Keles was the greatest Grey of a generation, and yet this man was something else entirely. It was the Axis who'd undone his precious plans. The Axis and the Enabler.

He called out to the captain. He needed at least a tiny victory, and he captain duly turned.

"They were sendeté, not dragons."

It was semantics, but it was all he had. The Axis and the Enabler had relieved him of the rest.

## Chapter Ten

—Felip—

It was a ghost town. His town. Altunia; the capital of his realm and the seat of his family. To see it this way was deeply disturbing. It was penetration of the deepest kind, a blow to the core of Society. Such a blow could mean only one thing: he had failed.

The town itself was intact, but the life had been sucked right out of it. The streets were empty, only stray animals prowling the cobbles. It was only by the will of _Rhanna_ that the situation wasn't immeasurably worse. And that was the best way to think about. It was a miracle. It had nothing to do with his damned sister.

He let his horse choose the route. The beast had trodden this path many times, and he was distracted. He gazed at the tall houses of the Old Town, appreciating the fine architecture like it was new to him. The damage was mercifully light: the odd overturned crate; a handful of broken windows; wisps of smoke snaking where a stable had been set alight. It was almost impossible that nearly a thousand Delfinians had stampeded through here not half a day ago, but of course it was possible. It was possible and very real. They had fled before him, but they had been here, at his home. They had invaded his home.

"Sir."

He followed the pointing had, spying a woman emerging from a house. She was dressed in her robes, colourful, and made up for a day in the market. She wore an expression of surprise, but little more than that. Yes, they had definitely been lucky. They had arrived with immaculate timing.

But his sister had at least some part in all this. He could not deny her absolute involvement.

When she'd left his camp, he was left with only shadows for company. The deep dark of the night crawled around him. He'd tried to sleep, but his rest was fitful at best. His dreams were littered with images of his wife and children and their possible fates. And that was enough. He could not leave it to chance. It was simple really.

_Mother Bright_ was just caressing the horizon when he stormed from his tent and summoned his fastest messengers. A plea of apology flew to his grandfather shortly after, and his small army was marching in the opposite direction. Back to Altunia. It should have been a tortuous decision, abandoning his grandfather like that, but it wasn't. It was easy. If the risk existed, it was too high.

But of course, he needed to cover himself. But that was easy. If his sister was wrong then he would blame her stirring. But if she was right, then it had to be the correct decision. His grandfather would support him on this, of that he was sure.

A message arrived from the van and her claims were vindicated. She was right. She had a knack with that. Damn it and damn her. At least he had acted. He had to hope it was enough.

The scouts came back with dark news, and the pace was upped. Yes, his sister had an annoying knack for being correct. By the time the sun had reached the midday zenith, he was within sight of the walls. The Citadel withstood, only just, but at the appearance of his army and the blaring of his horns, the enemy fled. It had been immaculate timing.

That was such a fine sight, the flight of the enemy. The Delfinians. He was charged by the fight and invigorated by the victory, leading his cavalry in a chase after their scattered ranks. They didn't stand a chance. They chased the Delfinians to the estuary, cornering and butchering them. No mercy. Only a handful of officers escaped, but that was a small price. They had come so close to the edge, but they had been saved. His sister had saved them. He wiped his sabre clean and growled. He would not give her the plaudits.

He rode through the town, head high, bewildered by the fortune of it all. The damage was so light that he even considered muttering a prayer to the pagan god, the _Father of Paths_. Had the _Father_ intervened? Such an act would be needless though. This was his family's realm and his God's realm. Any luck was their own.

His horse arrived at the height of the bluff and followed the road onto the wide upper-avenue that led to the Citadel. This was the hub of Ahan, its social and political centre, and it was tainted, bearing the brunt of the attack. But it was intact. Ahead, across the ravaged Jinal Bridge, the gates of the Citadel were badly scarred. But they were still firm and the enemy had not entered. He trembled with relief. That was his home. His wife and children were behind those walls. He swallowed and grimaced. He had to be strong in front of the people.

His horse moved along the avenue, and he stared left and right at the damaged properties. Windows were smashed, stone-work buffeted, and doors ripped from their hinges. The ornate trim that lined the glorious street had been stolen from its fixings, and a few scorch marks showed where fire had been employed. The population was slowly filtering back into the town, returning to their homes and their destruction. But even here, at the heart of it all, they had been lucky. So lucky. The faces of the population were grim, but they should be tankful. Someone had been merciful today, regardless of which god it was. It didn't matter.

Or was it his damned sister's hand? Was it her luck? He shuddered. She would now be gone, running back to her beloved Academy in the mountains. Keles commanded here, but the Mandahoi commander's story would bend to the gravity of his will. Keles was a near-brother to him, but Keles didn't have the name. He was an orphan and he was lesser for it. This would be his victory, and he smiled at that.

A merchant looked straight at him, and for a moment he baulked. He should drop his head in the proper manner, shouldn't he? He was of the ruling class, the Mind of Ahan, and as a servant to the people he should dip his head in respect. It was a strange custom, but it was what it was. Today though, he was in military garb; he was the Fist of Ahan. He was the protector, and his head could stay high. He nodded at the merchant and scanned the destruction, such as it was. He had intervened in a timely fashion, and his grandfather would be impressed. That's how he would spin it. This could have been a lot wor―

What in hell's clutches was she doing here?

She was sat against the bedraggled gate of the Citadel. The wooden door was all but falling from its hinges, a wide sooty mark betraying the extent of the damage. Contrasted against that dark stain was the pale uniform of a lone mandahoi. But it was not the one he expected to see. His sister was sat there, staring unwaveringly at him, hands polishing a single blade with latent skill. Her hood was drawn back, her hair loose, and her face exposed. It brought a lump to his throat. She was beaten bloody.

"What are you doing here?" His horse pulled up beside her. He was up high, but it didn't seem to bother her.

"Waiting for the Consul."

Consul? She never called him that. It was always grandfather. What was she up to? "He will be busy upon his return."

"I know he will."

There was something bubbling just below the surface. She was not revealing everything. "Where is Keles?"

She shrugged. She still refused to look at him. It was intentional and wilful. It always was with Anejo. He boiled. His damned sister was getting beneath his skin, peeling back his composure, scratching at his mood. He jumped from his mount. She needed to see the gravity of the situation, but she was as stubborn as usual. How dare she.

"I suggest you start speaking."

Now she looked at him, daggers in her gaze. "Why?"

"Because this was a serious breach of security―"

"I know it was. I was the one to warn you unless you've chosen to ignore that fact. I was here, underneath the gates of our home, fighting for its survival. See this vast black stain? I was down here when that was created. My ears still haven't stopped ringing, and my skin is tingling from the blast. I know exactly how severe this crisis was because I was the one to avert it. Now, are you going to stand there pissing me off, or are you going to leave me in peace?"

Hot disgust bubbled up his neck, souring his throat and burning the roof of his mouth. He looked about, gauging the audience. Thankfully they were near enough alone.

"You will never speak to me like that―"

Her head snapped up and for a moment she seemed dangerous. Genuinely dangerous. He didn't like the way she was stroking her sword. "Get over yourself. This is my victory, and you're not having it."

"How dare you make such demands of me. I am the heir to this country, never forget that. You are nothing but a jumped-up tearaway with a loose leash, but no doubt this fine display of chaos will convince our grandfather of his mistakes. You'll be locked away even before you have a chance to wear this bravado that fits you so badly." She did not respond, but did not exactly seem apologetic either. "Now, where is Keles? I need his account of events."

She smiled. She actually smiled. What was she about?

"Keles is not here. He has departed on, ah, urgent business."

The explanation was lacking, but the implications were clear as day. His guts twisted. This wasn't really happening, was it? She was little more than an unruly child.

"And who is to report on the Mandahoi intervention?"

The words slapped him so hard that he physically reeled. "I am, brother. This time, it is my word against yours."

Now was not the time. It would look callous, and petty. He narrowed his eyes, focussing on the act. But she was rigid and unmoving. She had always been impossibly stubborn. She would be relishing this opportunity, accepting it wholeheartedly. He needed to prepare his position.

"I suggest you find a bath. You will not be permitted audience in that sorry state."

He turned away and walked his horse through the gap which had been carved between the two great gates. It appeared the enemy had not completely dissipated. He needed to trample his sister into the dirt.

## Chapter Eleven

—Master Blasetté—

Was this room always so dark? It was oppressive. Caste Master Blasetté sat rigid in his chair simply because there was no other way to sit in it other than rigidly. That was the point of their design. He wound his shoulders, loosening the ache. It had not been long since the fight, and he needed rest. It might be dark outside, but he could not tell. Time had lost its definition.

"Then we have decided what we must do?"

Always the centre of discussion, Anejo stirred more interest than any mandahoi since Keles himself. With Keles though, the praise had been easy. With Anejo, it was always unwilling. The Seat certainly wanted to offer their support, but her rash nature drew prudent outcomes. It had taken a long time to earn consensus. Even now it was reluctant.

There was a general mumbling. No-one was truly happy with the outcome.

"It will be interesting to see her response. Much can be gleaned of a temperament from the response to such news. We will be watching her closely." Archmaster Hephesta looked around the table. Each member of the Seat nodded in turn.

Anejo over and done with, that meant that they were drawing close to the end of proceedings. They only had one student left to appraise. It was Xen's turn.

"So, we move on to Xen." Archmaster Hephesta shuffled in his seat. "Does anyone of the Seat support Xen's ascension to the rank of caste member?"

The Seat was the name for the collective authoritarian structure of the Mandahoi, and he was one of nine members. He was the head of the lion caste, the master duellist amongst a group famed for their duelling capabilities. He was also the gatekeeper for the honour of wearing the lion-mask, an honour most associated with courageous deeds in the field. Xen had had a remarkable time in Nazalia, but could he call her actions courageous? He was not so sure.

The room turned to him, expectant. After all, he was best placed to appraise her actions at Nazalia. Faculty Eldin – his equivalent from an academic perspective – grimaced. That man was not easy to please, but he would not cow under that aged stare. Xen had done remarkable things and the vast injuries that littered her body told of a shuddering bravery. She had surely done everything required for the caste. Surely.

But no. It didn't quite fit and something was missing. He had quizzed Keles, but the illustrious master had not offered enough. His mind was not changed. There was something untoward there, and he had to agree with Eldin. It was too early. Or perhaps it was too late. There was something concealed beneath the surface where Xen was concerned.

And that was a question he truly toyed with: should he share his fears with the Seat? Keles had buzzed around the patient, pressing for a quick diagnosis. He'd been acting like he cared, like there was more to it than master and pupil. He had acted like he had a personal cost associated with Xen's injuries. Put simply, that was against the rules for that very reason. But did he have enough evidence to raise it? It was a big claim.

"Caste Master?" It took a moment to realise he was being queried, but he was quick to compose himself. He had a big say here, but not yet. He would probe further and tease out the evidence.

"No, I do not support her ascension to caste member." Eldin stared rigidly, and nodded. At least this appraisal would be easy. For now. "There was recklessness, or perhaps desperation to her actions. She is not a lion, or at least not yet."

Faculty Eldin sat back and nodded. He didn't like agreeing with that stubborn man, but he was right here. She was not ready. At that, the room quickly settled into agreement; everyone was eager for rest. Xen was still very young, and her career would be long and prosperous if she abided by the rules. He would need to do some digging, and he would need to do it soon. Something didn't smell quite right.

"I assume that no-one will argue with the rewards of steel and rose?" There was a general murmur once more, and everyone shook their heads. The presentation would be five days hence and he hoped that she would be back to receive her awards. She had gone missing, as had Keles. That only fuelled his suspicions.

But that was not for now. He needed rest, and a comfortable bed. Why they had to carry out the appraisals so soon, he did not know. It was not like he was going to forget what happened. Besides, Aleña was not here. It didn't seem right that the Seat could work with only eight members, but that was not his decision. He was just a caste master. Archmaster Hephesta ruled here.

That being said, Aleña was rarely here at all. He was always searching for that scrap of evidence that would support his wild claims of the Gathering Dusk. The man was becoming obsessed with it.

"Right then, we now need to consider our final student."

What? Another one. Who else was there? His body ached from the firm wooden torture of his chair, and he wriggled about, searching for comfort. The door opened and he stopped his fidgeting. A young student was being led in by a caste superior. He went cold with recognition, the poor lad. Every ache announced itself, and he wriggled deeper into the chair; not that it helped.

But it would be worse for this young man. Aran did not look easy in these surroundings.

—Aran—

This was a new one. Aran mouthed his poem and stroked the back of his hand the same way he would stroke his shoulder. His hand was not the same comfort as his scarred shoulder, but he wouldn't move them for fear of doing something wrong. He was in enough trouble already.

The senior mandahoi strode into the room ahead of him, straight back, head high and hands clasped behind the back. He had a definite aura about him. It was as if the caste-superior considered it a privilege to be here, which it probably was. This was the Seat after all. Unfortunately, for him, it was not a privilege. This could only be bad.

The sound of steps halted, and he stopped. The caste-superior blocked any further progress, and he had almost stumbled into the back of his... What was the name of someone who walked you into a room? He should probably move from behind the man, but that would only lead to unwanted exposure. There would be enough of that in a moment.

"Initiate Aran is here to see the Seat." It sounded very formal and he bowed his head. That would surely look respectful. Unfortunately, his guide – was that the correct term? – swept an arm about, and whacked him on the forehead. The senior student grew flustered, which was funny. He smiled, but the Seat did not stir. The eight men stared rigidly at him. Why only eight? Were there not nine upon the Seat?

"Thank you, caste-superior. You may leave."

His fellow student turned smartly and scowled down at him. He sidled out of the way, making room. The student shook his head and walked past him, a scathing look on his face. It was not unfamiliar. Was he hated by everyone? He rubbed the rough skin at his shoulder. It barely worked.

It was a surprisingly small room for the centre of Mandahoi governance, but in many ways that was not surprising. Frugality and abstinence from ownership were cornerstones of the famous Mandahoi mentality, and these fitted him well. Unfortunately, he failed in every other aspect. The place was dark though, which was somewhat at odds with his expectation. Clarity and liberty were also fundamental to the Mandahoi, and they both seemed absent in this room. It was a wonder the Seat could function at all.

"Initiate Aran, what is to be done with you? It pains me that we must still call you by that moniker after ten years of training, but alas; that is the fact of the matter. Do you relish the lack of expectation upon you? Is that it?"

His small hopes were dashed, but they had been small. This was not going to be easy. Archmaster Hephesta spoke the words with not a hint of emotion in his voice, as might be expected. He didn't need any emotion in his voice because his face betrayed everything. The Archmaster was disappointed. The Archmaster was usually disappointed where he was concerned.

"No, Archmaster." He dipped his head, but the prickly gaze of the Seat wouldn't leave him. They were watching him closely. Caste Master Blasetté smiled weakly – he had been at Nazalia – but Faculty Eldin glared menacingly. He was wary of Eldin above all others. Where most dismissed him, that man hated him. It was not an easy relationship.

"Then what is it, Aran? You were presented an opportunity to prove your willingness. One arrow, that is all we asked of you. Only that! By the _Bloody Brother_ , you are a mandahoi. You must surely recognise the task associated with such a calling. Are you nervous, or simply incapable? Did you even string your bow?"

He shook his head and lowered it further. He had in fact revealed steel, a much greater feat, but that hadn't exactly turned into an act to be proud of. He could still see Beardy and Skinny when he closed his eyes.

"Then what do you need to prove yourself? You are a mandahoi, a warrior of _Rhanna_ , and I'm afraid that involves both danger and difficulty. You seem to fear both. Am I right?"

Well, no. It was neither difficulty nor danger that drove him to inadequacy. It was something inherently within him; that bubbling rot. Did others experience the same thing? If so, how did they deal with it?

But it didn't really matter. Regardless of whether others could, he didn't think he'd ever be able to master that side of him. It had him shackled. That rot had made him a soldier in the first place, and each time he faced a soldier's fate, his cowardice won out and the other side of him grew, but he still resisted. It was only a matter of time before the effect was irreversible. He would dearly love to talk about it, to discuss this deficiency, but two things stopped him: shame and fear.

So no, it wasn't danger and difficulty that he was afraid of. It was shame and fear. Embarrassment was by far the easier option.

He nodded pathetically and the Seat sighed collectively. This was not going well.

The rot was in him now, coiled in his stomach. But it was asleep, or at least resting. Warm tendrils still crept through his body, reminding him of its presence, but his mind was his own. His mind at least was his own for the time being, but he feared that might be temporary. The thing was growing in strength.

"Then what can we do to overcome this fear of yours? Your ability is not totally lacking, but a mandahoi is as much mind as he is substance. What do you need from us? We're here to help you."

He wanted the sensation to disappear; that's what he wanted. He wanted it gone. He wanted to free himself of the times when his alter ego rose up, squashing him down. At those times, it was almost as though he looked out upon his body from above, like he was spying on himself. It was not a nice perspective. He didn't know which was worse: the coward or the monster. At least the coward was unobtrusive.

He had fully succumbed to the sensation only once, and he wanted to close the door on the possibility of a repeat. If his character had to be sacrificed, then so be it. But he also wanted to be a mandahoi, and that was a problem. Believe it or not, this was the better part of his life.

"Maybe something less dangerous. I don't think I am a lion."

Eldin snorted, and Caste Master Blasetté looked at the man. Was Caste Master Blasetté sticking up for him? Perhaps; he had been at Nazalia and would therefore know the horror. The rest of the room diverted its gaze; all except Archmaster Hephesta.

"Of course, I can sympathise. The circumstances of Nazalia were unique and I daresay terrifying. Had this been an isolated incident, then I would have no concern whatsoever, but it is not isolated. You have perpetually failed to meet the required standard, the necessary mindset, and without that you can be no mandahoi. Do you understand this?"

He nodded meekly. How pathetic was that? A hand from the Archmaster pulled the attention of the room upon him. He dug his foot harder into the stone floor, hoping it would give way and swallow him up. It would probably have been a challenge to look more pathetic, but he didn't care. He wanted this done.

"You will not be honoured. Every one of the students at Nazalia – initiates, apprentices, those with and those without caste – they are all being presented some reward for their actions. You are not being honoured, Aran. Does that not shame you?"

What could he say? It certainly shamed him that he would be a failure where all others wore the badges of success. But shame was no obstacle compared to the one that lived inside him. He nodded sullenly and drew a deep sigh.

"Then consider this your final warning. No-one in this room wants to see you leave," at that Eldin twitched, "but the Mandahoi can carry no passengers. Take stock of what has been said, seek the help you think you need, but in the name of the _Brother_ , prove to us that you have what it takes."

He nodded rapidly, like a bobbing owl. "Yes Archmaster. Thank you Archmaster."

"Do not thank me; I do not wish to be thanked for this. Just prove yourself and bear this in mind. If you find yourself at the door of the Seat once more, then it will likely be your last. Now go."

He shuddered, sensing the rot uncoiling within. He turned and shuffled from the room, stepping through the door which was being held open by his guide. His guide smiled sickly. Was his misery really such a source of amusement?

But he was free and he was still a _sapling_ – still a mandahoi for now. He may hate much of the Academy, but there were fragments of a life here – Anejo being the best example. If he was expelled, then he would just have his old life back. The horror of that possibility did not bear thinking about. It encouraged his alter-ego and squashed his conscious self deep down.

The path was as obvious as it had always been; he wanted to be a mandahoi. He just needed to work out how to do it without conceding to the rot.

## Chapter Twelve

—Anejo—

She had wanted this, and now she didn't. Anejo sat in her grandfather's solar, fidgeting. The prickly eyes of her brother were all over her and her grandfather's staring wasn't helping her nerves. But that wasn't all. There was a legend in the room and she gulped. Damn Keles and damn his horny meandering. It should be him in this seat, not her. She was inclined to blow the whole affair wide open.

Except that would devastate Xen, and that was not what she wanted.

"And that is the end of your story? That is everything you would like to report?"

She nodded, but the heat was rising up her neck. Creeping onto her face. This was supposed to be enjoyable, a rung on the ladder of respect. It was nothing of the sort.

"Could you explain why Keles is not relaying events himself? He has never shunned his duties before."

She shivered. This shouldn't be so hard – it was her grandfather after all – but it was hard. It was like every one of her words was scrutinised, and she had no idea of her standard. She couldn't think fast enough.

Felip was watching her. He was so unhappy about this, and that's why she'd wanted to be here. To wind her brother up. But even as a _magistra_ , this was harder than she'd imagined. Her grandfather, the Consul, looked most displeased. She had only one way to go. She had pre-designed Keles's excuse, and it now seemed woefully inadequate.

"He had a pressing engagement to fulfil." The lie burned her cheeks. She looked at her lap, hoping no-one would see the flush, but her grandfather's eyes were trained on her. He'd seen it. He never missed a thing. She only hoped he could not interpret it.

"Well, you have done well. Your commander would be proud of the detail you offered."

Oh the joy! That was a statement that genuinely sent her whole body into prickly hair tugging warmth. It was a moment to prize, and a blow to her brother. It would energise her for days, and it was the reason she had come here. It was incredible. She exhaled noisily. But Felip was unlikely to agree with her grandfather's credit, and right on cue, he leaned forward.

"I disagree in part, Consul. It was the arrival of my infantry which stirred the enemy to flight. Without our timely intervention, the siege would surely have prevailed."

No. He wouldn't steal the credit. "I will not disagree that Felip's arrival triggered the departure of the Delfinians, but it is the intervention and work of the _Mandahoi_ that provided the necessary intelligence and resistance. Without the nudge and scrape of the Grey, Altunia would be lost."

It was a bit of a lie, but it would do. The Mandahoi had done little more than support the man beside her, but that statement would really raise the temperature. Some feuds ran too deep.

"I don't think it's fair that you distil our―"

Her grandfather raised his hand and Felip was silenced. That was satisfying. "Please, no more. I will not waste time discussing the cut of acclaim when such crisis has been narrowly averted. I would rather hear views on how it came about in the first place." He stared about the room and she recognised a man apart from her grandfather. He was the High-Consul, head of Jinal's clan and ruler of all Ahan. He was a great man. "They should never have got this close! How in the name of _Rhanna_ did they get to our gates?"

He spoke as a leader of men and a leader of a nation. That is exactly what he was.

She should push her position; that's what Keles would do. But what was there to say? "They arrived by boats."

There was a lesson there: something about speaking behind the pace of thinking.

Felip sniggered, and her grandfather stroked his beard. Her glow of satisfaction faded fast.

"I am well aware that they came by boat. I can see the remnants in our estuary. I want to know how they sailed there in the first place."

The silence of ignorance was a painful quiet. Every moment dragged longer than the last, but it wouldn't last. It couldn't last. The egos in the room would not allow that.

"Well then, if our Mandahoi representative will not offer up the answers, then perhaps we can rely on our guest."

The words were her brother's, and the change in trajectory was jarring. He had remained quiet until now, but with the sudden stagnation, he took the stage. And knowing her brother, it would be an attack. His dislike of all things Mandahoi was second only to his hatred of the _rootmen_. If her grandfather was reflective against this foreigner beside her, then Felip would be openly destructive. Her brother looked to the ruler for assent, and once her grandfather nodded, he turned to Kato. He was grinning, like a child with a gift. Like he had been given permission to go trampling insects. Kato was no insect.

"Will you speak openly?"

"I will answer what I can."

What a strange response. It suited the man. "Then you will speak where you have information?"

The legend shrugged. He tilted his head in a way that appeared condescending. "It may be easier to answer when I don't have information."

"That makes no sense."

"That's not my fault." Felip was muttering under his breath, glaring. She shifted in her seat, but Kato seemed unaffected. Did anything unsettle the strange man? She chewed her lip and peered at the legend. He was so weird, but in a good way. He was refreshing. Felip cleared his throat and stood.

"Then tell us please. What are you doing in my country?"

Her brother was not a man who hid his feelings.

—Felip—

By the greatest of the gods, it was good to vent some frustration. Felip exhaled noisily and smirked. Anejo had been bland in her telling, which was amusing. But then the Consul had praised her! It defied belief. Encouragement was the last thing she needed. And worst of all, it meant he couldn't pick holes. He had been denied his verbal sparring match with his sister, but there would always be another opportunity. Kato offered a refreshing alternative, and he jumped at it. The man had been trespassing. He would have a lot to answer for.

But the man shrugged. Simply shrugged. "I was intrigued."

"Intrigued about what?" Silence. So, the _rootman_ wasn't going to make it easy for him. That wasn't a problem, but he needed to earn command of the situation. "Then let me articulate the question differently. You were trespassing, and not only that, you were wandering lands that you had no business wandering. And yet, as it turns out, crisis looms, and you are immaculately placed to intervene. That strikes me as coincidental."

"It was not coincidence. I was intrigued. I've told you that."

"Then you had information?"

"I had a hunch."

"That is not information."

"It is if you know how to interpret it, and those of the path have that interpretation."

Damn him and his preposterous _rootman_ swill! He may not be a _sapling_ , but he was still a servant of the same idiotic belief system as his sister. It was all the same really. He caught a smile from his sister, but it disappeared when he looked at her. How dare she enjoy this. He would have words with the Consul, again. Nothing ever seemed to come from his complaints, but that was for later. Kato was in his sights.

"Then where exactly did you earn this hunch?"

"You would not believe me even if I could tell you."

The cheek of the man. "Try me."

Kato paused, thinking. As if he were manipulating his answer. Felip had time to look around the room while the man spoke. It had better be a good answer. The wait demanded it.

"The suggestion came to me when I was at prayer, through the voice of God." It turned out the trespasser was right. He didn't believe the man.

" _Rhanna_ told you to come to Nazalia?"

"In a sense, yes."

How was he supposed to interpret that? He leaned back, hands behind his neck, shaking his head. This wasn't going to be an easy discussion, that was for sure.

"And when exactly did you enlist a troop of mandahoi?"

"Keles found me. I did not request the assistance."

Anejo reacted at that, smiling and staring into space. Was she getting more from this conversation than he was? That stuck in his throat.

"So, you ventured deep into Ahan, alone, to tackle this danger?" His heart thundered and his breathing grated. This was going nowhere.

Kato stayed controlled and resolute; at least on the face of it. Who knew what lurked in that disturbing mind of his. "I was not alone. I had a pupil with me."

"And where is this pupil now?" His voice had adopted an involuntary snarl and he was clawing at the desk.

"He died saving your country."

Damn. He gulped, and sat down. What was there to say to that? The Consul shifted in his seat; Anejo glared at him; and he gulped. What should he say? It was really his place to speak, but... No. He just couldn't do it. He couldn't thank this man.

"We are most grateful for the loss you have borne by your intervention. Your pupil will of course be honoured for his part in this." The Consul had saved him.

"And what of Kato's part? Will he be honoured?" Was Anejo pushing for praise on the trespasser's behalf? That deserved severe punishment, but it wouldn't come. The Consul nodded subtly, but it was reserved. It was non-committal.

He shifted and cleared his throat. He needed to twist the discussion before it got too far off track. "Please, let's stay close to the matter at hand." Anejo returned to her silence. It was better that way. "Can you tell us what it was that you discovered as a consequence of your, ah, intervention."

There were gold rings around Kato's pupils and they seemed to glow. Surely that was a trick of the light?

"My source revealed to me that the assaults on the borders of Ahan were designed to avert attention. It was divulged that the true target was Altunia."

He rubbed his hands together. Now he was getting somewhere. "And you believe this source?"

He shrugged again. That was getting really annoying. "A man so close to death has little reason to lie. And besides, the facts around Altunia have been resoundingly evidenced."

That at least was true, but it still wasn't easy to swallow. "Then can you offer an explanation to this conundrum? Our enemies have been beating every conceivable shade out of each other for over a hundred years, so why would they suddenly decide that they needed to unite?"

He expected a shrug, a stroke of the face, a scratch of the temples. He anticipated a fight for the explanation, but he got nothing of the sort. Kato stared on calmly.

"They are scared."

He shook his head. "No. That makes no sense. Scared of what? What could possibly encourage such verdant opponents to unite in this manner?"

Again he expected a pause. He didn't get one. "Dusk is coming. That is all."

The Consul gathered proceedings with a raised hand. "You sound like Aleña."

"A wise man."

That deserved a rebuke, but this was not the place. He did not want to undermine the Consul's chief sensor. The man might be a _sapling_ , but he was extremely good at his job.

"Rumours of Dusk amount to little more than children's stories. They are regaled in the simpler classes as a means of quieting unruly youngsters. The Gathering Dusk is not a phenomenon to dictate political agendas."

"It was once before, and it will be again. Why not now?"

He sighed. He was tiring of this valueless walk through the mind of an oddity. "Do you speak anything but riddles? I am inclined to suggest that none of what you are telling us is knowledge. You are conjecturing, are you not?"

He shrugged once more. This was getting ridiculous. Did the man have no concept of responsibility? He found he had balled his fists, but the foreigner didn't seem to notice.

"It is a hunch."

"And therefore valueless?"

"Just like my hunch to intervene at Nazalia was valueless?"

He grunted. This was like walking through a maze. Each time he belittled the man, he was somehow twisted right back to the start. Anejo had settled into her seat, observing. It was him versus Kato. It was not going as he would have liked it. He should be the authority here, but he had failed thus far.

He had one more line of questioning.

"So then, how did the Delfinians get so close to Altunia?"

Kato leaned forward. Daring. "Are you sure you want my conjecture?"

"If it is plausible, yes."

"Then I will offer it."

He expected stories of impossible deviousness; of long precarious systems of manoeuvring ships under the cover of false identities. He anticipated fanciful tales of naval conflict that was yet to reach their ears. Or perhaps Kato would suggest that the army approached by land, such was his random nature. Perhaps the bastards had been granted the gift of invisibility by their _Bold Brother_? He didn't really care what the story was, so long as he could rip into it. He would enjoy ripping into it.

"You have been deceived by your brethren. The Nadari have neglected their duties, but more than this, they have sold you out."

The Consul was on his feet, incredulous. Anejo too was wide-eyed, still seated. This was a bold claim indeed. Ridiculous perhaps.

"You dare to suggest treachery within Society itself? That is an outrageous claim."

He shrugged. He bloody well shrugged. The man was ripping down the walls of civilised society, and he just shrugged. He deserved everything that was thrown at him.

"You are a bold idiot, Kato. Can you substantiate these claims?"

"It is a hunch. I would be keen to follow up, though."

"NO!" The Consul was livid. He had never seen the ruler so angry. "Such actions would contradict the very basis of Society. There is a proper process to follow, correct channels within which to pursue such scandalous claims. A rogue such as yourself has no place interfering with delicate matters. You would cause only damage."

"And meanwhile, time ticks by. Imagine the chaos they could cause while you are engaging the political machine."

"You will do nothing, Kato!"

The foreigner shrugged again. It was infuriating, and the Consul leaned over the table. He pointed to the door.

"Get out of here. Get out of here and get out of our country."

The man rose, smiled, and left. The Consul shivered, fists balled, face drawn down. His grandfather needed his support, so he put a hand upon a shoulder, soothing. Anejo looked up at him, confusion plain on her face. He glowered.

"What will happen if Kato does intervene?"

The Consul sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut. She was a fool, and he smiled. She had just undone all her good work.

"Civil war is what will happen, sister. Society-wide civil war." That shut her up. It was just a shame it wouldn't work on Kato.

## Part Two
## Chapter Thirteen

—Xen—

It was the worst journey of Xen's life. But it was also worse than that. For her and Keles, this place was usually associated with joy. But not today. There was just the threat of what was coming, but she still had no idea.

She looked around at the scenery, familiar and yet strangely hostile. The rest of l'Unna seemed so desolate compared to Ahan. All around them was an unending expanse of parched brown scrub; wiry grass and skeletal trees. _Mother Bright_ beat down upon them with relentless uniformity, and she was sweaty in her clothes. Filthy.

Yet there was no easing in their pace. Her outer self was burning under the sun, and yet inside she was cold with dread. That feeling had been mounting since they'd left Ahan. Why was he making her wait?

Keles had been acting cold since before the start of their journey. There was absolutely no explanation for it, and for her own sanity she'd blocked it out of her head. But every time they interacted, it pounced on her again: his coldness. Why?

This was a familiar path they were treading, the road to a small village within the boundary of the Mikaetan Empire. It was enemy territory, but the isolation offered room for them to be together. Away from prying eyes. It usually took two days to reach the hamlet, a place where they stayed regularly in the rented rooms of a farmhouse. It was probably expensive for what it was, but it was a small price for what it gave them. She had no doubt that the patrons were aware of their allegiance, but gold crossed many boundaries.

And it wasn't like Keles had much else to spend his wealth on. The Academy kept him in everything he required, and even without that he was the adopted son of the Consul. He had the most powerful family in Ahan behind him, even if he didn't have the name himself. She played with a solid gold bangle, a present from him. It was from a time when he was warmer.

"Do we have to travel in silence?" It was still half a day until they reached their destination, but she could not wait. She couldn't stand it any longer.

"I am thinking."

She was behind him on his horse, arms looped around his waist. She loved everything about this man, she was sure she did. Apart from his current mood. Why was he acting so foul? And why did he want to bring her all this way just to act distant? He needed to tell her something, that much was obvious, but he wouldn't go through with it. He was stuttering. Why?

"Thinking about what?"

He didn't respond, so she guessed. She needed to break through this frost somehow. She slid her hands down his torso, drawing close to his pelvic bone. He jolted, and pulled her hands away. He wasn't after that, then.

She really couldn't fathom what the purpose of this journey was. She'd started out with a real sense of alarm, but with the lingering silence it had turned into something much colder. Scarier. He must still want to be with her, otherwise there was no reason to be trekking to their private place. So the mood must be about something else, but what? And why wouldn't he just tell her? Damn him. She had to keep trying. That usually worked.

"What's wrong?"

He twisted sharply. "Nothing is wrong. Can we not just sit silently for a short while?"

His temper never flashed like that. She the one with the volatile streak. But actually, a day and a half was not a 'short while'. She didn't care anymore.

Rebellion gripped her, and she shuffled along the back of their mount. Keles turned, scowling, so she smiled back and jumped off. She landed clumsily, landing on her back and grimacing. Those injuries were still very fresh. How had she forgotten that?

They had only been travelling at a trot, a means of preserving energy in the relentless heat. That aside, the jolt from landing on the baked ground was intense. She rolled onto her left shoulder and climbed to her feet. She rubbed her lower back, but that was of little consequence here. She would not show the pain on her face, not for him. She didn't want pity, she wanted answers. Instead, she smoothed down her clothes. They were woven from a coarse thread – farmer's wear – and the material scratched at her hands. Even her clothes were unpleasant.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm walking back home."

She turned away from him and then started a swift stride back in the direction of Ahan. She could see the Adunas Encolae in the distance, a shadowed heap on the horizon, wreathed with cloud about the summits. Anejo had once taken her to the _Jinq_ family residence in the highest reaches of those mountains. The views had been incredible.

The sound of Keles clicking and turning his horse distracted her, but she did not falter. She walked stubbornly on, waiting for him to pull alongside. He cast a shadow over her, which was cooling, but she did not look up. She stared doggedly on. He had brought her here, so he could start things off.

"Stop, please." She refused, and continued on. He would need to try harder than that. "Xen, please!"

"What! What do you want? Either we're making this journey together, or we're not. If you just want to tell me something, then tell me now. I do not want to go all that way for unpleasantness."

She waited a brief moment, but he only stared on. She stomped away, and Keles trotted beside her. She could do this all day.

"Fine. You want to do this here, then let's do it here."

She turned, and angled her head back, shielding her eyes with her hand. He stared down, and then gulped. It was like a flinch. Keles didn't flinch. He still couldn't say it.

"Do what here? You obviously have something pressing to tell me, but you're shying away from it. Just be a man, Keles. It's the way I've always thought of you."

He turned from her, holding his jaw in his hand. Why couldn't he just say what he needed to?

"I did not want to say this in these circumstances."

"In what circumstances?"

"In unpleasant circumstances. You deserve better than that."

Now her heart was pounding. It must be terrible news if he was smoothing his words. He never usually oiled his tongue.

"It appears I have chosen the circumstance, so tell me. What are you scared to say?"

Silence, his face hardened, and his shoulders slumped. He stared at her, each passing moment increasing the pace of her heart. Her stomach knotted and she clenched her fists. She was ready for what he threw at her, but she was not ready for the consequences. He was her life, and that could not change. There was nothing else to live for.

His facial expression tightened, and he looked up, over the top of her head. He breathed in deeply, straightened his back, and pumped his chest out. He looked like he was about to strike out at her; to strike her. No, he wouldn't. Would he? She stepped subtly back from him, but only just. She didn't know what this was, but she was still afraid of losing him.

"Get on the horse." He spoke without looking at her. It was authoritative, and she liked that about him. But here he needed to explain himself.

"No, I will not get back on that horse until―"

"It was not a request. Get on the horse. We have visitors."

What? Visitors in a place like this? _Bloody Brother_ , what did that mean? He was talking nonsense, and he wouldn't even meet her look... She wheeled around, and scanned the horizon. There was a smear against the shimmering heat-haze. There were horsemen there, and they were heading in their direction.

"Who are―"

"I said get on the horse!"

She spun back, and tingled all over. This was her man. This was her strong man. At least, she hoped he was still hers.

—Keles—

Keles recognised the rider of the fleeing horse instantly. It was obvious. There was only one who wore his greys openly in enemy territory. The chief sensor of Ahan was a remarkable and very recognisable man indeed.

His horse drew level with Aleña's, and he nudged his blowing beast closer with a squeeze of his knee. He had glanced back once already, and that was not a good idea. It appeared that the dark guardians of hell were in pursuit.

"What are they?"

Xen's voice trembled and she hung onto him tight, which was fair. It was just unfortunate that in this situation, she was a burden. Her weight would sap his horse's energy quicker, but he could hardly blame her. This trip was his idea. The trip had had a very singular purpose, but that was now forgotten. He hadn't been relishing that conversation, but was this now worse? He looked back at what was coming. Yes, this was much worse.

"I don't know. Just hold tight."

The sound of hooves on parched earth filled his ears, but hopefully Xen had heard. He didn't need distractions. She squeezed him tighter, and buried her face between his shoulder blades.

They were at full gallop, but he pulled alongside his fellow mandahoi and retained a level pace. Once settled, he looked over at the chief sensor. The man was in a terrible state. He was slumped on his horse, a ragged edge where normally he was pristine. His mare did not look much better, teeth bared and frothing. Gusting heavily. This poor beast had been at flight for some time, and it was nearing the end.

And all the time, hell pulled hard on their heels.

He stole one more look over his shoulder and took in the sight of the huge wraiths that pursued. There was no sign of them abating, but then he didn't really know what to look for. The heads of the things flickered, blown into a trail by the pace of their pursuit. That trail marked the line of their victory.

"What are they?" He had to shout across to his companion.

Aleña turned and had bright eyes. That was remarkable in itself. "Dusk is coming."

This man had said that many times before. This time, there was evidence.

"How long have you been―"

He was interrupted by movement from the chief sensor. Aleña put a hand up and leaned forward on his mount, straining at the horizon. He craned his neck, searching for what the sensor had seen. He couldn't see the path, and he hated not knowing. But this was Aleña's world and he had to trust the man. There was nothing ahead of them but endless savannah, so he hoped the sensor had something tricky. He had a sudden urge to hug Xen. The last thing he wanted was to bring her to harm.

"It is time."

Aleña's voice drew him back. The sensor was changing direction and he dutifully followed. They were moving up a gradual incline, which was an odd choice of approach. The angle had the expected result, and his horse's legs were very quickly sapped. His horse slowed, breathing heavier, tiring, and Aleña's beast matched the behaviour. He peered over his shoulder, watching the fast approaching shadows. The move had enriched their chasers, fuelling their pursuit. What had Aleña done?

"They're gaining on us."

"Keep going. When I command, kick your horse like you've never kicked before."

What? Kick the poor beast. He didn't question.

Beyond Aleña, a wraith drew level, turning its spectral head. Terror wrapped its arms around him, squeezed into him by Xen. His heart thundered, like his horse. Xen cried out from behind, a muffled scream where her head was still buried in his clothes. But then, through the chaos, drifted the assertive words from Aleña. There was nothing else to do, so he kicked.

His horse jumped, crying out but climbing high, its front legs pawing at the air. A yawning chasm opened up below, a stab of darkness through the parched golden scrub of Mikaeta. Xen unburied her face and screamed. It truly was ear-splitting. Aleña was just ahead, dropping now, his horse's front legs stretching for the far side of the chasm. He could see safety, but it seemed so distant. Gravity would not let them go so far.

The shadow-beast beyond Aleña had not jumped, and was already falling. Its falling was like darkness merging with darkness; ink staining the night. They would soon join it.

They started to fall, and his stomach lurched. There was a sickly-sweet sensation in his throat, which he couldn't help but concentrate on. Sweat covered him despite the air brushing his face. He grabbed Xen's hands, clutching them like they were precious. They were precious. He should never have brought her here and he wanted to apologise. But he didn't. There would be time for that if they survived.

No, this wasn't it. He had to believe, but the far side still seemed so distant. His horse was screaming; his resolve weakening; his love for Xen blossoming. Love? Of course it was love. It had always been love. He had to do it, had to tell her, and so he turned. She was terrified, and he had inflicted this upon her. It was his fault, and he burned inside.

The jolt almost knocked his teeth out.

His horse kicked wildly, but he stroked its neck and whispered to it. The poor mare soon calmed, pawing at the ground. He could sympathise: his own heart was knocking against his ribcage. He was sure he could hear it. He turned to the chasm, and elation took him. Dusk was halted, and the surviving wraiths waited on the further side. Their misty heads flickered and melted into the air. They stared across the gap, or at least that was the impression they gave off. It was only an impression. The great beasts whinnied and snorted, sounding like a storm, throwing their heads. Then the riders hauled on the reins and they all spun about. The monsters were quickly hidden by the gradient. The joy was immeasurable.

He turned to Aleña, and the chief sensor gazed at him with an upturned eyebrow. It was a challenging look. Behind him, Xen was still clinging on for dear life, arms around his stomach. He stroked the back of her hand with his, comforted by her soft skin. He quickly halted this affectionate action.

"We should get back to Ahan, and quick." He gulped, and Aleña's expression changed. The sensor tipped his head. Damn it, this man was the chief spy of Ahan. Of course he'd noticed.

"Yes, I think we probably should."

Despite the fatigue, Aleña led the way. Xen barely said a word, but she didn't need to. That experience had brought them closer together, and the discussion would have to wait. His heart told him it would need to wait indefinitely.

## Chapter Fourteen

—Anejo—

Three little questions rolled around Anejo's head. That was all. Just three questions and a mountain of intrigue. Three questions and Kato had, in truth, answered none of them. The man was an enigma.

Question one: 'what was he doing in Ahan in the first place?' The answer: it was a suggestion from God, from _Rhanna_ himself. The manner of Kato's confession suggested it was an engineered response; suspicious. But he also didn't look like a liar, and that meant that God was involved somehow. That made even less sense.

Number two: 'what was encouraging Ahan's enemies to unify against them?' That one was easy, apparently. It was the Gathering Dusk of course. Simple.

But it wasn't simple. Dusk was little more than a fairy-tale used to scare unruly children, so it couldn't be that. Could it? Then again the chief sensor of Ahan had been pounding that drum for years now, and no-one had listened. Maybe Aleña had been right all along. Maybe. But if the chief sensor could not prove his own claims, then she stood no chance of bending ears. That was not a fruitful avenue for her.

Finally, the big one: 'How did the Delfinians creep through?'

It was the Nadari. The damned Nadari. That was a huge implication.

She had been ridiculed by her brother – and rightly so – for her naivety, but she was wasn't going to be completely undone. There was a deeper subtext that needed digging up, but everyone was too nervous to dig. Civil war was a high price indeed, but if the alternative is expensive enough then surely it was a worthy exchange?

But there was a problem: that cost was impossible to ascribe, which meant the price was impossible to measure. She needed information and she suspected Kato had it. No, she was sure of it. How did he have that information? It intrigued her mischievous side.

But no! She would do this properly. The last thing she wanted was to get into more trouble. Then again, the others had to see what she did, but they would never listen to Kato. Some feuds ran too deep. The threat from the Nadari was very real, very real indeed, and someone needed to pull at that thread. So why not her?

Damn it! Why would no-one else reach that obvious conclusion? It seemed strange. Was it wrong that her mind took this direction?

Her brother entered the room and she watched him strut towards her. He glared at her. "What are you doing here?"

"My duty."

"Or Keles's duty."

She hadn't been expecting respect but baulked. Then again, was this really so surprising? Her brother was always like this. She stayed silent.

He sat on the further side of the table, his golden locks tightly woven into a tail. The siblings were of a similar appearance, but where she was silvery and cold, Felip was somehow warmer. His eyes were blue, but they were warm, like a lagoon. Her own irises were icy like a frozen pool, but looks were deceiving in her case; she burned with bright ambition. Felip always stood in her way.

She ground her jaw, but now was not the time for an argument with her brother. She dropped her head and inspected the table that she was sat at. It was just wood, but she stared nonetheless.

"What are you doing here?"

She looked up at her approaching grandfather. He had the same family markings again, but with a worn silvery edge. He still stood tall and straight, remarkable for a man of his years, and he walked towards her with magnificent authority.

"My duty―"

"Your duty is to House _Jinq_. You have no place here."

"The _Mandahoi_ need a voice."

"And you think that you are it? Your interpretation is misplaced. Few are aware of your roguish career in the grey, and I intend to keep it that way. You will leave now."

"And who will speak―"

He stretched where he stood, rising up authoritatively. "The _Mandahoi_ need no voice at my table. Please Anejo, before―"

Footsteps, two sets. One set was heavy and the other was almost otherworldly light. One door to the Council Chamber remained open, light flooding through, and two men entered. They wore the arrogance of the priest-class, and they wore it easily too. These men held the key to the will of God, and the leading man spoke with the voice of _Rhanna_ himself. The Ranji were here and she shivered. They had no place here.

"Consul; we hear news of a disturbing breach upon the security of Ahan. We trust that our interests remain secure?"

The leading priest was short and heavily built, but stunted with it. His broad shoulders supported a squat head, but this didn't detract from his authority. Upon the left side of his face was tattooed the disturbing features of a woman – rouged half lips, eye lashes, tears upon the upper cheek. They were the identifiers of the priest class of Society and they'd always unnerved her. She shivered as she always did.

The second priest, taller with a stooped gait, also wore feminine features. These though were upon a bright silver mask which was, unusually, covering the right hemisphere of his face. He was no more appealing than his superior.

The lead priest looked straight at her, taking in the grey of her clothing. He was assessing her, critiquing her, and a smile spread over his face.

"What do we have here?"

Her grandfather tipped his head back and mouthed something. Of all the people to learn of her deviancy, these would be the least forgiving. Damn them and their archaic beliefs.

—Felip—

Ally. It was such a simple word, but that was the problem with it. Simple words couldn't articulate immense complexity. Ally was no exception.

Take the High-Consul for example: an ally certainly, and immeasurably so. That was an allegiance built on deep respect, unconditional love, and a stable root of trust. It was a strong foundation, the strongest perhaps. His grandfather was a remarkable man.

His sister – the rogue. She was also an ally, albeit a prickly one. It was a relationship built on understated respect and an overwhelming desire to protect her. That allegiance was a delicate balance, but they were still unmistakably on the same side. They shared a goal.

The Nadari. They were allies in formal name, but perhaps no more. Even unsaid, the implications of the breach on Altunia were worrying. The bond between the two nations had never been of trust, but one of necessity; forged from circumstance and always frictional. That the situation may soon be untenable was not worth thinking about, and the truth was that they would remain allies regardless. They would need to remain allies and they would find a way.

The Ranji. They were allies only in the slimmest definition of the word. The sight of them boiled him, and he clenched his fist, clamping his teeth. They were not welcome.

"What are you doing here?"

Fortunately, the words were his grandfather's. They were like the clinical edge of a blade.

"I asked you first. Why is it that a _magistra_ of house _Jinq_ appears to be entombed within the grey?" Anso sat down, antagonism clear in the calm movement. His fellow priest stayed standing, obediently surveying from behind. There was a tight tension building, but then his idiot sister leaned forward.

"I am a mandahoi."

"Shut up, sis―"

"No, this is my life." She flicked that petulant gaze and Anso di Ranji shuffled smoothly in his seat. The priest was enjoying this.

"You are no mandahoi, young _magistra_. You do not have the tools. It is an insult to _Rhanna_ that you are wearing those colours."

It was nice to see his sister dropped a peg. He swallowed a snigger.

"I am a mandahoi and I helped secure your interests, fool. Your sexist views are not welcome here."

The priest dismissed her with a wave. "This is not a game. Your grandfather has some difficult questions to answer, so I suggest you stay quiet. Just because you wear the uniform, it does not make you a mandahoi."

The Consul had slipped into the seat beside Anejo, a hand on her wrist, calming her. But the priest was coiling her up expertly. She jumped from her seat, anger bright on her face.

"Does this make me a mandahoi?"

She spun about and smoothly slipped the upper half of her uniform over her shoulders, baring the small of her back. It was a tapestry, and the grotesque brutality silenced the room. The colour was mirrored in the face of the High-Consul. He was furious.

There was a sharp hiss from the Consul, and Anejo got the full effect. Her rapidly heaving shoulders slowed, her gritted face melted, and the grey material was shifted back over her shoulders. She turned, ducked her head, and settled into a seat. When the Consul faced the room once more, his mood was clear. There would be no more discussion.

"You will leave."

Anso did not seem affected. "I think not, High-Consul. Your Mandari seniors are concerned for the events that have unfolded. It is our duty to report."

"So, you are snooping around." The priest shrugged. That indifference was remarkable in itself. "What are you doing in my country in the first place?"

"We were bringing spiritual enlightenment to your blinded people."

Damn them and their unwanted spirituality. They had no place in Ahan, but it appeared that they had forgotten this. It was time to remind them.

"Our people have all the spiritual guidance they need. They do not need your false intentions. You may speak for God, but you also speak for your own questionable interests. It is not for the simple classes to discern what of your text to believe."

He swallowed, sat back, and watched for the reaction. They were strong words, accusation rich in their meaning. They were meant as an attack at the priest class, but the priests didn't baulk. After all, despite their religious status, the Ranji did have an uncanny capacity for acquiring wealth and power. That was the main reason for their poor reputation in Ahan.

The gaze of the priests prickled him. The smiles did not leave their faces, but it was not a friendly exchange. The words had struck deep, but they were meant to. He thrust out his chest in defiance, not that it would hold weight with these snakes.

"And how do they attain this spirituality? God speaks through us, and we are denied the ears of your people."

"They do not need your tongue. Events themselves are enough for their comfort."

The other councillors were assembling outside the door, but none dared enter. The Ranji had erected an invisible barrier. He wanted them gone, but they were stubbornly persistent; like a disease. Anso sneered.

"You mean events like those at Altunia? Tell me, what comfort can your people draw from one thousand Delfinians breaching the walls of this city? Do you not think they need the reassurance of God?"

The Consul growled lightly at that. The congregation outside was muttering and whispering.

"Do you see a Delfinian in this room? In this city? Success was earned."

"And how was that achieved?"

Damn them! By the _Bloody Brother_ , it was Kato who bought about salvation. He would not admit as much, wouldn't give them the satisfaction. What strange hands were working their way behind this whole affair? It didn't bear thinking about.

The priest smiled knowingly. The bastard was already one step ahead. There was only one way to colour events, and that was in favour of the Ranji. They held the leash of that freak Kato, which raised questions in itself, but he kept his quiet. This was his grandfather's ring. The Consul cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting, and he leaned forward. How was he going to play this?

The closed half of the doors to the chamber snapped open, and the atmosphere was blown away. It was Keles who trampled all over events, Aleña beside him.

"Consul! We have grave news."

The pair were snatching at their breath, sweating, bent double. Their clothes were stained and filthy and their skin was coloured by sun and dust.

"Everybody out! The Council of Consolidation will reconvene tomorrow. Keles, Aleña, Felip – I will see you in my solar."

The High-Consul of Ahan spun on his heels, swept to the small stair, and disappeared. Gone. He'd never seen his grandfather snap like that before. He let the Consul's footsteps fade, glowering at the priests, but ultimately he followed. He had been ordered and he obeyed his orders. Unlike his damned sister. He glared at her too.

It was only when he was halfway to the private office that the words took on proper form: 'We have grave news'. There had been enough of that already.

—Keles—

"Dusk is coming. Forgive me Aleña, but I have heard those words many times before. Why should I believe you this time?"

Keles looked at the chief sensor. The man was agitated, eager to be believed. He had been ignored long enough.

"Because this time Keles can back me up."

The Consul shifted his silvery gaze and the weight of it was heavy. It was only the High-Consul, head of the _Jinq_ family and his childhood custodian, who could do that.

"Is this true, Keles?" He nodded. Only that. He looked at his fidgeting hands, breathing in deep. But there was no time for respite. "Can you articulate exactly what you saw?"

He wasn't sure he could, but he would give it a go. "A cloud of war, riding on the tide of inertia." He hadn't expected to say that.

"What does that mean?"

"Sorry. They were horsemen, but they were made of shadows and they melted into the air about them. There was no stopping them."

A momentary silence, but the High-Consul picked the obvious hole. "Yet you return with your lives."

The chief sensor coughed and leaned forward in his chair. "Nature offered a way out. Do not think them halted though. It is merely a delay."

The Consul was resplendent in his immaculate white robes, edged in the black and silver of House _Jinq_. He stared on impassively. It was hard to give him this news.

The Consul was a remarkable man, and one that he'd always respected. It was this man after all who'd taken him in when his mother's death had left him orphaned. He'd shared the same day-nurse as Felip, but more than that, they had shared the same training too. He and Felip had ultimately only deviated when he was accepted into the Grey. They were almost brothers in reality, and this man was their father. But where he was the orphaned talent of common stock, Felip was of Jinal's line. Felip was the consul-elect and they were worlds apart.

The Consul dropped his head to the desk, resting it on his outstretched arms. He made a groaning noise, which was probably a sign of frustration. It was certainly a sign he was among friends. The Consul regained his composure and raised his head, surveying the room. It was a time to listen, and Keles flexed his knuckles. The Consul's judgment couldn't come soon enough. Were they going to war?

"What were you doing all that way from home, Master Keles?"

That was unexpected and extremely unwelcome. Fortunately, he had an explanation, even if the man beside him remained unconvinced.

"Aleña uncovered his suspicions and he summoned me to offer evidence. When I reached him, he was in flight, but I saw enough."

The sensor shifted, but they could smooth out those creases later. They would have to.

"Why are you wearing peasant's clothes?"

A shroud of discomfort fell upon him, and he gulped. That old mind was still impossibly shrewd. "I was summoned at short notice. I had no time to properly prepare."

"That I don't doubt – it is the question of why you had time to change out of your uniform in the first place that confounds me. You should have been preparing to report to me, not leaving your duties for others to pick up. You have disappointed me, and I cannot pin a justification. We will need to talk about this."

That was not a pleasing prospect. "That might not be possible." He regretted the mumbled words as soon as he'd spoken them. Hopefully no-one picked up on them.

"What?"

The whole room looked at him, and that was a great weight of reputation. Aleña was a caste-master; Felip was commander of the common army; and Rianja was Consul of all Ahan. And he was just... He was a small in this room.

But Kato's legend was bigger than all these men combined. He could not change his mind and he would not change his mind. It was decided.

"I said that might not be possible."

The High Consul narrowed his eyes. "And why not?"

He took a deep breath, searching for courage in the act. Why was he so nervous? This was his choice. "I have offered myself to Kato's teachings. I am leaving the Mandahoi and I am giving myself to that man. I know how you will feel about this, but the opportunity is too great. I have to go."

The Consul flushed, contrasting his silvery looks. It was anger, but it was also something else. "You dare to insult Ahan by absconding to the other side? What can you possibly learn from Kato that you cannot learn with the Mandahoi?"

It was always going to hurt the Consul, this suggestion of superiority, but facts were facts. Kato was superior. "Ask your granddaughter."

The Consul eased back into his chair, shaking his head. He put a hand on his chin and stroked his silver beard, but never looked away. It was a strangely fatherly appearance. Perhaps that was one of the reasons for the old ruler's popularity.

"You disappoint me Keles, you really do. And you do a disservice to my family. After all that we have done to, ah, support you. It breaks my heart to see you flattering with our overinflated cousins. I hope you recognise these truths before you flee."

That pause – what did it mean? There was also a waver to the Consul's tone; perhaps a hint of emotion. Weakness in the ruler was almost unheard of, so what did that mean? Then again, the Consul had adopted him as a baby, so there was bound to be a tie. That must be it.

He did not want to hurt this man, he really didn't, but he did not want to hurt Xen either. If there was an option to avoid the pain he would take it, but there wasn't. He couldn't undo what he'd seen and his memory of Kato's feats had burrowed too deep. His inquisitive streak had won over.

"Then I am sorry, but I will not change my mind. The opportunity is great, and Ahan will benefit. You will see."

The Consul lowered his head, shaking it. He was visibly deflating, struck down by the words. It was painful to watch, such was his respect for the man. He had broken the Consul, trampled him in disappointment. Felip shifted in his seat, steepling his hands before him. The consul-elect was taking the stage.

"Aleña, if you come to us with a problem, then presumably you also come to us with a solution. Can I ask what it is?"

The Consul did not shift his gaze, but the conversation continued around them.

"Mobilise your forces. Guard the western gates."

"And what of the east?"

The chief sensor paused, furrowing his brows. Then he shrugged. He did not know the recent past. "What of it? There are only allies there."

Felip smiled. "That is what we thought until a few days ago. It seems that enemies are everywhere."

It certainly seemed that way, especially with this emergence of the Nadari threat. Maybe Kato was right to press that issue. He had an overwhelming urge to speak up, but sense prevailed. The Consul stared on accusingly.

"We must retain our strength and present an authoritative front while the Nadari are investigated. No resource can be spared for deviant activity."

The Consul stared sharply at him. He was being accused. He had committed himself to Kato, and that meant deviancy by definition. He was being warned, but would that be enough to divert the Axis? He doubted it. That man was uncontrollable.

## Chapter Fifteen

—Xen—

Three things were haunting Xen. The first was the memory of shadowy death-hunters stalking her on their demonic horses. That would not leave her any time soon. The experience plagued her dreams.

The second was the persistent ache of her injuries, which were not getting better quickly. What she needed was some proper rest, but there wasn't much danger of that. Not with Anejo as a friend.

And the third was the heavy weight of uncertainty. That one was the worst.

Every time she closed her eyes, she could see one of those things. This time it was her injuries that filled her subconscious.

The sun was only just peeking over the high walls of the Academy courtyard, but the exercises had already been long. There was an odour of sweat and cooking fires in the open space, but rather than stir a rumble in her belly, the aromas made her retch. She recalled the roasting smell of man-flesh before the gates of Altunia too, and shivered. It had been a busy few days.

She screwed up her nose and rolled her shoulders, loosening the joints. Her uniform was already filthy, and her bath was still a day of exercise away. Her injuries marched all over her and she grimaced. This was not the life for her.

"Look!"

It was Aran who interrupted her. She usually hung around the initiate when Anejo was absent, mainly out of pity. Why Anejo insisted that they attached themselves to him she did not know, but she bowed to her friend in this as with so many things. It could hardly be called an arduous task, but it was a chore of sorts. There was certainly little pleasure in Aran's company, for he had little enough to say.

The sight of what Aran pointed at eased her aches and buoyed her mood. Anejo had arrived, and so therefore had Keles.

Her lover marched straight past without even a gesture in her direction, but it didn't faze her. It was part of their code of discretion. What did confuse her was the small man striding alongside. She'd expected, and perhaps hoped, never to see Kato again. The man bred trouble.

"Thank the _Father_ that I'm back."

Anejo had peeled off and came straight to her side, and the two embraced like long departed companions should. Anejo turned to greet Aran, and she looked back in Keles's direction. She watched him, strolling through the courtyard; her man. He was the third source of her haunting, and the appearance of Kato only heightened her unease.

"I thought that you two practised subtlety?"

"Shh ..." She whipped to Anejo, a finger at her lips, but her friend only smiled back. "Keep your voice down. We don't want people hearing."

She looked at Aran, checking what he'd heard, but the initiate was idly gazing into space. She had reiterated to Aran on numerous occasions when he was not entitled to an ear in a conversation, and to be fair to him, he'd learned that lesson.

"Come now Xen, you were giving away more with your ogling than I ever could with words. Anyway, how are things between you two? I gather your little adventure was interrupted."

She straightened, and there was a sharp scratch at her lower back where a scab unstitched itself. Anejo had lowered her voice to a whisper, but she was still prickly. She ushered her friend to the periphery of the courtyard with a hand, and leaned right into Anejo's ear.

"Dusk was upon us. It was terrifying." She shuddered and swallowed back a lump in her throat. It seemed weak, but it was justified. Dusk was terrifying.

They walked together and her friend stroked her back, which was nice. Not that it erased the memory. She shivered, even despite the warmth of the sun. The image of those malicious shadows stalked her subconscious, and there was no unseeing what she'd seen. To witness Dusk was to witness the gates of hell, and from what Aleña was saying, the end of the world too. This was not the life for her.

"What were they like?"

She steadied her breathing and her friend stared at her expectantly. Anejo was wide-eyed, consoling, but it didn't fool her. Excitement bubbled in her friend, and Anejo licked her lips, waiting for the details. Sometimes she could not understand the heat that burned in Anejo, mainly because she only had one near-comparison. Her love for Keles.

"They were vast, and they were formed of shadow. They rode great horses and rode with terrible authority. The air about them darkened, and they left a dark stain along the route of their travel. There were only six of them, and even so few felt like they would smother the fields of Ahan with destruction. They were haunting."

Anejo stroked her shoulders, but there was a distinct absence in the motion. She was probably calculating already. Anejo was always quick that way.

"How did you escape?" Sure enough, there it was. The challenge. She was already measuring the story.

"Aleña saved us. He led us and we leaped a canyon. They were too heavy to follow. It was extreme fortune."

Her friend nodded, but it was only half meant. Anejo's mind was already elsewhere, and it wouldn't be long before she turned the agenda. That was Anejo's way. It wasn't selfishness, but... No, it wasn't selfishness. But the only way to evade it was with a counter.

"How was your audience with the council?"

Anejo snapped, a shadow upon her face. How funny that Anejo was intrigued by the re-emergence of Dusk, and yet she was unnerved by the prospect of political debate. But Anejo did quickly soften, and smiled.

"It was a fine experience. Unfortunately, it was cut short by the rather sudden interruption of your lover―"

"Shh."

Anejo shook her head. "I must say, I was most surprised to see our esteemed commander pop up when he had been called away on urgent business. But the news of Dusk would seem to vindicate this course of action."

"What are they going to do about it?"

Anejo looked around, but that was unnecessary. If they were isolated enough to talk about Keles then they were isolated enough to discuss matters of war.

"There is little that can be done. Local issues are more pressing, and now there are fears of an, ah, internal threat. Ahan cannot look west when the east is not secure."

She was barely listening, just enough to keep up the illusion. Where was Keles now? When would she see him? Normally he left a note under the door to her room, and she was eager to go and check. Soon. She had to see him soon else the questions would start eating at her. Maybe she should take the risk and visit him in his office. He didn't like that, but her sanity was the priority. She burned to have those questions answered; her self-control had its limits.

Anejo was staring, waiting for an answer. She jerked out of her pondering.

"What danger can there possibly be in the east?"

"Ask your boyfriend. I get the impression that his new master has some ideas." New master? What was she talking about?

"What new master?"

Anejo darkened instantly, and backed away. "He hasn't told you, has he?"

She shook her head and Anejo gulped. "Told me what?"

Her friend's face dropped, and she backed further away. Why was she backing away?

"He has committed himself to the teachings of Kato, and he has been removed from the Academy. He is leaving the Mandahoi."

Aleña was wrong. This was what the end of the world was like.

—Aran—

"Am I in trouble?"

The man opposite Aran stayed entirely still, not a hint of suggestion. "What makes you say that?"

He looked about the room, stalling. He dithered in reply. "Well, you previously told me that the next time I walked through those doors, it would be the last. Now I am here, and I came through those doors." That was a bold statement by his standards, but Archmaster Hephesta remained utterly still. The Mandahoi master was the definition of stony authority.

"And what have you done to earn yourself another visit to the Seat?"

This question he did not have the answer to. He'd done almost nothing since his last grilling. He stroked his shoulder, but the Archmaster tipped his head and he pulled his hand away.

"I do not know what I've done." The Archmaster's gaze was a heavy burden to bear, and he shuffled from foot to foot. This did little to solidify his position.

The Archmaster stared on, silent. It was almost cruel. No, it was cruel. Each heartbeat was heavier, but he would not crack easily. He retained control. His left fist was balled, his right hand stroking the cloth of his uniform. It was all so pathetic, but that was him. Pathetic. He had little in his life, and this Academy was almost the whole of it. He could not lose it.

Archmaster Hephesta leaned forward, clasped hands before him. His face thawed.

"If you cannot see a reason for the worst, do not assume it has crept upon you."

What did that mean?

The heat receded, his head stopped pounding, and his left fist unclenched. His face must have been a masterpiece of confusion. "What?"

Archmaster Hephesta firmed once more, and leaned back. This was becoming a most perplexing encounter.

"That is 'what, Archmaster'. Do not forget yourself."

The familiar flavour of reprimand was strangely calming. He bowed his head. "Sorry, sir, but I do not understand."

The silence was tortuous. He had even moved his right hand and joined it with his left in a weak ball of apology. He hoped he had not offended.

"Well, initiate, it is true that the words I previously spoke to you imply that this is your ultimatum, but not if you consider the detail. I said that the next time you faced the Seat, you would be in trouble. This may be the house of the Seat, but its members are not in place. Hence you are not in trouble. Indeed, I want to offer you something."

A trapdoor seemed to open in his throat and weight poured out of his body. He went momentarily giddy and he swayed, gripping the edge of the table. He was almost entirely himself.

"Aran?"

"Yes sir." He had to keep clutching the table to avoid tipping over. The future wasn't as bleak as he'd feared, and he actually smiled. He was not being expelled!

"Are you okay?"

He shook his head and straightened his face. He didn't want to seem too grateful. "Yes sir, thank you."

"Do not thank me yet. You have not heard my offer."

He shook his head, but the truth was that any offer that didn't involve expulsion was a blessing. The spectre of his past had been chilling his bones, stirring the horror within. But his weakness had now been blown away, scattered and dissipated. He did not have to return to the living nightmare of his past. At least not yet in any case.

"I would be eager to hear your offer, Archmaster."

The head of the Mandahoi reclined, smiling. That was strangely discomfiting, so he looked around the room. And they were alone. The eight seats were empty and only the Academy's leader faced him. It was a measure of his state that he only really now recognised this.

"The offer is, in truth, not mine, but I do, ah, endorse it."

There was a pause and it spoke of something. But he, a lowly initiate, did not have the time or the understanding to question it. He nodded obediently.

"Keles has requested your attendance on a task he is due to undertake. The task is one of surveillance, requiring skills of dexterity, attention, and an ability to melt into one's surroundings. He feels it is an opportunity for you to shine."

An opportunity to hide in a crowd and watch from the shadows. It most certainly did sound like his skill-set.

"I would be honoured to accept the opportunity, sir." And wasn't that the truth? He stroked his shoulder and genuinely smiled. He rarely smiled genuinely. He even pushed his inquisitive edge. "What exactly is this task?"

The Archmaster's face went stony, and he regretted his relaxing. He should be careful not to get ahead of himself.

"I cannot give details, but I can assure you that the task is of the utmost importance. Your silence on the matter is the first challenge I present to you. Do not speak of this to anyone."

What a strange thing to say. Then again, he had nothing to tell, even if he wanted to tell it.

"What do I need to do? How will I know when I'm needed?"

"Master Keles will be sure to let you know. Now, unless you have any more questions, I suggest that this meeting is ended."

He nodded, stood, and bent his waist, bowing. Why did he bow? This was not a man of higher Society, and the Archmaster looked rightly confused. He straightened up, turned towards the door, but caught the Archmaster's knitted brows. The darkness rumbled in his belly and his smile dropped. But no, not now. This was a moment of hope. He'd been offered the chance to seal his future at the Academy, and he would take it. His past faded further, but it did not recede entirely. There was no way it could.

## Chapter Sixteen

—Anejo—

The central courtyard of the Academy was crammed with activity. And unusually, it was not just exertion and pain that dominated. There was excitement bubbling in the place, reflected in everyone present. There was a celebration underway, and it was for her.

Well, it wasn't just for her. It was for all of the students of Nazalia; those who had proven worthy advocates of the Grey. They were all survivors and they were to be commended as such, but she had contributed more than most., hadn't she? Yes certainly.

"Apprentice Xen. Please move forward."

Xen obeyed, and moved into the aisle between the ranks. She walked awkwardly, which was very unlike her. She must be nervous. Xen was in formal dress: crisp greys; and polished steel accoutrements. She walked towards the front of the courtyard with a slight limp, which was also part of it. Not just nerves. Xen bore injuries that sang of success.

But this day was not all joy for Xen. Keles stood erect on the stage, inconspicuous. He certainly didn't look like someone who was about to desert the Order. Most in the courtyard were still blissfully unaware of his defection, but Xen wasn't. That knowledge was troubling her friend deeply, and it was all her fault. Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut? It was Keles's place to tell Xen. Not hers.

But today was not a day for guilt. Today was her day for commendation.

She exhaled. It was not her day just yet, and she inspected Keles further. He looked so indifferent up there. She had nearly forgotten the sour taste that his eloping with Xen had brought. This new development was far more intriguing. She may share a challenging dynamic with the senior mandahoi, but she still respected him deeply. After all, he was the master of four castes – a feat of exquisite rarity. He wouldn't be defecting without good reason and yet it was frustratingly hard to see.

Would he really abandon the Mandahoi for romantic ideals? Then again, where Kato and his feats were concerned it made some sense. And Keles was a perfectionist who had now witnessed perfection. In fact, that was a tantalising prospect for anyone of ambition, and her mouth went dry.

Ha. Like she could ever take that route. Then again, when had she been constrained by such things as the proper way? Kato had some controversial ideas, and she believed he would act upon them. He didn't seem like the obedient kind. That tickled her mischievous side, and she set to imagining the adventure. The applause ceased, and she concentrated back on the ceremony.

Xen reached the front, climbed the shallow stage that had been erected especially, and was handed a scroll by Archmaster Hephesta. She was formal and professional in collecting the prize, but she did break for a moment. Xen's head twisted to Keles and back again in an instant. Keles, to his credit, stayed still as stone. He had always been the better of the two at hiding the affair. Maybe that was an indicator of the differing emotions in each of them. Xen boiled and Keles simmered.

After an awkward moment, Hephesta gestured and Xen turned to face the congregation. She kept her expressions behind the mask emotionless, but that wouldn't be mirrored inside. She would be tingling and tight. She'd warned Xen about affairs of the heart, but would her friend listen? Of course not.

Hephesta coughed and the assembly dutifully silenced.

"Today we honour Apprentice Xen for her actions in combat. Apprentice Xen, you were with us at Nazalia were you not?" Xen nodded, a slight dance in her eyes. The occasion was catching up with her. "And you were also compelled to draw your blades. You held steel within your hands, and you faced our enemies, the enemies of Lord _Rhanna_. You faced them, and you fought with skill and bravery. You showed yourself to be a true soldier of Mandahoi, and for that we honour you."

A cry went up from the five hundred mandahoi – a large proportion of the student population. Hephesta ushered her to turn to him, and Xen brushed down her pristine uniform, smoothing creases that didn't exist. She was so silly with that. There was one more momentary stabbing glare, and this time a crack appeared in Keles's stony appearance. It was uninterpretable.

It was then that Xen was handed two rings, each of them the size of a fist; one red and one glimmering grey. They were battle rings, the signatures of a successful mandahoi. The red ring, forged from rose gold, represented the fact that she had earned her first kill. It would be engraved with the date and location of that pivotal event. The second bright steel ring was the more important one, and the one that differentiated her from the other veterans of Nazalia. This one showed that she had been with blade, the true calling of the mandahoi. The symbolic jewellery slipped over her arm, and her face broadened. The cheer from around the Academy was potent. Xen was a popular student.

"Please welcome back to your ranks, Acolyte Xen!"

Her friend walked back, a wide grin beaming from behind the jaw-guard. She was being buffeted by the hands of the congratulating students, but Xen just swayed with it. She looked at the two glittering rings on her friend's left arm, and beamed. To receive those rings was a huge achievement, and Xen had been promoted to acolyte too. What a fabulous day. They exchanged a quick smile and then it was time for her name to be called out; reverberating around the courtyard. She went cold. It was her time.

Applause rippled through the courtyard, but this time it was polite rather than rapturous. Her positioning as a _magistra_ of the Jinq family would always isolate her from the majority, but here and now it was of little consequence. This was her moment regardless of popularity.

She reached the platform and climbed up hungrily. Hephesta looked upon her with authoritative endorsement. The first words were meant only for her.

"Well done Anejo. You have truly proven yourself worthy of the grey. There can be no limits to what you will achieve."

_Until your time ends and your life as a_ magistra _of the Jinq begins_. Her grandfather's words echoed around her head, damaging her mood. Her grandfather considered her place at the Academy as a stain on him, so how long could she realistically keep it up? Especially now that the priests had wind of it. There was no way that she could be left to tarnish herself in such a place, but she would fight them all the way. She always had done.

It was moments like this that she would miss the most. Life as a _magistra_ , however privileged that might be, would simply not compare. She would be expected to blend and titillate, and she really was no good at either. Hephesta started the proclamation by turning her to the front, and her mind wandered to the future that her birth would bring her. The image festered there, intoxicating her dreams.

"Today we honour Apprentice Anejo ..."

The words rolled out and each sentence was punctuated by a ripple of applause. Xen had earned the steel ring, and so therefore should she. But what was the point if she was doomed to a life as a _magistra_? She couldn't wear the steel ring with a frock, so what would happen to it? Would it just gather dust somewhere?

The sound of the crowd further exaggerated her dreams, and she pulled the scowl off her face. How long had she been scowling at the assembly? Hephesta finished speaking and she grinned somewhat unnaturally. The steel ring was all she could think of in that moment, and how she might have to give it up one day. But at least she would earn it. That, at least, would be some compensation.

Hephesta held out a grey cushion upon which her trophies were placed. She looked down, and breathed in sharply. There was only a rose ring there.

A great weight crushed her lungs, and she gaped openly at the slight. Just rose-gold. Truly? That really was spite of the most acidic kind. Hephesta had to nudge her, and she held out her arm, accepting the inadequate reward. She took the opportunity, and looked at him. Keles's gaze was stony.

Could he really be doing this? Could he be so malicious that he would deny her just acclaim? She wound him up certainly, and that probably deserved retribution of some sort, but this? No, it was too much. She balled her fists. She had to force the smile, but she wouldn't look happy, she was sure of that. Anger swelled, but she checked herself just long enough. Her anger was distracted by a tapping sound, and she followed it.

Caste-Master Blasetté was climbing the platform and before him, on a beautiful grey cushion, was an immaculately polished mask bearing resemblance to a female lion. It was the mask of courage, one of the four castes of the Mandahoi, and it was meant for her. She was not getting a steel ring because she was instead being honoured with her first caste. That was a feat beyond even her own wildest fantasy. She was suddenly very hot under her uniform.

What had she been thinking? How could she have doubted Keles? They may have a delicate relationship, but he was the consummate professional. Hundreds of eyes were on her, and she dropped her head. She touched her cheeks. Yes, hot. But there was no way to hide now, and besides, no-one could read her emotions. Flushed cheeks could mean anything, and this was her moment. She didn't care.

The next moments were mere hallucination, a swimming sensation of nausea. Time seemed to pass more slowly than it had done beneath the gates of Nazalia. Maybe slower even than when a dragon's foot accelerated towards her. This was something else. Those moments had slowed with the onset of danger. Here she was savouring the dream.

She unbuckled her plain mask, her fingers slipping clumsily, and dropped it to the wooden stage. It looked drab down there. When the mask of courage was passed over, she handled it with reverential care. It was beautiful, forged from immaculately manufactured steel with a flawless silver sheen. The lines of the cat's face were carved in such perfect detail that the beast seemed to growl at her. But it was not a threatening snarl. It was welcoming. She was joining their ranks.

Moments later the mask was wrapped around her face, hiding her grin. The light applause grew heavier, and that in itself was overwhelming. She rarely got the respect that she deserved from her fellow students. She stared out absently, numb with astonishment. Only the excitably waving hands of Xen were distinct. She was certain that her own face would be glowing by now.

"Please welcome back to your ranks, Scholar Anejo."

The sun was dipping close to the horizon by the time the full extent had sunk through. She was a scholar, a learned mandahoi, and her whole life stretched gloriously before her. Nothing could stop her now, not even her grandfather.

## Chapter Seventeen

—Xen—

Xen walked with an aimlessness borne of not knowing. The weight of Anejo's words hung off of her, dragging her constantly down. The effect was such that she shuffled around like an aimless zombie. Waiting. She was utterly lost, and yet she still had a purpose. She had to find Keles.

Why would he gift himself to that strange man? Why would he alienate himself? It didn't make any sense, so perhaps Anejo was wrong. But however cavalier Anejo might be, she was nearly always correct. It was the most annoying thing about her friend. Her gut churned.

But why? Anejo couldn't answer that. Would he really trade his life close to her for a new challenge? He had been acting strange recently, but when he'd touched her hand the connection was clear. They were one; they were a single entwined entity; and they loved each other.

She had little idea what the time was except that it was late. The darkness was complete, one of those nights where the natural pitch was accentuated by a thick blanket of cloud. There was no wind to speak of, and the whole Academy had an eerie quality to it. Not that such trivial things bothered her. She wanted answers, and she would have them soon.

She arrived at his office, and a crack around the door was illuminated. He was in. She moved closer, shuffling across the stone floor. Her boiling emotions subsided, suppressed, for a moment at least. She stepped slowly towards her answers.

There were voices drifting from inside the room, both male, and the second voice was definitely Archmaster Hephesta. He sounded displeased.

"I still cannot understand your motive. What could have turned you from such a staunch objector to a vehement adorer? You speak of him as if he is some sort of magician."

Keles replied, but she could not make it out. But it didn't matter. Archmaster Hephesta's words vindicated Anejo's suggestion. He was leaving.

"And then you bring exile upon yourself! By the _Uncle's logic_ , what use are you if you cannot even pass into the country?"

She craned her head at the door, straining for Keles's words. "I only need denounce the man to return." He was definitely the more subdued of the two.

Archmaster Hephesta scoffed. "Well, I will certainly not be conceding that you are leaving for good. Dusk is coming. You saw it yourself. You will be back."

"Dusk will wait, but the Nadari will not. They will build on their treachery, and we need to uproot them. We do have your support on this, don't we?"

The sigh that the Archmaster gusted was evidence enough. Keles had always had a way with the Arrchmaster.

"Yes, I will support this course of action because you believe in it. And I trust you. But that does not mean I am happy with it. I want your assurance that the exercise is purely observational. I do not want to endanger my relationship with the High-Consul. You do realise he has expressly forbidden any such intervention?"

"I realise, and you have my word."

There was a moment of silence and a chair scraped across the floorboards. Footsteps came her way. She instinctively backed against the wall, making herself as small as possible. She would be in so much trouble if she was caught. Fortunately, the Archmaster was lost in his own head and paid no attention. She quickly darted into the room and once inside she gazed at her love. Her anger melted away, and she cried.

"Why are you leaving me?" Her words were mumbled. He didn't respond.

She collapsed to her knees, heaving. Keles stepped deftly forward and grabbed her under the arms, pulling her up. She put her face in his chest and let loose. He held her tight, and it was the same grip that had warmed her on cool evenings. His arms were vast, encircling her, and she shivered. But he was leaving her. She pulled away and frowned, but another sob ruined the effect. Not that it mattered.

"Why are you leaving me?"

He would not respond. She had become an expert in reading him, and the excitement of a new challenge burned bright. It was the same fire he'd had for her in the earliest of days, but not anymore. This time that burning was for Kato. She was losing him to adventure.

"I am not leaving you."

"You are going off with him. Why?"

She sniffed and snorted, but she didn't turn away or hide. She didn't care for any of that. Not now. She pushed back against his grip, but he squeezed tight. Secretly, she did not want to escape, but it would only be right that she make a bit of a scene. Just for show. She wriggled against the pressure and Keles eased slightly, but not a lot.

"I am not running from you. I am chasing the challenge. You know what I'm like."

It was the obvious answer, but also no answer at all. Some small part of her could understand the desire for Kato's teachings, but in her it was peripheral. In him it dominated. Sometimes she wondered whether Keles and Anejo weren't better matched, but that did not bear thinking about. They were near enough siblings, and Keles was hers. And besides, Anejo was not one to expend time and effort on such trivialities as relationships.

"When will I see you?"

"We will see each other as we do already, at times when we are both free to commit. We are together now, aren't we?"

The words had weight, a truth behind them. Or perhaps she wanted to believe them. She pulled a heavy breath into her lungs and broached the fear that nestled deep inside her.

"So, you're not trying to get rid of me?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Hardly convincing, but it was what she wanted to hear. She nuzzled into him.

"What task is the Archmaster assisting with?"

He pulled back, turned away from her, and moved behind his desk. "You were eavesdropping."

"No, I just happened to hear. That's very different."

Keles sighed and stared out of the dark window. She wiped her face and smiled. She had won. She moved towards him and put her arms around his waist. He liked that, and he cracked.

"I am going on an, ah, expedition."

She didn't need to hear exactly where it was, or even what they were doing. She would be close to him, and that was enough.

"Then I will come with you."

"No—"

"Yes. I will come with you. You cannot escape me so easily. You are my bear, and I have baited you."

She slid her hands below his waist, and there was no further objection.

—Anejo—

It was like a puzzle that Anejo had to unravel. Her closest friend was buzzing around the room like a wasp in a sugar store, pulling together her possessions for some undisclosed purpose. But it was obvious that something was up. Xen was only this frantic when excitement was near, and these days it usually involved Keles.

"So, what did he say?"

"He said that he was leaving and that I couldn't change his mind." Xen shrugged, but it wasn't enough. She could read her friend's subtler signals. She was frowning, but there was an unconcealed energy about her. She was not telling the whole truth.

The pair were in their private room at the Academy, a perk of their gender. The room was not grand, but it was her favourite place in the world because she shared it with Xen. She lay in her narrow bed with grey sheets crumpled over her. On the other side of the room, Xen moved about packing a leather bag. The nature of the packed items suggested that she was leaving for a number of days.

"How did he leave it with you?"

"Don't you think that is between the two of us?"

"Don't you think it's between the two of you to ensure that your eloping doesn't interfere with Keles's duties on the Council of Consolidation?" That halted her.

"We're sorry for that, we really are, but I'm sworn to secrecy."

"You're sworn to secrecy on details of your affair. Seems a bit strange."

Silence. It was always funny to watch an occupied mind tripping over itself. There was a flurry of gestures, and then the guilt surfaced and wrote itself all over her friend.

"That's not quite what I—"

"Where is he taking you?"

"Who says I'm going anywhere?"

She glanced down at the steadily filling bag. Xen's shoulders slumped and she sighed through her nose. That was mighty inelegant, very unlike Xen. She had her. She always won these verbal sparring matches.

"Where are you going?" There was still no response. She would be stubborn with this. It didn't matter. She could wait.

It was late, and she had been woken by Xen's entrance. Her friend was still in her uncharacteristically ragged ceremonial uniform, and she had a dull sheen to her. Xen finished cramming the bag, dumped it to the floor, and then clambered out of the creased uniform. Then she climbed into her bed and blew out the sole flickering candle. The room snapped to black, but after a few moments she could make out Xen in the gloom. Her friend was leaning on her side, facing the wall. Away. The lines of defence were drawn.

"You're going somewhere with Keles, aren't you? I can keep questioning you all night if I need to."

"Yes, fine, you win. Now, please can we sleep?" That was satisfying. Her friend was cracking. Now to push the pressure point.

"You know what confuses me? Why would Keles offer himself to Kato, and then immediately elope with his secret lover? That just doesn't make sense." A satisfying silence engulfed the room. She was digging in the correct place. "Does Kato know that Keles comes as a pair?"

"Kato doesn't know anything."

"And he won't suspect it when you just turn up?"

"We will not be journeying alone so there is nothing to suspect. Now, please let me sleep. I have a long day tomorrow."

That was interesting. There were others travelling too, which suggested a mission of sorts. She chewed her cheek. She had a thread, and she started pulling.

"Travelling far are you?" Another satisfying sigh. Xen would soon be malleable as dough.

"Yes. We need to be away early to make time, and hence I need sleep. Now, please—"

"You have to be somewhere at a specific time?"

Silence again. The trap was working. A specific appointment meant one of two things: either they were due to meet some dignitary – unlikely – or they were catching a boat. Sailors were notorious for taking transit fees up front and then departing at a strict time, whether travellers were aboard or not. The thread turned into a blanket, and she could almost wrap it around herself. She just needed verification.

"You know..."

"What?"

"I've always wanted to visit Samal."

The sudden rigidity in Xen was all she needed. Her lifelong companion floundered.

"Please, don't say anything. I promised that it would stay a secret."

She smiled and tingled. The prospect was just too exciting. Her grandfather had expressly forbidden any intervention against the Nadari without official clearance, and this went directly against that order. Her position as _magistra_ meant she should act against this dissident operation; she should blow the horn. But she wouldn't. Instead, she would act against her duty. She twisted Xen.

"I'm sorry, but I have a moral duty to inform the council of this contravention. I must tell my grandfather."

"No! I don't know how you guessed, but if you speak out then it could be the end for me and Keles. I know you don't approve, but you do know how important it is to me. Please."

There was desperation in her friend, her hands clasped before her. This would be so easy...

"That would be very irresponsible of me."

"When, exactly, have you ever cared for responsibility?"

That was harsh, and the fact that it was true only hardened the blow. She was annoying her friend, driving a wedge between them, and that was not what she sought. This needed to be done before the exchange turned sour. Her friend was capable of twisting her as much as she was capable of moulding Xen. They just used different tools.

"I suppose I could keep quiet..." Xen was crying out without saying a word, rigid and pleading. How high was the price that she was willing to pay? She would soon find out. "If you convince Keles to take me too."

Silence again, and a deep one. The price was high indeed. Her best friend slumped back to her bed. There was a whimper, but the reality was that Xen was cornered. She had won, though the friction with her friend was bitter sweet. She took no pleasure in it.

"I will ask him."

"Thank you."

As the moments ticked by, the guilt subsided and left victory in its place. She smiled at the prospect of what she was about to immerse herself in. The fate of Ahan would be cast into her newly promoted hands.

## Chapter Eighteen

—Xen—

This was not what Xen had intended. Anejo had ruined everything.

If Keles was cold before this expedition, then he was freezing over now. Her inability to keep the matter from Anejo was a source of real friction, and they'd barely spoken since. And annoyingly that was fair. When the young _magistra_ of House Jinq had turned up, it was a sore point for so many reasons. So many reasons.

Anejo wouldn't be instantly recognised, but hers was not a good face on a trip where invisibility was key. Even Kato raised an eyebrow at her appearance, and Kato was barely expressive at all. The whole situation reflected very badly on Keles, and he rightly blamed her. It was all her fault. The atmosphere had been putrid ever since.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Anejo didn't even seem to notice.

She looked around and scoffed, ignoring her friend. It was not unfair to say that Saphos, their destination, was a shithole. In fact, waste was a common feature of the place. It ran along open drains and it was impossible to avoid the smell. She had spent the first two days close to retching, but now, unfortunately, she was getting used to it. Only Anejo seemed completely immune to the putrid place though. Was that wilful ignorance, or was her friend really that filtered? She wanted her friend to feel as bad as she did.

"Xen."

"Who knows? This whole adventure has been an utter waste. Hopefully, they're deciding on the best way to get home."

Anejo tutted. How could she be so positive in the face of this failure? And the ten days in Saphos had been a complete failure. They had found not a scrap of evidence to suggest the Nadari were culpable of anything, and that meant the trip was a waste of time. And because of Anejo's involvement, a destructive waste of time at that. She wanted nothing but to leave this place, but her best friend remained perplexingly motivated.

"It has not been a valueless trip."

"Anejo, we have not found a single suggestion of evidence against the accused."

Her friend did not even register the words. She was too busy staring at Keles and Kato who were perched on a bench not far away. They, along with the other two students, were sitting on a patch of filth, taking a causal lunch break in the meagre heat of the sun. The two leaders were in conversation, and this was annoying. She needed to talk to Keles, and really badly. She always needed to talk to him, such was their delicate relationship, but she couldn't get a word in. His ears were only for Kato. What did they talk about?

"I don't think we've been looking in the right place. What we need is to get close to the Nadari Governor. We need to get into his fortress."

She followed her friend's gesture to a ribbon of stone that was circled by a short stretch of water, and which itself circled a sizeable keep. It was the fort of the Governor, the seat of power in this rotten place. Sole access was across a well-guarded bridge, and such was the paranoia of the elusive ruler, entry was only granted by an excruciating administrative process. One would have better luck seeking an audience with the King of Gorfinia than getting into that place. Not that her friend recognised this.

"Well, it's lucky for us that the option is closed. We have been forbidden from getting close to that building, and for good reason. The Governor is ruthless."

Her words seemed to dissolve over Anejo. There was silence, which gave hope that perhaps her friend was taking note, but it was probably optimistic. Her friend rarely listened to advice, and she shook her head. She smoothed her ragged clothing as best she could.

She looked upon him once more, and Keles flexed his shoulders. All she wanted was the comfort of his arms around her. All she really wanted was a cuddle. That would be enough. The words could wait.

"You know this is not healthy for you." She snapped her head round. Anejo certainly knew how to spoil her moments.

"What exactly is unhealthy?"

"Staring at him like that. You have become obsessed with him, and I'm not convinced he reciprocates."

She spun about urgently, searching for eavesdroppers. How many times did she have to ask her friend to be careful? They were isolated enough.

"What do you mean?"

Anejo rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Sorry Xen, but you know that I don't agree with this. I know I can't stop you, but I don't want you getting hurt. Tread carefully."

"I'll be sure to bear it in mind."

Anejo liked to do that: giving advice where she had no place or experience. It was incredibly annoying, and she ground her teeth. Lucky for her she was adept at ignoring it.

She turned away and sighed. And there, in the middle distance, were a series of bedraggled mansions. They were built at the base of a rise which bordered the northern edge of the town, and it was the obvious place for the greater wealth to congregate. An idea flourished, and she grabbed hold of it. How had they not seen it before? Maybe she could get back in Keles's good books by solving his problem. It was time that she manipulated her friend for her own benefit. After all, Anejo had got them in this mess to start with.

"We may not be allowed near the Governor, but there are probably other ways for information to leak away. Do you fancy a walk?"

Anejo cocked her head and smiled devilishly. "Only if there is an ulterior motive."

Exactly the response she was hoping for.

—Keles—

It had been an excellent idea. Why had this course of action not come to Keles? They had spent ten days shuffling around markets and plying their falsified trade as blacksmiths in search of information. They had hoped to tease evidence from their military clients, but tongues were tight in the market-place. It wasn't surprising really. What they needed was lubrication, and it seemed that this quarter of town was the place to play. Everyone was here, and everyone was drunk.

Including Kato. The man remained an enigma.

The tavern was heaving, swelled to near bursting by a timely day of Nadari national rest: the markets would be closed tomorrow; the smiths' furnaces would be cold; and the alehouses would remain firmly shut. This last fact in particular appeared to have spurred every citizen of Saphos to take full advantage, and the levels of merriment were reaching a frenzied crescendo.

He was slurping weak ale, revolting to the palate but kind to the wits. Beside him, Kato swung his mug to the tune that was reaching an ear-piercing finale. He twisted awkwardly to avoid being hit by his companion. This performance could only be attributed to inebriation or a remarkable acting. He wasn't sure which one.

Finally, oh thank the _Father_ , the music peaked with a harsh collection of discordant notes. The raucous recital ended chaotically and there was a sharp decline in volume, only a few pockets still singing private encores which eventually died out. With the relative hush, it was possible to hold conversation once more. He got back to work.

"Is it like this every night?"

The man smiled back at him, a slight sway of the head. "We Saphosians know how to party. Sorry, where did you say you were from?"

His cover story was well-embedded. In fact, remembering to use his Mandari twang was the hardest part of all.

"Mandaria, the south side. We've hit on dry times and are looking for new trade. We heard the industry is exploding in Saphos, gold flowing from the furnaces themselves. We came seeking our share."

"Ah, that's right. You're the blacksmith." The man beamed, like he had solved a great puzzle. Such was the power of alcohol. It was the perfect tool in this situation. He liked a good drink himself, but not tonight. Kato had no such qualms and stumbled about randomly. He was becoming a liability.

"Aye, that's us. What do you think our chances are? Of making our fortune, that is."

Kato settled beside him, playing his part as the idiot apprentice very well indeed. That was the extent of his contribution.

"Good weapon-smiths will always be welcome in Saphos. After all, a sword is never out of fashion, eh? Chances are that demand will be buoyed given recent events though, if you know what I mean?"

No, he didn't know what he meant. It was his chance to pounce.

"No, I don't know what you mean."

The Nadari officer scowled, and his head bobbed with intoxication. But the man did still have his wits. He would need to be careful in his extraction.

"Altunia was attacked just twenty-five nights ago. The Delfinians almost marched right into the Citadel. Damn luck that they were turned away."

Luck or genius? Kato swayed beside him. The man was the very definition of enigma.

"But how? That approach is near impossible. And besides, what does that have to do with Saphos?"

The officer gave a wry smile. He took a long draught of his drink, tipping it up and encouraging every last drop into his mouth. It was almost time for another round, so he dutifully drained his drink too.

The officer cleared his throat. "Rumour has it they sailed right up, and rumour also has it the Nadari were involved. Now, I need to get myself another drink."

"Please, allow me." It was obvious the Saphosian officer had been fishing, but he didn't need the nudge. He would not give up this thread. It was too valuable.

"That is most kind. Why the generosity?"

The man was getting curious. Time to nail the man. "One must burn before one can earn! I hope that you will repay the favour by furnishing me with any business you may have?"

Drinks were quickly dished out, including a fresh draught for Kato. Did he really need that? He left a few extra coppers at the bar, and then moved in close. A fresh bout of singing erupted, but it was contained to the far side of the tap-room.

"Why would the Nadari be accused of such foulness? We are all Mandari after all."

The Saphosian officer opened his mouth, his eyes dulled by booze. But he closed his mouth again. Duty won out. The officer looked away and gulped down his draught, but there was no escaping. He kept his silence and his eyes darted about. But it couldn't last. Alcohol was a powerful master. The target broke.

"Between you and me, there are rumours among the governors of Saphos that a mysterious order was issued on the night in question. The defences that the Nadari preside over were temporarily, ah, compromised. Story goes that a messenger failed to deliver the second half of the message." He grinned.

The thread was strengthening, and he barely needed to intervene. "Truly?"

"I heard that a messenger was hanged for his failure. Apparently, he was delivering his cock rather than his cargo, if you get what I mean?"

That was crude enough for a reasonably well educated dog to understand, but he nodded all the same. He didn't want to jeopardise such a mine of information.

"Then surely that explains it? The fault was this messenger's. The Nadari Governor has paid his price by executing this man. Why would Saphos be in need of smiths?"

The man furrowed his face. "What are all these questions for?"

Again, he was well prepared. "What use is a smith if he doesn't understand his market? I just want to know what is driving my potential customers."

The officer peered at him and an uncomfortable moment followed, but the drink was winning out. His face softened and his eyes swam.

"I knew that man. He was no slouch, and he was no whoring scoundrel. In my mind, that story is nothing more than cover."

Evidence enough? Perhaps not, but surely it was close. He wanted to dig further, but feared that he would expose himself. Fortunately, the choice was taken from him. There was a disturbance in the tavern.

He instinctively feared the worst, and the worst duly presented itself. The students had found themselves some trouble. Why had he brought the students along?

Xen had insisted on doing her part, and she was given the opportunity. It was her plan in the first place, after all. Anejo had also wormed her way in, and Aran was tagging along too. The young man seemed driven by something which was hard to place. He had granted the opportunity on the grounds that there was very little that could go wrong, but there was always a risk. He should have refused them.

Anejo was dressed as a young noble-boy, the clothing burying her identity, and Xen was playing her partner. Xen's silhouette had piqued interest, and a group of burly men were expressing their intentions. Only Anejo stood in their way, and that was not good. She was brash, over-confident, and not strong enough. Not here.

The ringleader lurched forward, towards Anejo, wild haymaker arms. Damn it! He flinched, but he was restrained by a now utterly sober Kato. How did he do it? He looked back to the flourishing fight, and understood. Someone else had intervened, so they didn't need to.

The man was tall but lithe, betraying subtle strength rather than vulgar brutality. With the flick of a wrist, the smaller man deflected the ringleader and sent him tumbling to the ground. The victim rose, but the interventionist quickly dispatched him once more. The brute was left with a bloody nose. There was something powerful about the interventionist, a hidden and yet obvious authority. Only the landlord's command saved the brute from further embarrassment.

"Thank the _Father_ for that." He must stop thanking the pagan gods; what would the Consul say? The interventionist, whoever he was, had really saved a situation, and he deserved some gratitude. He made a point of meeting the man's eyes, and froze. He recognised the man. And more than that; he feared the man. Now he definitely had his evidence.

It was him, there was no doubting it. The last time he came across this man, he had been just a moment from death. It was the Delfinian general, the fiend that had almost bested him, and he was here, in Saphos. That he was here was evidence enough: there was collusion in the air.

And they were in immeasurable danger.

The connection only lasted a heartbeat, but it was profound. The recognition was both ways, and that meant that General Mandestroy was aware of their presence. The Governor would find out soon enough. The Delfinian swept effortlessly from the tavern.

Kato extended a hand towards the students, and he followed the gesture. Oh no. They were leaving, an excellent option, but their unwanted suitors were following. He was giddy with the speed of events, a situation that was worsened by the ale he had drunk. He hoped that his wits had not entirely deserted him. Fortunately, it appeared that Kato was in full command of his faculties. It would be a long time before he understood this oddity, but now was not the time to worry about that. Xen was in trouble.

—Anejo—

Anejo's chest was thumping and her feet moved quickly. It was a cold night, sharp on the skin, breath frosting. The pitted muddy streets were firm. There was the sound of flapping footsteps behind them; their pursuers.

"Down this alley. It's a shortcut." She was not certain, but she was pretty sure. Until that was they were halfway down the alley. The wretched houses loomed above, forming two sides of a dead end. They were trapped, and it was her doing.

"Where do we go?"

Aran's words quivered, but that was not unusual. What was unusual was that it reflected in her. She ignored Aran and looked at her closest friend instead.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." The look on Xen's face suggested she didn't mean it, but that was fair. Everything was her fault. She cursed her reckless streak.

Her pulse throbbed in her ears and three shadows advanced down the muddy street. The squelching mess leaked through her cotton shoes, and for some reason that was all she could think about. What was that filth? She flexed her toes in the footwear, but the they were constricting. Why had she only just realised this? She growled.

Xen put a hand on her shoulder, but the grip was a shaky one. "Don't worry. We are mandahoi." She gulped.

It was true, of course it was, and yet it was also utterly ridiculous. She could hear the leering and jeering of the burly men, and the cowering sobs of Aran behind. She was a survivor of Nazalia and the Siege of Altunia, but somehow this was worse. They were alone; they were scared; they were unarmed; and judging by Aran's cowering state, they were outnumbered too.

Their aggressors sniggered and guffawed, the sound boiling her. But she could use this; it was her way. Emotion drove her greatness. She was a caste-scholar of the Mandahoi, and that meant a lot. That meant a great deal. And she was a survivor of Nazalia too, and of the dragon. This was the life she wanted, exactly what she had signed up for. Well, maybe not quite this, but she couldn't pick and choose. She watched the shadows move forward, breathing in and out sharply through pursed lips.

"You're right. Let's do this."

She pulled her sleeves up, and her hairs tugged against her skin. It was cold. Her head was swimming, but she suppressed it, blinking her eyes. She crouched, lowering her weight to the ground, firming her footing. She turned and Xen was doing the same, succumbing to the years of training. They were doing this.

Her closest friend surprised her on so many occasions, and this was no exception. To most she seemed reluctant as a _sapling_ , but despite this, she was extremely capable. Xen's exploits at Nazalia were, in truth, no less remarkable than her own. This was another fine example of those cloaked abilities. She ripped some of the frill from her dress, triggering a cheer of delight from their aggressors. It was not like there was another option, but Xen's remarkable act of defiance still sent a shiver through her.

Their attackers jeered and whooped, goading them. They would not succumb to it.

"Why don't you just lie down for us? We promise to be gentle."

The three men sniggered, throaty sounds that matched their bulk. Provocation seemed like the worst possible idea, but it was what she would do. She was good at it.

"I prefer it rough, but I'm not convinced you're up to the job."

They roared in delight, obviously pleased by the prospect of the chase.

"Then let's not dally. I'm not a patient man."

It was time, and he lurched forward like a wild bear. He was actually impressive for one so large; he must be a military man. His swipe glanced her cheek, and she floundered, falling to the filthy ground. She quickly righted herself. He approached, laughing, and one of his dumb twins was coming up behind. Xen was backing off too, being pursued by the third bastard, and Aran stayed tight to the wall. It was definitely down to the two of them.

Her attacker lurched at her again, and she only gathered her wits in time to evade the blow. She dipped to the side and stepped back, towards the wall.

"Come on. At least put up a fight! Let's get this done with, and then we can get on with your lovely mistress."

The words stirred the lion in her. She tore her hat from her head, swung her hair free, and loosened the top buttons of her shirt, just showing a hint of shadow. The effect was instantaneous, and two brutish faces lit up.

"Well blow me, we've got ourselves a second. Try not to damage her."

She rolled her shoulders and their eyes narrowed. The bastards were beside each other, coming in unison, reducing her chances of evasion. When the ringleader thrust a fist at her, she responded the only way a mandahoi would. She deftly stepped out of the way and grabbed the leader's following elbow, jamming it upwards with all the strength she could muster. It took an almighty effort, but the arm elevated unnaturally, twisting the shoulder of her victim. He squirmed and arched his spine, and she rammed a knee into the base of his exposed back. He tumbled like a felled tree.

There was no time to dwell. The second man lurched forward, less adept than his fallen leader, and she easily manoeuvred out of the way. He was standing back up, mouth grimacing, fleshy nose flared. It was a gift she couldn't refuse, and she chopped down onto the bridge of his nose. It exploded in blood and he twisted away, but she grabbed his hair and thrust the self-same nose into her rising knee. He squealed like a pig and crumpled to the filthy ground.

Their leader was rising, fury on his face. He was grinning sickeningly, tongue sticking out from between his teeth. He thrust out with his arm and grabbed her by her shirt, but the mandahoi instinct took over. She held his hand at her chest and stepped back. He became unbalanced, and stumbled to a knee. Then he stepped forward and straightened up, pulling his arm back, and it was then that she kicked at his groin. He doubled over, groaning in pain, but she still had hold of an arm which she twisted to the side. Then she stepped back, still holding the arm, and kicked out with her other leg. There was a satisfying sound as the elbow bent the wrong way.

She looked about for Xen and found her standing over the third attacker who dropped heavily to the ground. She breathed in deep, and then exhaled just as deeply, fists still raised. Two shadows flitted away from the entrance of the alley, and they were alone, except for their wriggling victims. Her anger waned and the scene before her grew grey. That was more destruction by her hands.

But it was finished, and her shaky breathing filled her ears. She shuddered.

## Chapter Nineteen

—Aran—

Why hadn't he done anything? It was Aran's opportunity to prove himself as more than just a clothing rack, but he hadn't taken it. Instead he'd cowered by the wall while two young women protected him. By the _Sister_ he was pitiful. He stroked his shoulder.

"Why didn't you do anything?" He didn't really need his uselessness reinforced.

It was the deepest type of night, the time when even the Stranger had sunk west. It was so late that even the drunks had gone silent, but he was up, and he was observing. This was definitely his last chance.

"Well?" She glared at him accusingly. Was this really the best time for such a conversation?

"I was scared." There was nothing like the truth to quiet an interrogation, and here it worked perfectly. But it wouldn't work in front of the Seat; they didn't want excuses. Tonight, he had to succeed.

Of course, the Delfinian General had to play his part too, and so far he hadn't. The narrow house that had been identified as his residence was as dead as the rest of Saphos, and that meant only one thing. There was time for more questioning.

"Aran, do you want to be a mandahoi?"

That was a stupid question. Of course he did! Well actually, he wanted a life away from his past, and service as a mandahoi gave him that. He also got to spend time with Anejo, and that was amazing. Except when she was quizzing him. So he did want the life of a mandahoi, and that was that.

But did he truly want to be a soldier? Probably not. His mild nature did not fit at all well in the Mandahoi psyche.

"Of course I do." He stroked his shoulder and the darkness purred inside him.

She stared at him, like she wanted to see deep into him. She really didn't want to see that. He looked at the building that housed the General, just to avoid Anejo's inquisition. There was still no movement.

"Well you don't behave like you want to be a mandahoi. We could really have done with your help yesterday, and you would have painted yourself in golden shades if you'd done anything. Anything. Instead you cowered. Why?"

It was because of the other side of him. It had torn loose of its shackles, that's why. It screamed in his ears and paralysed him. The darkness had exploded in that alley, and there was no way he could control it. That is why he'd been such a coward, and if she couldn't understand this, then perhaps she was no friend at all. He should explain it, and he was sure she'd understand. Surely. All he had to do was unveil the darkness within.

But he didn't. That was not his way. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head and sighed. For a fleeting moment there was blessed silence; maybe the interrogation was over? He breathed appreciatively.

"What did you do when you were admitted into the Academy? They must have seen potential."

She gazed at him, her cheeks turned up. She was a friend, wasn't she? This line of questioning may be trampling him, but she wouldn't be doing it if she didn't care. Perhaps he should offer something in return. Relationships were supposed to be two-way, or so they said. He wasn't good at relationships, but now was as good a time as any to start practising.

It all came flooding back, and he stroked his shoulder more firmly. That experience, years back, when he'd first succumbed to his darker side was a pivotal one. And dichotomous too. On the one hand it paved the way for his life as a mandahoi, but on the other... He gulped. It had un-tethered his darker side and he had been resisting ever since. It had been his personal hell, his secret, but now it was being prised from him.

She stared intently, and he wilted. If he could tell anyone, then it was her, wasn't it? He drew in a breath and his chest heaved. His lip trembled. This was the biggest declaration of his life.

"Well, what happened is―"

A sound stole in, and he turned to it. The door of the narrow house slapped shut. A dark figure was drifting away from them, and it was clear that it was the General.

"Come on."

They crept from the shadows and followed their target. That was fortunate. He would not have to deal with the interrogation. Then again, it might have been nice to share.

No. He buried that idea deep down. He wouldn't be needing it.

—Anejo—

"He's going in."

They had tailed the general to the gates of the fortress and watched him sneak through the main gate with the blessing of the guards. Excitement burned in her, the implications of the discovery dangling; encouraging her. She twitched in anticipation and her lip was chewed raw, but it was worth it. There was work to do.

"I'm going in."

She expected Aran to act like the coward he was, but that was fine.

"We were ordered to follow the General as far as this, no further. We cannot go in there."

His words drifted through her because she'd already made that choice. Her body would not be far behind.

She surveyed the fort for possible entry points. There was a jetty to the north, poking out from the landward side. A good start. The way to the jetty was cloaked in the shadows of the waterfront shops, and the plan came quick. Aran had a pleading look, so she gave him his only option.

"You don't have to come with me. You can stay here."

She glanced at the spot where Xen lay concealed, mouthed an apology, and stepped towards the edge of the roof. Xen stood up, visible, eyes wide even from a distance. But what did she know? They needed hard evidence, and that could only be obtained behind those protective walls. Nothing could stop her; not even Kato.

When she arrived at the jetty, she was utterly without restraint. This was what she'd joined for, the excitement that life as a mandahoi promised. Her grandfather's words echoed in her, but he would understand, wouldn't he? She was about to unveil a great treachery, and that was worth this disobedience. Of course it was. She had to breach those walls to spy on the General, and she had to do it for her country. She could almost taste the secrets.

The sound of pattering feet jerked her. She spun, staying low, and the figure halted abruptly beside her. Had Aran come to plea once more?

"I said that you didn't have to follow."

"You gave me a choice. I have chosen."

That was not something she expected, but now was not the time. Her excitement may be palpable, but so were her nerves. She nodded, turned, and dipped her toe into the water. It parted like flowing silk, and tightened her skin with its icy grip.

"You still have that choice."

She did not wait for a response. She slipped into the cool moat like an otter, hoping that Aran would stay put.

Once the water had entombed her, she took a moment to compose herself. Her heart stuttered against the shocking cold, but it soon settled and pumped calmly. She kicked off from the jetty, reaching forward with her arms, sweeping them in an elegant arc. She moved through the water as effortlessly as an arrow carves through air.

Each stroke brought the excitement closer, her mind awash with the prospect of what she might find. She kicked hard, keen to push through the water, but when she expected her hand to touch the further bank, there was nothing but cold black nothing. She gulped, dredging the last shreds of air from her rapidly emptying lungs, but the act gave meagre reprise. An ache burned inside her, and she recognised the truth. She was drowning.

Her chest ached, her heart pounded, and her strokes grew more frantic. Her mind struggled, rebelling against the self-imposed suffocation, and her legs flailed wildly behind her. Would she ever reach the further bank? She couldn't break the surface mid-water – her emergence would be obvious – but her body was fading and her mind was clinging to consciousness. It seemed that her vision had failed, though all was black below the water. But that was irrelevant. She had only moments to save the situation. She conceded defeat and kicked to the surface. Desperation trumped caution.

Her face was slapped by the chilly air, and she opened her mouth, inhaling the greatest and deepest breath she surely ever would. She opened her eyes, and she found herself just a hand's breadth from the muddy bank beneath the walls. She gulped down the sweet air, clutching her aching chest, and smiled. Her arms and legs slowly returned to her, her position in the water growing more stable with each breath, but she was not alone. She turned, her heart rate rising, and there was...

That she wasn't expecting. Aran had swum across too, and even looked composed with it. Perhaps he did have it within him, after all.

—Aran—

They clambered from the sewage outlet and into the cool air. The rise of Mother was just about staining the eastern horizon, but it was still dark. Still night. They were within the silent embrace of the fortress walls, and this was amazing in itself. The darkness within him was still subdued, and he may have tentatively believed. He could do this, and he could do this on his own.

It had been a stroke of luck; of that much he was certain. There was no way Anejo could have planned this. The waste pipe had been tucked just round the bend of the fortress wall, and only poor maintenance had left it vulnerable. Years of waste had corroded the iron bars that protected the entrance, and even he could bend them, splinters of rusted metal jumping free. Now they were inside the fort, and they could see the Delfinian General conversing in a room across the open space. But that still wasn't enough. Anejo was rocking on her heels.

And she stank. Not that he would be any less smelly, of course, but surely it wasn't sensible to go venturing further with this stink on them. Not that Anejo agreed.

"We must get closer."

He didn't understand. They could clearly see the General in stark orange candlelight, conversing with a man dressed rather too garishly. That must be the Nadari High Governor. As far as he could work out, these men should be enemies. They didn't look it, but then they didn't look like friends either. The finer aspects of the situation evaded him, but Master Keles seemed fairly certain that this was evidence enough. More than enough. Only Anejo seemed to disagree. Why did she have to always disagree?

"Are you sure?"

She looked at him, then back at the wall. Then back to him once more. He had never seen her like this. She was almost out of control. He stroked his shoulder, but the darkness within stayed strangely cool. That was disconcerting.

"Yes, I'm certain. If we could evidence their conversation, they will be incriminated for sure. You still have the option."

With that, she looked pleadingly at him, like he should take the easy path. But he didn't want to take that path. He couldn't. These actions were a chance for him, a final chance. He had to take it this time. She sprinted through the darkness, and he followed.

Close to the main keep, Anejo stopped by a barrel and he almost crashed into her. She turned, eyes wide and ready to attack, but she quickly cooled and actually raised her eyebrows. Was that what respect looked like? It was nice.

"I said you didn't have to come."

He shrugged. He was sort of enjoying this, or at least bits of it. "You gave me a choice."

She smiled, actually smiled at him, and he forgot about the terrible chill. He smiled back.

"When we return to the Academy, I will support your case. You have been brave."

Was it possible to stop living now and remain in this state of happiness? Anejo turned from him and the warmth faded. Shame.

"I still can't hear anything. We need to get closer."

It was amazing how quickly his positive mood subsided. For the first time that day, the darker corner of his mind stirred. He shivered.

"We're as close as it's possible to be. There's no way to get closer." And that was the truth too. He could see the hairs on the general's face, the colour of his eyes, but the walls were thick and the conversation muted. The problem was that if they were any closer, then they would be in the room. He feared that was exactly what Anejo intended.

Her cheeks stretched again. "Come on."

She shot up a wall, astonishing dexterity, and he followed as best he could. Once on the roof, just next to the illuminated room, she shuffled towards a small door. It was a service hatch. She pushed, and it opened smoothly. The conversation drifted from the hall, and the candlelight was reflected in her eyes, making them burn. She nodded in the direction of the door, and then crawled through. This was insane. He followed, gulping down his fear.

## Chapter Twenty

—Anejo—

Anejo shuffled along the wooden gangway, breathing deeply but carefully. Silence was utmost. The conversation continued down below and she tingled with excitement. Her grandfather would be so proud.

"I fear there is little I can contribute. I trust you will honour your end of the bargain regardless of this drawback?"

"The attack was a failure, Governor."

"Your failure, not mine. Our part in it all was delivered, and I demand remuneration."

Ha! It was that simple. The scheming double-cross was laid bare. This was utterly perfect and Keles would have to admit as much. She smiled.

"The Governor speaks the truth. You would do well to act the gentleman."

What? There was a third guest. Who was that? Her heart skipped once, a caution. She probably had enough already, but it would be harder to leave than to stay.

"Delfinia will honour her word, but she also demands to know the truth. The attack on Altnuia was foreseen. You must admit that it looks suspicious."

Silence followed, and it grew heavy. Turgid. No-one knew how the attack had failed and she suppressed a snigger. She knew.

"Come now Master Enabler. You claim to own knowledge of all things. Help us here."

Enabler? What sort of a name was that? She was tempted to look over the edge of the gangway, her curiosity burning. She almost succumbed, but ultimately she resisted. Thank the _Father_ that she did.

Cramp ripped at her lower leg, spiking her, and she screamed. Silently screamed. There was a slight squeak, but not much – she slapped her hand over her mouth. She stretched out her foot, compressing the calf muscles and tightening the ligaments. The pain eased as fast as it arrived, and she gathered her wits. But the repercussions were stark.

There was a pregnant silence down below. Her heart fluttered, drummed, and sweat dripped onto the gangway. There were footsteps in her direction, and she grabbed her weapon's hilt, flexing it methodically. Please no.

"Your plans were remarkable, General." She breathed out through pursed lips. So much relief. "Every eventuality was well considered, and every path mapped. You forget the random aspect, though. Nothing can be certain. Even the Order of the Veil has its blindness."

She smiled again. They hadn't noticed her! She released her grip on the weapon, mouthing her thanks to her God. She did not do that often.

Hang on. What was the Order of the Veil?

"You speak in riddles as usual. What random aspect?"

"You may know him as the Axis." She tingled at the mention of Kato.

"Ah yes, I know who you mean. And how is it that he came to know my plans?" There was accusation in the tone.

"He killed your dragons and extracted your agenda. It was just bad luck, General, bad luck that he was there." It didn't sound like it was luck at all. The Enabler was sitting on something, and she could tell that even from up here. She was glad to be hidden away, away from the tension.

The Governor growled. "It is late, or early even, and I have two whores warming my bed. Can we please finish this business before they grow restless and find alternative employment?"

There was a scraping of a chair and the heavy chink of gold. Events were reaching a conclusion, but that was okay. There was more than enough to incriminate here. She smiled. This had been a good evening.

"I would not want to keep you from your carnal frivolities, but before I leave, I have two questions for you. Firstly, what is Keles doing in Saphos? I was most surprised to see him."

She went rigid and her skin tingled. They would need to leave very soon indeed.

The Governor growled again. "And what is the second question?"

Someone, presumably the General, walked purposefully away from her. Each step clicked sharply on the floor and ceased at the far end of the room.

"Have you had your drains serviced recently? It stinks in here."

The Governor screamed, and the noise tore at her. She grew warm where she lay, twitching, wanting to be gone. But that wasn't an option. The guests left the room, and the Governor's heavy breathing slowed. Steps echoed, and he must be leaving too, thank the _Father_. And thank _Rhanna_ too. Thank all the gods. She could still escape.

"You can come down now."

Her breathing ceased. Who had he spoken to? Had he spoken to her? Had she imagined that? Each passing moment of silence reinforced her hope. Yes, she had imagined it. Silence stretched, and she was almost certain that it had been her mind playing tricks. She exhaled, her head swimming. Phew.

"I said you can get down here!"

The gantry lurched, and her stomach plunged. She hit the floor with a thud, but twisted onto her feet, sliding her weapons free. Reflexes and years of training. The Governor looked rabid and hungry. This was not how it was supposed to be.

—Aran—

Crack! Aran's skull hit the floor first. It echoed around his head, banging, but slowly receded to the sound of a wave. A gale. A roar.

The darkness surfaced in him and he cowered.

"...Kunati will rise again."

His vision swam, but he could see Anejo: tall; firm; brave; defiant. So many qualities he could never hope to have. He wept, but many things made him weep. The darkness strained inside him and he wailed. He wouldn't hold it long.

"What children are these? I was expecting the mandahoi of all Mandahoi, and instead I get pups! You insult me."

He had a headache, such a headache, like he was sharing the space with another. Which he was. He crawled out of the way, seeking the shadows of his own head. But now was not the time to fight. It would never be the time again. He would lose for sure.

"You are a traitor. You will be tried for your crimes."

The two circled each other, stalking. They both squatted, weapons drawn and ready. The atmosphere was electric.

"Is that a woman? Tut tut. Mandahoi standards are slipping." That would piss her off. Anejo didn't like to be understated.

"You are done, Governor." She spat those words.

He curled into a ball, peering at the opponents. He should help, but he couldn't. Would his head break open? Maybe.

The Governor hissed at Anejo. "Done am I? And who's going to stop me? Your friend over there is of little consequence." That was him. Little consequence.

"I don't need my friend." His heart fluttered. She had called him friend! It was nice, even in these circumstances.

"Oh don't you, hmm? Stop me then."

He struck, faster even than lightning. Metal striking metal rang out, and he hugged his ears. Anejo's perfect resistance was a grain of comfort, but the Nadari Governor was brutal. Anejo was bending to submission, but she resisted. She always resisted.

Until she snapped.

It happened too quickly, but there was a darkening of her uniform. She was stunned, and the Governor pushed the advantage. He rammed a shoulder at her stomach, sneering, and cast her to the ground. She crashed into a table leg and struggled for composure. He mashed her resistance with a foot to the jaw. She went utterly still.

His head throbbed and his nose leaked. He could not contain it much longer. Not that it mattered. It was time. He would need it now. The never moment had arrived. She was his friend, the one person who brought purpose to his life. Seeing her laid out brought him lower than ever, and he had to act.

The darker part of him shrieked, got in behind his eyes. His control was failing, but he didn't fight it. Not this time. He must protect her, and he could not succeed without it. He shivered, but it was not cold.

He crawled along the floor, seeking out his friend. The sobs drew laughter from the Governor, who cheered. The darkness purred.

"You pathetic runt. Get up off the floor! Surely you can offer at least some entertainment?"

He ignored the jibe, and shuffled his way to Anejo. She was beaten terribly, blood-stained and unconscious. He should help her. This was his friend. With as much control as he could muster, he put his mouth to her ear, but stalled. He'd never promised anything before.

"I will save you."

He reached for the hilt of Anejo's discarded weapon, and shifted it in his grip. He gulped one last time and closed his eyes. "I will save you."

And then he was gone.

—The Governor—

The Governor couldn't help but enjoy himself. It was the culmination of an epic victory. For hundreds of years his family had been persecuted for not bowing to the false god, but no longer. He was breaking free.

"You pathetic runt. Get off the floor! Surely you can offer at least some entertainment?"

He was weeping like a child. Not the celebrated behaviour of the Mandahoi, but satisfyingly comic. The boy was pitiful, but he was still trespassing and would need to be punished.

He chuckled. He enjoyed weeding saplings very much, even pathetic runts like this.

"Come on, at least put on performance. She would be embarrassed by you!"

He laughed, doubling over. This was fun. This was no challenge, but who cared? He'd been assaulted by two mandahoi, so what was there to do but defend himself? He licked his lips, smiling. He really should finish this.

He turned, and the boy was standing. Facing him. Now he wanted to fight?

"You have decided to act the man?" He giggled at that, but there was no reaction. In fact, the boy had ceased his pitiful weeping. His face was still damp, but his eyes were hard as stone. He appeared drab and rigid, less like a warrior and more like a statue. It was oddly unsettling.

"Let's get this done, boy."

He struck like only he was able, with stunning aggression and speed. He'd even beaten Keles in the karashi ring before, so this pup stood no chance. The boy reacted solidly, deflecting the attack and stepping deftly out of the way, but there was no more than solid defence. The boy was deflated, undone, dead even. He would not resist long.

But no, there was something wrong with the lad's eyes. He froze. Something was very wrong.

The coldness was unsettling. There was no child anymore, but a ghost of fury. The eyes were milky white, clear and inhuman, but it was something else that troubled the most. Something undefined.

He shook away the notion and swept forward in a graceful arc of carnage. It was his mind playing cruel tricks on him, nothing more. He needed this done, if only to stop those two whores from spoiling. A bead of saliva dropped from his lip.

The boy defended stoically, but he was no match. He was sluggish, and it was only a matter of time before the kid crumpled.

He twirled, his weapons dancing and snapping elegantly. He was a master of the claw, a former champion of all Mandaria, and here his mastery showed. It was just the subtlest movement, but there it was! Ripe for the taking. The opportunity gaped, and there was a spike of excitement when the steel bit in. It was such a satisfying sensation.

Those eyes stared on, no emotion in them. The boy seemed unaffected.

It was a shallow wound, not a killer, but it would hurt like hell. He waited a moment, expecting a reaction, but it never came. He looked into the boy's eyes, checking. He expected contracted pupils, tears, something at the very least. But there was nothing. He pulled away and shivered. Something was very wrong, and the boy advanced.

"What are you?"

The boy came with purpose, swinging wildly. He easily repelled the attack, but he found himself defending nonetheless. Defending. Against this pup. He expected a reprise, but the moment never came. There was only jarring blow after shuddering blow, and his conviction waned. What was going on?

He cleared his head, seeking the comforting embrace of his training. The boy materialised in his mind, and possible paths forming a tangled web about that ghostly form. It was amazing how easily the clarity returned. His breathing dropped to a whisper and the onslaught continued, but the game had changed. The move was clear. He countered beautifully and victory was in sight.

But the path eluded him. His hand, and the blade grasped within it, dropped to the floor with a metallic thud. He screamed.

He stumbled, holding onto his bloodied left stump. The wound was slick and agonising, great floods welling up and saturating his shirt. The demon child continued forward and he backed off, stumbling. Failing. The cold eyes came closer.

"Leave me alone! I only have one hand."

The boy discarded one blade in a flourish of disrespect, and continued. Merciless. He pulled his stump close to his body, tucking it inside his shirt. Then he extended his right hand, but it was weak. Little more than a gesture. His mind fizzed and each sword thrust was like the very first he ever executed. He even contemplated that greenest of arts, the flight of fear, but he was not given that chance. The boy was stalking him.

His back hit the double doors and a blade hovered at his neck, poised. He dropped his own weapon and released his bladder. That was shameful, but here, it was a small cost.

"What do you want? Have mercy on an old man."

The boy's eyes were colder than ever and he surrounded his neck with a surpisingly strong grip. He clawed weakly with his good hand against the strangling, but it was no use. The boy lifted him and he rose from the ground, feet dangling. His back scraped against the door, splinters biting, and he choked. The blood from his stump pooled on the floor beneath him; drip, drip, drip.

"Please, have mercy."

And yet he had never exercised mercy. That truth was haunting him now.

The boy rammed polished steel through his stomach, and right out the other side. The blade was burrowing its way through the thick wood of the door, and he was lodged there. What a way to go.

Pain swirled in a vibrant tapestry and blood leaked away so fast that he struggled with consciousness. He coughed and cried simultaneously, snot exploding from his nose. The boy was backing away, but he still hovered over the floor. Even in such a tortuous state, it was still humiliating.

He tried hauling the sword free of his body with his un-maimed hand, but it was useless. He was now the pathetic one.

The last moments of life swam before him, memories melting into one single ghastly sequence. He looked at the boy, to those same dead eyes, and shuddered at what must be behind them. A moment flickered hazily into the next, and the child returned, stood before him. Just a pitiful, weak, terrified juvenile. Changed. Where had his murderer gone?

The first rays of _Rhanna's Breath_ stabbed through the window of the banquet hall, but his vision was failing fast. He could not appreciate it. Then, in a moment of desperate clarity, he prayed to the god that he'd never previously worshipped. He hoped it wasn't too late.

—Aran—

What had he done? He watched the blood drip rhythmically to the floorboards. The result was a strange tapping sound, a noise out of place with the grotesque scene before him. He looked away, but there was the severed limb, so far from the body. The hand still clutched the weapon, grey-looking fingers wrapped around the hilt.

And then the tapping turned to something more. Was it a whisper? No, it was shuffling. He looked around for the weapon he'd discarded, but that was useless. The competent part of him had gone.

Someone, or indeed something, came through the doorway. He froze.

"My my, what a mess. That will never wash out."

He was rooted to the spot. The cloaked man came towards him, and with each step a grip on his heart tightened. It encouraged obedience, and stillness.

The visitor wafted, a long cloak flowing behind, whispering over the floor. The hood was deep and concealing, and only the lower tip of the jaw was visible. And grotesque. A metallic fixing covered half the jaw, but the other half was open, scabbed, mottled. It was also littered with wiry hairs. Whatever this man was, he was deformed, and terrifying with it.

"You know Aran, most would never believe you capable of this. But I knew you could do it. Does that make me your friend?"

If he was not already paralysed, he would have gone rigid. How did this stranger know his name? And was that a quip at his hidden self? Did this man know all about him? No-one knew about that. He shivered.

"Well, as a friend, I absolve you of these crimes. There is much that relies upon you, and I get the impression that this mess will inhibit your capabilities. Yes, it is best for all involved if someone else takes the blame. I wonder who we could incriminate?"

He knelt down and slipped the scattered blade into Anejo's left hand. Was this for the best? He didn't really know what was happening.

"Do you understand me?"

His power over himself returned. At least enough to move his head. He stared at this stranger – was this the man called the Enabler? – and winced. He really did look terrifying. He was an authority, such a terrible authority.

"Understand what?"

"Understand that you will support my desire that the blame for this unfortunate event is pinned on Anejo. It is quite simple. Just act the coward and nod when required. Even you can manage this."

Pin the blame on Anejo? Blame for what? She was just defending herself, and he was defending her. But at least if Anejo were culpable then his part wouldn't be probed. The last thing he wanted was for his inner-self to be dragged out. Maybe this was for the best after all?

Then again, the Enabler was not really giving an option. He didn't seem the sort to be argued with.

"And if not?"

"If you do not support me, she will meet the same unfortunate end."

Not really an option at all then.

Footsteps in the distance, the sound of someone running. They were drawing closer, and the Enabler slipped into the shadows at the edge of the room. The hooded freak stared at him, at least that's what he assumed. There was only so much resistance he could muster, and Anejo's life was one price he could not pay. He nodded.

When Keles burst into the room, the Enabler was gone and he was left with his lies. It was depressing how easily the Mandahoi master bought it.

## Chapter Twenty-One

—Anejo—

Shapes swam across Anejo's vision, patches of shadow with no discernible form. There were some recognisable voices echoing through her, but many were unknown and distinctly alien. The air smelt of salt, and moisture misted her consciousness. It was strange, unexpected, but then the pain returned. She slipped easily back into her peaceful and protective slumber.

The shapes reappeared, but this time there was no ethereal period. The pain slammed hard and crude, shooting through the inception of consciousness. A hand swept across her head, and a voice cried her name. But the pain was too much, and the darkness returned. The inner world was a nicer place than the agonising one without.

Softness wrapped her in its wonderful grasp, great mounds of white reared beside and behind her. The pain rose rapidly, but it was a dull ache. White cotton was draped over her left eye, a bandage of some sort, strapped down. The middle distance struggled into focus, and when the haze cleared, a welcome face smiled back at her. She slipped back into a safe and undisturbed sleep.

And then it was morning. And she sat bolt upright in an unfamiliar bed.

"Where am I?"

Her jaw ached horribly. She rubbed at it, but the bandages got in the way. There was an itch there too, and she couldn't quite get it. A dull headache resonated, and her vision was hazy and saturated. But the familiar face was still there.

She smiled. "Grandfather."

The room was still thoroughly unfamiliar. It was tall and wide with great arched windows at the further end. Light muslin curtains hung limp, and the creamy stone gave the room a clinical but impressive sheen. There were pictures on the walls, all unfamiliar from a personal perspective, but very much familiar to the scholar in her. Her bed was forged iron, an expensive piece, and the linen was of a quality that even she was unused to. Two guards in the grey of the rootmen flanked the door, and something stirred in her. What was it?

Kato! The past came dripping back and she turned to her grandfather. This couldn't be good.

"Where am I?"

"You are in Callij, on the island of Mandaria. You are damaged, but you will live."

It hit her hard, the memory of the Nadari Governor sweeping around her in graceful arcs. Punishing her. She vaguely recalled a huge blow to the face, hence presumably the aching jaw, but then only darkness. Or perhaps there was something else. Something whispered. The situation quickly settled, and she looked up. Her grandfather's brow was furrowed. And there was Felip, standing in the background. Thunderous.

"How did I get here?"

Her grandfather sighed, eyes piercing. "You were brought aboard a boat by Keles. You were brought from Saphos, from the palace of the Nadari Governor."

Her head dropped. "What do you know?"

"I know that you were there, and that you barely escaped with your life. I know that your body is more vivid than an oil painting, and I know that you have been an extremely stupid girl."

He spoke as the Consul of Ahan; as a ruler of nations. But he was still her loving grandfather, and she had her reasons. She should test him.

"Did Master Keles tell you what we found?" Maybe it was futile, but she had to try. Her grandfather seemed to swell.

"I do not care what you found! You were almost killed, and you were disobeying the orders of everyone who has ever meant well by you. You have brought shame on your family, and you have brought turmoil to your nation. You cannot justify your actions. Do you understand me?"

Justification, though, was all she had.

"They did it; they let the Delfinian fleet through."

The point hung there, saturating the atmosphere and sinking through her grandfather; softening him ever so. It was a potent point, and she was sure it must bite. Whether it could cease the tide was a different question. Surprisingly, Felip stepped up.

"What evidence do you have for this?"

"I heard the Lord Nadari admit as much." The silence lengthened, but the emphasis was clear.

Felip shook his head, but his eyes sparkled. He was torn. "If you lie on this matter—"

"Do you really think I would lie? Ask Aran... Oh God Aran!"

The tension dissipated, and she looked frantically about the room. What had happened to him? He wasn't here? He had been stubbornly brave in following her, but eventually he had succumbed to the cowardly heap that he really was. And if she'd been out cold, then he must have been...

"Is he alright? Was he injured?"

"You mean the boy? He is fine. He escaped with his life and less harm than you did."

Her grandfather's hardness subsided ever so slightly and she gusted So, Aran was fine. That was remarkable. It dawned on her that she had no recollection of escape. How had she got here?

"I was out cold. What happened?"

Felip and her grandfather shifted uneasily. They were clearly measuring their words. Felip stepped up again.

"Keles intervened and pulled you safely from your wreckage."

She didn't know what that meant, but it was hard to care. She yawned. She owed a debt to Keles and sighed heavily. She could do without that hanging over her.

Her whole body was swelling with the weight of her injuries, and she wanted nothing more than sleep. There was a really big yawn, and her grandfather stroked her forehead tenderly. Her eyelids drooped and she glimpsed the two rootmen beside the closed door. She was safe, and tension drained from her, dragging her down to sleep.

"You will corroborate my story, won't you grandfather?"

He furrowed his brows, his bushy eyebrows knitting together. "With who, love?"

"With Aran."

He shook his head slowly. "The boy claims to recall little of events."

She sighed sleepily. "Then call the Nadari Governor to Callij. Squeeze him until he speaks. He will crack."

The pair of them stared at her. Urgency crept up and she shuffled against her pillow.

"What?"

Felip tipped his head. There was none of his usual temperament there. "You killed him, sister. You murdered the Governor. You will face criminal charges and the very real prospect of punishment by death."

She was utterly awake. She looked to the door and to the two rootmen guarding it. They were not protecting her after all. They were protecting everyone else. This wasn't a ward. It was a cell. And she was a prisoner.

## Chapter Twenty-Two

—Aran—

He sat solemnly in Master Hephesta's office. He mouthed the words of his ditty, but even that didn't work. His stomach knotted.

"Are you okay, Aran?"

It was nice of the caste-master to ask, but no he wasn't. Of course he wasn't. This was it, this was the end, and he wanted to scream at the injustice. He would try. He would really try.

"Mmm." By the _Solemn Sister_ , why was he so pathetic? Caste-Master Blasetté raised an eyebrow.

"I will speak on behalf of the departed Archmaster, who apologises for not being here in person. Are you comfortable with this?"

He nodded, but of course he did! He had no backbone.

"Then let us be brief. You were sent to Saphos with a sole purpose. Events unravelled, and we apologise for that, but the facts cannot be denied. You failed to reveal yourself once more. You're not a mandahoi, are you Aran?"

No, not a mandahoi. A murderer. But was he really a murderer? The Governor was a criminal and so the man's death would surely be praised. Not that it made a difference to his predicament.

"No sir." Oh how he wished he could speak his mind.

The truth was that he agreed on the whole – he wasn't a mandahoi – but Saphos was different. In Saphos he had succumbed to that other part of himself. It was just a shame that he'd been woven into silence. A real shame.

Who was that cloaked stranger? And how did the man know his name? The hooded-presence plagued his nightmares.

"You have nothing to add? No defence of your inaction?"

Of course he did. He had killed that filthy Governor and speared him on his own door! That was the sort of success the Mandahoi coveted, but it was not for him. Instead, Anejo would get the plaudits. That was nice in a way.

"No sir." He squirmed.

"You have nothing to say at all?"

All he could do was shrug. How feeble was that? He stood, even though he hadn't been dismissed.

"Wait, I have something to give you."

Caste-Master Blasetté reached down and pulled a small velvet bag that clinked with coins. He also took up a piece of parchment, which was tied ceremonially into a roll with a grey ribbon. He handed over the two items with a shallow smile.

"We are sorry to be parting ways, Aran, but you must understand that we cannot carry, ah, excess. Ahan will only grow more endangered, and we will be called upon with more and more frequency. Do you understand this?"

He didn't even look down at the gifts. His attention was solely on the duelling master. He nodded, and this time it was faithful.

"However, we part with these tokens of our appreciation. The coin is to help you settle into your new life, whatever you may choose. The scroll declares the service you have done and is as good as currency. We hope this goes some way to easing any pain you may currently feel." Caste-Master Blasette smiled, like it was an act of kindness.

He smirked back, and the master's smile faded. He supposed it was a nice gesture, but they didn't know the futility of these gifts in his predicament. His old life was not a life that could be embellished. This decision they'd come to was as good as death, so what was he supposed to say? It was obvious really.

"Thank you."

He hated himself for not screaming out in anger. Was the fact that he'd followed Anejo all that way not worth anything? Was her life worth more than his own? His deeper self stirred, injecting heat into him, but now was not the time. He breathed in cool air. It was time to face the ghosts of his past.

Caste-Master Blasetté stood and they shook politely, hands at the wrist. The duelling master nodded pointedly, and then sat back at the desk. He looked down at a document, but he wasn't really looking at it. The duelling master's eyes kept flicking towards him, so he left the room. No point in making the man uncomfortable.

He walked along the cool corridor to the dormitory and collected his meagre possessions. The light outside was steadily darkening. That was very apt. It mirrored his life.

—Xen—

Xen sat in the Academy courtyard, on her own, isolated and left to her own dark thoughts. Her mind floated back to that night, ten days ago, when she had watched her best friend sneak into the fortress. When Keles had retrieved her, she was close to death. But worse than that. She was declared a murderer.

Murder. It was not like she doubted the facts, but the charge just did not fit. It was only recently that they had been at Nazalia, facing their first Mandahoi charge. They had both killed, an unfortunate consequence of their chosen profession, but that was not murder. It was an ocean from murder. Murder tasted cold, heartless and cruel. Yes Anejo was able to kill, but she was no murderer. They had to be wrong.

But no-one could prove otherwise; or no-one but Aran. And the coward was staying silent on the matter.

She'd returned to the Academy with the other students, including Aran. They had each been questioned, but no-one had any evidence from within the fort except Aran. His telling was vivid enough, and he actually showed at least a little belly to have followed Anejo at all, but his recollection of their meeting with the Governor was lacking. He claimed his mind abandoned him, which she could believe, but the lack of detail was suspicious. He was hiding something, she was sure of it.

But what? It was Anejo's steel that was embedded in the Governor, so what could he be hiding? She spat on the ground, attempting to eject her frustration, but it had no effect. Her spit was absorbed into the dry sand but the frustration stayed.

"Here's your horse."

The groom was a big man, and he reminded her of Keles. Her partner was under scrutiny too, and this chilled her. He had to be at least partly to blame for Anejo's predicament, didn't he? That was another thing she wanted to harangue him for, a growing list, but mostly she wanted to see him. It had been too long since they'd been together. But only a miracle could do that. And not the sort of miracle that Kato traded in either.

"Would you like me to saddle her?"

She shook her head. She wanted to do it. The distraction would be nice. The groom walked off, and she stroked the nose of her mount. It reminded her of long rides with her friend. Would she ever get that opportunity again?

She saw Aran walking from the main entrance, a silhouette with a sack over his shoulder. She smoothed her uniform and stepped towards him, glowering. One last time.

"Where are you going?"

Aran halted, not looking up. He wore plain clothes; drab brown trousers and a dirty shirt. His shoes were slabs of wood with string fixings, and a rope hung around his waist where it was being used as a belt. The poverty was stark, and it was also strange. Even on a student's allowance, he should be able to sustain a reasonable standard. Where did all Aran's money go? "What are you up to?"

He mumbled.

"Speak up will you."

"I've been expelled."

It wasn't a shock, but it did soften her. He may be pathetic, but she wouldn't jut lay into him. Anejo would disapprove, and she could do far worse than following her friend's moral standards.

"I'm sorry." It was at least a partial truth.

A silence hung between them, filled by the wind and her blustering horse. She could not bring herself to say anything comforting. She was burning up inside.

"Is there truly nothing you can reveal about Saphos? You do realise that Anejo is in real trouble." He looked up, his eyes watery. They shimmered in the waning light. And then his face scrunched up, and he frowned.

"What trouble?"

"She is being tried for murder. She could face execution."

His breathing shortened, he dropped his sack of possessions, and he clutched his chest. Signs of guilt perhaps? Probably not. It seemed more like signs of ignorance.

"Is there nothing you can remember that might help her?"

He looked up, mouth gaping. Was he ready to speak? His mouth slapped open and shut, his eyes darted, and he gulped. But he stayed silent. He just shook his head. He was such an oddity.

"But that man was a traitor. Surely his death is justice for the act of his treachery?" She couldn't disagree with that. And yet it was such an uninformed view that it was almost embarrassing. Was he really so ignorant?

"That is not how justice works. She is in trouble unless you can help. Can you?"

He shook his head vigorously, tears spraying from his damp face. _Bloody Brother_ , why was he so pitiful? Did he not understand the situation?

"Fine, but remember this: if you do know something and you keep it hidden, then you will have to live with her blood on your hands. You may have never killed, but if Anejo dies, then you will be culpable."

She turned and went to her mare, saddling the horse efficiently. She was leaving, but she didn't really know why. Would she see her friend again? Damn it, that was not worth thinking about. She would need to ride hard and she would need to ride fast. She had a lot of forgetting to do.

She left the Academy, and she left Aran weeping in the sandy courtyard. She shook her head. The boy was such a disappointment. Maybe Anejo could get some information out of him, but first her friend had to live. That was a tall order.

—Aran—

What could Aran do? If he told the truth, she died – the Enabler did not seem a man of empty threats. If he left the truth unsaid, then she died by the hands of her own people. Was that worse? He stroked his shoulder and continued on his way. The journey through Ulterada was not a pleasant one.

The country was a blanket of greys and dull greens that evening. It mirrored his mood nicely. Sheets of rain darkened the distance, and thick cloud tumbled over the mountains, spilling across the country. There was a mist in the air, a damp that soaked through his ragged clothing. He trudged along the rutted road, his feet cold and filthy. Only the document detailing his service to the Mandahoi was properly dry, tucked in his smalls.

The few fellow travellers who trudged past ignored him. It was the same indifference that the whole world adopted; all apart from Anejo. What a mess he had made of things.

Intervention had been the right course, hadn't it? It was the right thing to do, killing that traitor, but the rewards seemed inconsistent. He was being punished, and so was she. So maybe he shouldn't have intervened. But then...

Damn it! Then she would have been dead already. Every way he looked, the path tumbled over a cliff.

The road reached the top of a shallow hill, and he took in the sight of the small country. Ulterada was a small flat expanse concealed by the surrounding mountains of Beha Lomal, located just north of Ahan. Within the hidden country was the Academy at its further end, and the rest of the small land served that institution. One such settlement was a town called Evelia; 'home'. He had to gulp back the acid in his throat.

His head dropped, and his steps grew shorter.

The walk to Evelia was stretched satisfyingly, but it had to end at some point. He left the small huddle of buildings which constituted the main village, and came across the object of his own personal hatred: The House of the Lost. The mystery of his true home had never been answered, but this building was where he'd ended up. He hated it. The contempt he received at the Academy was one thing, but this was worse. This was the worst solution of all.

The door was loose, and it creaked on its hinges, revealing a dark and dingy room. The red light of the Stranger was filtered through the filthy windows, and he heaved. He would have to enter, so he did.

"Ah, we have a guest! What are you doing here?"

The man who spoke was vast as a warthog, and just as fat. His belly heaved and his little legs seemed too frail to maintain the mass. Pig-man was leaning on a walking stick, but he moved quickly enough when he spun about. His face was grotesque, a collection of pig-like features, and his black hair was slicked back. Pig-man shuffled towards him and the tight velvet rubbed noisily against his bulk. It was terrifyingly familiar, and he shivered.

"Talk!"

He removed the small bag and hurled it at the man. Pig-man caught it with surprising dexterity, and smiled at the tinkle of coins. He had an ear for gold on gold, and the reflexes to match such greed. The pig-man, who was called Toby Boscov and who was one of the patrons of the orphanage, wrenched the purse open and stared hungrily at the glittering coins within. He licked his lips and made an odd squealing noise, dancing a jig.

"This is an excellent haul, but unexpected. I am wary of the unexpected. Why are you here?"

His heart hopped at the prospect of what was coming. The retribution would not be mild. "I've been expelled."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't make that out?"

"I've been expelled."

A slender man strolled into the room. The red light highlighted a swarm of dust motes, and the thin man sent them spiralling with his movement. His anger was palpable.

"You have what, Aran?"

He repeated his news, but it did not need saying. His hell was rising.

"Then there will be no more contributions?"

He shook his head slowly and stepped back a step. Kane, the tall skinny one, came forward elegantly, and struck him across the head. He fell to the floor and filth filled his mouth. The darkness growled.

"It's not good enough, Aran!"

Kane slammed a foot into his side. A rib cracked, and he rolled across the floor. When the pain settled to something bearable, he opened his eyes. And there, at the far end of the room, was a huddle of young children hidden beneath a wooden table. They looked petrified.

"Strap him up."

Pig-Man hauled him to his feet and ripped his shirt off. He was marched across the room, shoved hard. Pig-Man was cutting into his skin with long fingernails. Then he was hauled onto an A-frame, staring right at the trembling children. The movement was swift, like the pig-man had practised the exercise many times before. Which he had. Kane's face appeared, just a fist from his own. It would be nice to spit at the man, but he wouldn't. The patron's eyes were terrible, like pools of evil.

"You disappoint us. We find you work, an excellent life with the Grey, and what do you do? You fail us!"

Kane spat the last words, and he squirmed. Then relaxed. It was best to be relaxed. This was a well-worn routine, and he kept quiet as a stone. The youngsters beneath the table were cowering, and that was sadder still. At least his own suffering would only be physical.

"Do you have anything to say?" He shook his head, and Kane's face lit up. "Then let justice be served."

The first lash was like a stab of fire, a stake through his spine. The whip dropped away and his back stung. He screwed his eyes tight. The sting turned into a heavy fire, and he clenched his teeth. Then the whip attacked him again. Pain melted into burning agony.

The two men lashed repeatedly, laughing and sneering. The pain lost its sharpness in time, but it was still pain. Lots of pain. Only the leathery deformation at his shoulder remained intact, but that did not diminish the suffering. As the punishment continued, the darker side of him flexed itself, reaching through his body. Probing him.

And then the punishment stopped.

Blood sheeted his sides, and his back was little more than a pulp. The break in the lashings was bliss, ecstasy amidst misery, but it never lasted. It was not that easy. When it came, the pain hit like a kicking mule. He cried out for the first time.

"Ah, we have finally hurt him. I was beginning to worry that these Mandahoi had dulled his senses."

Pain swept up and down his back in waves, and his heart throbbed violently. The punishment persisted longer than necessary, but it did finally stop. He was close to unconsciousness, but that was a lesson he'd learned. Never faint.

"Clean this lot up, you little shits. Now!"

A handful of youngsters sprung from under the table and went to a bucket of foul water. Moments later they were wiping the boards upon which he stood, but none of them even looked at his bonds. They would not dare release him. Kane came into view once more.

"You will stay there and think upon what you've done."

The patron spat in his face and stepped away, moving towards a gaggle of young girls. He grabbed a pair by the wrists, children who could be barely older than eight or nine years, and then swept from the room.

"You two follow me. It's bed time. Dusk is coming to get you."

Toby followed, grabbing two more girls who sobbed their way to the back of the orphanage. By the time the sun was setting, it was no longer the pain that upset him the most. It was the screams that echoed through the orphanage.

## Chapter Twenty-Three

—Felip—

Felip was the pillar upon which his sister struggled along the hallway. The High Chambers of Callij were vast in both presence and scale, and Anejo's injuries slowed her progress. This walk was designed to unsettle even the hardiest criminals, and Anejo was not that. Walking beside her was an insubstantial kindness, but it was a kindness nonetheless. He did not like shuffling along these eternal corridors, but it was all the comfort he could offer. He had so little to offer.

They had a difficult relationship, few would deny that, but it was a friction borne of his love for her. He wanted her tied down, acting the _magistra_ that she was by birth, but her fiery streak always brought her floating to the surface. Always. He resented her innate ability, of course he did, but he also wanted her to be safe. Her reckless streak needed to be tamed.

But he'd never got his point across, and now his point was made. He hated that fact.

She shuffled along and her feet whispered over the marble. They were in a vast vaulted hallway which was lined with life-size portraits of some of the most important figures in Mandari history. The walls were immaculate white, and the wealth of the place was immeasurable. It stank of self-importance and he turned at it.

Something pulled down on his left arm, and he instinctively hauled Anejo up. She was too weak for this, but justice would not wait. She'd insisted on her bandages being drawn away, and her lower face was a mass of primary colours. Her hair was hung in the official manner, and she wore the crisp white robes of the council, but that was all polish covering the damage that lay beneath. She should never have been allowed to wear the grey.

"Are you alright?"

She smiled and the bruising dulled with the stretching of her skin. Then she winced, her face relaxed, and the colouring took on a renewed vividness. She was stubborn, that was for certain.

"You do know that you don't have to do this so soon?"

"That would only drive me to madness. I would rather fall on my sword than commit myself to that fate."

He sucked air through her teeth, trembling at the words. She had a habit of doing that to him. "You will not fall on the—"

"If they decide death, then that's how I'll go. It's my end, and I demand the right to craft it."

He could hardly argue with that, but the sentiment chilled him. He bit his lip. He had issues with the Mandahoi, and yet his sister sought their unnatural ways willingly; that was the true crux of their friction. Now was not the time, though. He must be strong for her.

"They won't pass that sentence, will they? Think of what I discovered."

He should really relay the truth of things: that a stable Nadari relationship was of primary importance, and even her life was below this priority. The chances were that the Mandari Directorship would protect themselves and their alliance, and no amount of pleading would change that. She had been stupid, and she had been warned. It was her making.

But he couldn't say that. He didn't want to see her hurting. "I am sure your service will be considered in judgment."

They continued, and the perfect steps of four flanking _rootmen_ echoed. Even he was conscious that, however much he disliked them, a single one of those warriors could subdue both of them comfortably. To have four such guards was a show of strength, but it also reflected the severity of the charges. Murder, especially of a high-born, was a crime most heinous.

She tugged at his sleeve. "Come now. All will end well. I'm sure of it."

Her lack of awareness was either remarkable or remarkably ignorant. In his experience, she had a less than remote chance of escaping with her life. She was trespassing; she was acting against the High-Consul's express orders; and she had killed a senior family figure. There was only one price for these acts: death. It could be only death.

"Don't do anything stupid in there, Anejo. A little courtesy and a big apology will go a long way." Not far enough, but he had to give her some hope.

She smiled, but it didn't seem genuine.

They reached the end of the vast hall, and with the final shuffle, Keles stepped up. His near-brother was also culpable. What was it with these two?

The three of them stood before a set of giant doors, gilded extravagantly. This was the entrance to the Fire-Chamber, the seat of Mandari supreme justice. From behind those doors came an almighty din and he shook his head. The Mandari political machine was lurching in Anejo's direction. This would not be a forgiving episode.

Felip offered his sister's arm to Keles, but Anejo refused the assistance.

"I would rather walk in there on my own."

She stood arrow-straight, grimacing. Her right hand flexed at her waist, probably searching for the familiarity of her weapon, but the sword was back in Saphos. He looked at his sister one last time, and managed a lopsided smile.

"I must leave you here. I must be inside before you enter."

She smiled broadly, and the bruising subsided once more. "Then go, brother."

He turned and left his sister with a heavy heart. When she walked through those doors, she would be an enemy of Society, and at the mercy of a famously unforgiving panel.

—Anejo—

Anejo expected grandiose, but what she faced was an oppressive wall of noise. The room was vast, stretching into the heavens and peaking at a high dome finished in an ethereal misty blue. The walls were not walls as such, but imposing terraces full of spectators. The mass was being controlled by a sprinkling of _rootmen_ , and at the rise of their glittering blades, the chasm went silent.

"Please be upstanding for the accused!"

The crowds were released and she covered her ears. So much noise. She turned to Keles.

"What is this place? I thought this was a trial."

Keles appeared unfazed, but they were near enough kin and she could see through it. He was massaging the handle of his paw methodically.

"The citizens of our homeland have too much time on their hands. This is entertainment."

That was terrifying. This is what it must be like to be a slave fighter of the Reach. She almost retched, but swallowed back. Surely there was no place for this in Society?

The walk dragged, each step sinking in the cacophony of noise. Eventually they reached the centre of the room – or arena – and took their places in grand seats. The table opposite was longer than any she had ever seen, and it was lined with the most important members of Society. Her grandfather was there, along with the heads of the other key families, but only two faces jumped out at her. One face belonged to the Lady Malahn, who was resplendent in gold and the only female head of a high-family. She'd always wanted to meet that woman. The other face that intrigued her stared maliciously from the far end.

"Who is that?"

"That is the new Governor of Samal. He is the son of the deceased."

Awkward. She apologised with her eyes, but it didn't work. He balled his fists. Sod the bastard – it was his father who had committed treachery. And besides, who was he to accuse her? Even she could not remember that act.

The last real memory that she'd squeezed out was of the ripe blow to her face. Otherwise there was nothing but darkness, except for that strange misty memory of a whisper in her ear. What was to be made of that? Something told her it was real and that it was a key component of what happened that night, but a rational part denied its existence. It was desperation.

The room silenced, and she sat bolt upright, straining against the weight of her injuries. A man at the centre of the judges' table stood and raised his arms, encouraging the silence that the _rootmen_ enforced.

The _rootmen_. That made no sense. Why use trained killers for crowd control?

"We are here, respectable citizens, to bear witness to the consideration of a great crime. Mandari blood has been spilled by Mandari hands, and both victim and accused are of social standing. This is a dark day, but justice waits for no man or, ah, _magistra_. Let us begin."

He was Xante di Mahan; leader of all Mandari Society; descendant of the eternally beloved Dara si Mahan. Xante was resplendent in robes so white that it pained her eyes. Fortunately, the great man seated himself, hidden in the splendour of his throne. He rarely ventured into the public sphere, so this was the first time she'd seen him. He reclined regally and left the proceedings to his hounds.

Events were directed by one of the flame, a religious _mask_ of the Ranji. In fact, he was the scribe who had tailed Anso at the council meeting she'd sat in on. She didn't like him.

The trial was protracted, and it continued the whole day. Time only had definition when the dome above them darkened, and a swarm of servants scurried about lighting candles. Accounts had been gathered from herself and Keles, but she couldn't see any others in the chamber; no-one else to offer evidence. And Kato's absence was most telling. It had all been his idea. Many in the room demanded the part of Kato be explored, but Xante was peculiarly keen on changing the subject matter. Strange. The mask moved proceedings along seamlessly, but it all seemed rather pre-determined. Not that she had time to dwell.

At a time that could only be considered late, the High Priest Anso walked casually into the room and took a seat on a grand dais behind the long table. He looked like a surveying god with the tattooed half of his face stark in the flickering light. It was unnerving.

"Then let us conclude."

The mediator spread his arms and the crowd roared. They were getting close to the end. Light illuminated the shining half mask so that his face appeared to burn. For a moment, the shadow behind the mask coloured, but that must have been an illusion. Surely? It seemed red and calloused. The mask was only ceremonial, or that's what she understood. She shivered.

She stood beside Keles, the finality of the situation settling upon her. This was her doing.

"First, to the Mandahoi Master, who, until now, has been held in such high regard. Keles, will you face your fate willingly?"

He was still pumping the handle of his weapon, but his face was impassive. This was a man who had fought in the greatest duelling ring of all, so this was just another day for him. He didn't speak a word, and instead gave a shallow nod.

"Then we surrender your fate to judgment. Superior, would you please pass sentence?"

Xante di Mahan stood, and he was huge. He swamped her grandfather who stood to his right. The candlelight illuminated his gown in a soft orange.

"Master Keles, you are charged with trespass and mal-intent. Your actions have been considered, and we have determined them as misguided and fallacious. The intent was not, however, your own, and we cannot therefore convict you of anything other than idiocy. The blame lies with another who is lamentably absent. We do, however, recommend that you are reprimanded within the rules of your order."

Keles exhaled, and his hand quivered lightly. Archmaster Hephesta nodded solemnly from the shadows, the first time she'd noticed him. The young governor stood, fist clenched. It appeared justice was not to his tastes.

"What of this other? When will they be punished according to our laws?"

Xante di Mahan turned to the interruption, eyebrow raised. The look was authority defined. "We will locate and punish him accordingly, of that you can be certain. Now, please can we continue?"

It was her turn, and the young Nadari grinned, rubbing his hands together. He wanted vengeance. The mediator signalled the next stage of proceedings.

"Anejo di Jinq, Magistra of the House Jinq, you are charged with the murder of our kin: the late Sedath of the Nadari family, Governor of Samal. Will you face your judgment?"

That was the first time she'd heard his full name. It crawled all over her. If ever there was an evil name, then that was it, and yet she was being punished for his destruction. She gritted her teeth and nodded stubbornly. Xante sauntered into proceedings.

"Anejo of House Jinq, I am deeply regretful that I must declare that we find you guilty of the murder of the Governor."

She turned to the end of the table, and the young Nadari had a filthy smirk on his face. She shivered and turned back.

"Such a crime carries only one possible punishment, and it is with deep sorrow that I must sentence you to—"

"Apologies for the interruption, but a thought occurs."

The tension popped with the abrupt intrusion, and the source was instantly clear. Anso di Ranji walked casually into the space that had previously been filled with the mediator. The High-Priest did not wait for an invitation to continue, and instead presented a riddle to the court.

"The blacksmith shall rise and hide; against the tide of society, the order of things will be born. To what does this sentence relate?"

The room was silent, only a few hushed whispers breaking it up. And how could this possibly be relevant? The young Nadari Lord stood and slapped a palm on the table.

"What are you doing—"

Anso merely raised his finger to his lips, silencing the man. The power over this illustrious audience was alarming. Her grandfather coughed, and his face strained.

"Dara si Mahan."

The religious leader nodded approvingly. His acquaintance, the mediator, had his hands steepled, hanging off every word. The epitome of subservience. Anso smiled mischievously.

"The time will come for the minor to shine, and the muted will bring the beginning from an end. Anyone?"

The congregation was now entranced by the words, sucked into the puzzle. This was a less obvious answer, but in parallel with the previous riddle, it was clear. Her grandfather shifted once more. "Jinal di Jinq."

"Yes, good, very good, hmm." There was silence and the man with tattooed face ploughed a furrow in the marble. It was all for effect.

Xante stood. If anyone in the room could challenge Anso, it was Xante. "May I enquire as to the meaning of this, ah, interruption?"

"Of course, I would expect nothing less. They are quotes from a volume of the Book of Rha which has, until now, remained utterly secret. This section, in particular, is titled the Book of Divine Providence, and it is our suspicion that the passages are meant as a guide to unravelling the future. There are three passages in total."

And they had heard two so far. It was rather obvious where this was going. "What is the third?"

Anso turned and stared at her with shining intensity. He smiled, but not in a friendly way.

"Born under the line of the moon, one will come to defeat the greatest of enemies." Few in the room recognised its significance, but she crumpled to her seat and put her head in her hands. She would live, but her life was being ripped from her.

The High-Priest stepped back towards the long table. "Can you tell us anything remarkable about Anejo's birth, High-Consul?"

She looked up and her grandfather was there, fidgeting. Small.

"She was born on a night when the five moons were in perfect alignment."

And with that Anso left the room. The High-Priest swept from the room without a noise, leaving the _rootmen_ to quieten the astonished crowd. It was left to Xante to finish passing judgment.

"In light of all we have heard today, we as a collective judge cannot pass sentence. Your punishment, Anejo, is to live with the consequences of your actions."

The room erupted, but the young Nadari Lord's spitting fury was loudest of all. He screamed and left the room in a bluster of arms and disquiet. Her grandfather collapsed into his chair and lowered his head into his hands. Keles put a hand on her shoulder and she shuddered.

Born under the line of the moon, one will come to defeat the greatest of enemies. This was not how it was supposed to be.

## Chapter Twenty-Four

—Xen—

He was back! Xen tingled, flushed and fidgety. She could not wait. So, where was he?

She stalked the Academy, searching for him everywhere he might be and everywhere else too. On a number of occasions her heart fluttered at the sight of him, but it was always someone else. It was never her man.

She tried his office, his classroom, the private training ground he used. She tried everywhere, but he remained frustratingly concealed. Was it a lie? No, she had spied him arriving. He was avoiding her. That was the only conclusion.

He couldn't avoid her forever.

She was in her room, the sanctuary she shared with Anejo. A single candle illuminated the sanctum, giving the place a sunset sheen. Strangely apt. It was her birthday eve, and she had a rich cake before her. It was a cake for both her and Anejo, but her friend wasn't back yet. It was Anejo's birthday too.

Keles came in without even a knock. She gasped – no-one walked in without knocking – but she quickly melted. She jumped from the bed, spilling the cake to the floor, and threw herself at him. He hadn't even closed the door.

He stepped back once and she stopped herself. Was he rejecting her contact?

"What's wrong?"

His head dropped, eyes down, grinding his foot into the floor. This was not her man – he was a shadow. What had happened to him?

It struck her then that he never came to this place. He must know that Anejo would not be here, and that could mean only one thing. Her legs faltered and she dropped to a knee.

"Anejo! What has happened to her?"

He straightened, military rigidity at its finest. His cheeks shifted, and the smile was warm. Was it good news?

"She is fine, she is fine."

Fine? That seemed a strange word to use when she was being tried for murder. "She's been acquitted?"

His head dropped, shoulders slumped. "Her sentence has been suspended indefinitely, but she was still found guilty. She will not be punished."

Her head swam and she crashed to the floor. She was guilty! But that was not really a surprise. All evidence pointed in that direction.

And yet she was saved from sentence, cleared of reprimand. How? Why? What on l'Unna could have intervened for such an outcome? Mandari justice was notoriously rigid – it was one of the qualities of Society – so what was it that had diverted the only end? Perhaps they had taken Anejo's findings into account. Perhaps they saw it for what it was – self-defence. But she was still trespassing, and against the High-Consul's wishes too. Her heart was pounding, her head full of possibilities, but Keles brought her back to the present. He pulled her to her feet, and she breathed in his smell. That was nice.

Her senses returned and she pulled her lover in. He squirmed, but she had a good grip. Her hands explored the contours of his body.

"How did she escape punishment?"

He was melting, bending to her will. Her heart quickened and she shuddered delicately. She went on tiptoes, pouting.

"She was declared a martyr by the Ranji."

The moment shattered, and she pulled away. That would not sit well with Anejo. Contrary to the perception, she actually craved isolation; a place out of the public gaze. It was the main reason that she wore the mask of the grey.

"What sort of martyr?"

"One like Dara si Mahan. She is to become the saviour of all Mandaria."

She sat down on her bed, eyes tight shut, pinching the bridge of her nose. Dara? No, that was too much. That was a name that could never be equalled, least of all by reckless Anejo. She shivered at the prospect.

"How?"

Keles did not comfort her this time, but it hardly mattered. This moment was all about Anejo and the terrible reality that was wrapping itself around her. Keles was just a messenger.

"She was born when the moons were in alignment. Few can claim that."

That was true – the celestial phenomenon was observed only once every five hundred years. But here was an interesting thing; they shared the same birth date! It was one of the reasons they were friends.

"I was born under the five moons. It could be me."

Once she'd said it, she regretted it. It sounded arrogant and she laughed. Keles softened, but only slightly.

"Where is she? Has she returned?"

The answer was obvious, and Keles shook his head. He was fidgeting. "She is heading back to Altunia. I am not convinced the High-Consul will permit her to return to the Academy."

It was horrifying in many ways: this weight of responsibility would crush Anejo. Her friend may step unwittingly onto the pedestal a little too often, but what Anejo really sought was a life of her own. But even celebrity was preferable to no life at all. Her friend would live, and she smiled. Then she shivered. She would go to her immediately – that's what a friend would do. She went straight to her saddle bag. She would leave in the morning.

"I did not just come to deliver news of Anejo."

What would she need? Changes of clothes, obviously, but how many? She would stay a while, comfort Anejo, but she would have to come back. The Academy did not permit prolonged absence. Surely they could understand this one time? She threw a handful of clothes in the bag, focussing on menial things. What else would she need―

What did he say? Her stomach plunged.

"What else did you come for?"

He shifted from foot to foot, eyes to the ground. He was never like this. What had happened to her man?

"I am leaving."

The statement hung there, like an unwanted guest. It had no place in the room, but it was too dangerous to poke at. She was balanced between screaming and gasping, and did neither. Where had her Keles gone? The man before her faded, backing away. He really was a shadow.

"You have already left. You already follow Kato." The space between them swelled, and her heart neared bursting point. She wanted him to say it, that thing that she feared. She balled her fists.

"That's not what I meant. I am leaving, ah, how to say this." He licked his lips. "You."

She screamed, her head snapping back, the clothes in her hand flying across the room. She scraped her hands over her face a bit too rough and a nail scratched at her cheek. She dropped to the floor, her knees thudding against the stone, and there she cried. She reached for him. He did not even do her the honour of consoling her.

"Why?"

She whispered through her sobs, but Keles would hear. He was edging towards her. Keles quivered.

"This has always been wrong, Xen. We are mandahoi, and this is forbidden. I am now dedicating myself to Kato, and I cannot do so with the pressure of this."

Pressure? What in _Rhanna's_ name did that mean? Did he see their relationship as a chore? A chore that was no longer necessary. Was her company really so tiresome?

"You lied to me?" She had not expected to say that.

"What?"

"When you told me that you loved me. You lied to me."

He stuttered, fumbled. It was pathetic in many ways, but in the most pertinent way, it was destructive. She was breaking where she knelt.

"No, of course not. It is just that, ah, things change."

She screamed once more, but this was more of a wail. Others would hear it, but she didn't care. Why should she?

"Love doesn't just turn on and off. It is permanent. If it has now gone from your heart, then it was never there. It's true, isn't it?"

He frowned, and shifted from foot to foot. He looked to the door, and stepped closer. She cracked.

"That's it? You're just going to leave me?" Did she hope that would sway him? No. She was out of hope.

"I'm sorry." He slipped through the door and closed it silently behind him. It was over; just like that it was over. By the _Sister's Sadness_ , why was this so hard? It should be easy, shouldn't it? Love. What a birthday this was turning into. Now she really needed her friend. She looked about the room.

And then she spotted the note on Anejo's bedside chest. That was not there earlier, which meant that someone had dropped it in. It was something different, a puzzle to solve. She picked it up and inspected it. The handwriting was almost childish, and it was hard to make out the words, but she opened it nonetheless.

She went stiff. Then she turned and she fled the room. There was still time, if she sprinted, there may still be time. She streamed past Keles in the hall, and he called after her. And then he followed.

—Aran—

Light streamed across the heavens, highlighting the reeling clouds above. Thunder erupted and briefly smothered the shrill whine of the wind. Aran stood at the top-edge of a cliff, rain slicing across him. Below him, the water was a frothy torrent. None would survive that. His nerves tingled, the darkness pushed out, and he shuffled forward. He would need to do it soon.

Widow's Edge was purring to him. Even his end would be pitiful.

He sucked in a breath, more moisture than air, and prepared himself. The wind slapped him, and he teetered. He couldn't do it, and he remained on the edge. Surely he could do this at least? He had fed the beast, blood now staining his hands, and it was lethargic as a result. He was in control, he had the opportunity, and yet he was failing. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Aran!"

Was that the wind? Of course it wasn't. He spun and almost slipped. It probably would have been easier if he'd slipped, but such was his luck.

A young woman ran towards him, and for a moment his heart skipped. No, it couldn't be. She was dead. He had delivered the letter in desperation, but maybe this really was her. Was she coming to save him? Had she come to convince him of his worth? For a fleeting moment, it was a very real possibility. He smiled.

But it wasn't her. Xen had come.

"Get away from there!"

He edged backwards and thrust his arms out in warning. That did the trick and Xen halted. Keles also stepped out of the sheets of rain, but he stayed further back. Xen wore a face of concern, and that was confusing. She was usually telling him off.

"Aran, you don't have to do this."

But that just wasn't true. This was his only option. He had blood on his hands, so much blood. It was almost washed away now, but the death of Kane and Toby Boscov still stained his clothes. They'd been beating him for little more than amusement, and he'd snapped. Or rather, the other side of him had snapped. What could he do but succumb to his inner self? When he'd resurfaced, the dead faces showed terrible fear. It was probably deserved.

"I do have to do this."

She was edging forward, on her knees. She held her hands out, pleading, but he would not be swayed. If he lived, then he must die for the murder of Toby and Kane, but he should also die for the murder of the Nadari Governor. And indeed, for the execution of Anejo. Everything he touched turned to ash. He was not safe in this world.

He shuffled backwards until his feet were half floating over the raging waters. Xen shook her head, hands clasped before her. Was this genuine?

"No, don't do this. You don't have to jump."

But he did. What did he have to live for anyway? Anejo, the only one he may consider a friend, was gone. The Mandahoi shunned him, and despite this showing, no-one really cared that he lived.

But worst of all, his darkness was not safe. It was growing, and it would grow beyond his control. Best to deny it the opportunity altogether. The pressure behind his eyes swelled.

"Sorry, but I have to."

He did not wait for a response. Xen swept out of his vision and the sky tumbled past. He stared at the water far below, and watched the waves crashing against the sharp fragments of rock. It was those fingers of stone that gave this place its name; the perfect end for a coward.

His darker side grumbled, almost like it was just waking up. It was too late. He had beaten it this once, and that was enough. It would be gone, and so would he. He stroked his shoulder and mouthed his poem. This was his moment.

What would death even be like? That was a stupid question, really. Anything was better than the life he had endured, that was for sure. He curled into a ball and crammed his mind into a safe corner of his head. His darker side exploded, gathering control of his shell of a body. But it was too late. This was the only end.

## Chapter Twenty-Five

—Xen—

Xen's skin crawled and her conscience ached. His life had been in her hands, but all she was left with was a grubby letter. She smoothed her uniform, unfolded the letter once more, and read it.

Anejo,

I will keep this short. I have little to say, but I am desperate to say it. I hope you find the words of use. Then at least my life would have some purpose. Here I go.

Firstly, I would like to say thank you. You were kind to me, and that in itself makes you unique. I am grateful. And yet even you cannot have enough kindness to stem my rot. I must go because it is the right thing to do. That is all.

I have blood on my hands, blood that would mark me for death anyway. I am the killer of the patrons at my orphanage, but do not feel sad for them. They were monsters. Just ask the survivors who have suffered at their hands.

But I have other secrets too, secrets that I fear to reveal. On these, I will stay silent and let them drift into oblivion. The world will be better for this fact, of that I am sure.

But what justification do I have to lay down my turmoil when compared to your own trauma? I dearly hope this letter finds you before... I daren't say it. I can't even bring myself to write it down. I am sorry, sorry that I could not expand on the details of that night. I did everything I could, as pitiful as that sounds, but if you hold this truth in your heart then it will be a relief. Since I won't see you before you read this, I will have to go not knowing. Hoping. But that is fine. Hope is all I've ever really had.

I have gone to Widow's Edge. There I will jump, and it will be a pleasure. My end is the only end. I have achieved all I can, not much admittedly, but all I can. For that at least I can take some pride.

Good-bye.

Aran

She shuddered. It was bad enough reading the thing, but now she had to deliver this letter to her friend. As if Anejo hadn't been through enough already.

Aran hadn't mentioned her in the letter. He'd mentioned Anejo's warmness but not hers. Was this intended? Yes, it was achingly clear. She had not been kind to Aran. She was just like everyone else.

She looked at the tumble of loose boulders before her. It was a simple memorial for a simple young man. From the heart of the mound stood a small wooden branch, and on a particularly smooth stone were chiselled two poignant words. They words were there to deter any others in pursuit of the same path. They read: 'Someone cares.'

She tipped her head and sniffed. She had been crying for many reasons.

"There's nothing you could have done. This was his choice."

But that just wasn't true. She could have taken Anejo's lead and been friendly to Aran. At the very least she could have supported him. He'd always been vulnerable. It was another example of Keles's absence and disconnect. He thought like a Mandahoi on every level. She looked at him, and sighed. At the moment she hated him, but despite this she would love him forever. That could tear her to pieces.

"What do you know?" She spat the words, slapping him. That was not necessary, and she quickly stepped back. "I need you here."

"I have to go."

"Why? That man is the reason that Anejo faced the death penalty. He is probably also the reason Aran has jumped. Saphos was not his proving ground. The man ignites death and destruction wherever he goes, so why would you follow? Why?"

Silence. He didn't have an answer except the bland one he'd already wheeled out regularly. It was unlikely he'd have come up with anything else.

"He can teach me what others can't." Nothing new there.

"Teach you what? How to get all those around you killed? Do you not wonder why none of his previous students still live?"

Silence again. Something was dragging him along, and he had no way to resist it. He had no way to see reason. It was like she didn't even know him anymore.

Well, sod him. He may not need her, but Anejo did. She would go to the ends of the world for her friend.

"Come on."

"I am not yours to command. I will leave when I want to." Why was Keles here anyway? Was he trying to compound her misery?

"I am not commanding you. I am advising you as a friend."

Friend. What a weightless word that now was. His shoulders were slumped, eyelids heavy, every part of him defensive. Just a shell of his former self. She looked at him, and the breath caught in her throat. She still loved him beyond reason.

"I am only leaving because I need rest. I am travelling early tomorrow."

He shrugged, but there was a hint of pleasure on his face. Her heart jumped into her mouth. Would he always have this power over her?

"I am departing too. Perhaps we can travel together."

Was that his way of instigating reconciliation? No! Anejo was her only concern. Nothing else mattered. Keles was abandoning her, chasing the wisps of that legendary _rootman_. Could he not see the folly? She would have to teach herself to forget him. It would be tough, but she would have to do it, for her sanity if nothing else.

The sky was blood red, and that was strangely symbolic. Death was everywhere these days. The lake called Ultemerh was mirror flat, but clouds were heaping on the horizon. A storm was coming. The wind whipped momentarily and Keles put an arm around her when she shivered. His breath feathered her ear and she shuddered, but reason caught her. This man – her man – was leaving her. Was there any joy left in the world?

"Please Keles, do not touch me. You have no right now."

He stepped away, his shoulders trembling. Perhaps this was hard for him after all? Oh well. It was his making. She took up the note and read it once more. It struck her that the words were of remarkable form, especially for an orphan. Where did he learn to write like that?

She turned and left Widow's Edge, Keles following behind. She had never been lonely around this man before, but there was a chasm between them now. She craved her friend and she craved comfort of some kind, so she would seek it out. But Keles had left her, and she feared that both may evade her for the rest of her life.

## Chapter Twenty-Six

—Anejo—

Anejo was the walking dead. That was perhaps a bit overindulgent, but it wasn't too far from the truth. She'd been a hair's width from the chop. She should have borne the consequences of her actions, but she escaped punishment. She lived when she should have died.

Now she was alone, she had a great weight of responsibility dragging at her, and she would never have the life she sought. Not now. It had all been ruined. She'd ruined it all. Where had it all gone so wrong?

Murderer: that was a label that would never fit well. Killer was fine. In fact, killer was what she strived for in a disparate sort of way. Murder was cold and emotionless. Murder was something disgusting, and it was not a part of her. It was a label she now lived with, and it would drag her down indefinitely. She needed to be rid of it.

The journey was nearing its end, and she stepped her horse through lower Altunia. The main artery inclined with the stone bluff, climbing towards the Citadel. Her horse was blowing mildly, but the poor beast had it easy in reality. Once she climbed from the horse's back, the mare would have her peace. She would never now have peace. Not anymore. She was a murderer.

"Magistra."

The sound of her escort's voice took a moment to sink through. She looked up, and the citizens were staring at her. Why? It was obvious. She was one of the ruling family, a _magistra_ , and she was a servant to the people. She was serving these citizens, the Body of Ahan, and she should show her respect. She dipped her head, and the people in the street muttered their approval.

It was a peculiarity that the ruling Jinq family feigned submission to their people, and it was this relationship that singled out Ahan as progressive. Ahan was not an equitable country, but it was the benchmark.

But the gesture personified everything she hated about her role as a _magistra_. Everything. So what if she bowed her head to the commoners, the Body of Ahan? It was a pointless gesture. She was no better than these people, and in fact she was worse. She was a murderer. What gave her the right to authority? Nothing. Only the fortune of her birth. It implied her superiority, and she didn't like that. It was one of the reasons she strived for Mandahoi anonymity.

It was then that she recognised the piercing gaze of certain citizens. A young boy came forward and got right in her line of sight. He stared at her and then flinched away, running to his mum and burying his face in her skirts. She winced, but there was no way to conceal the bruises on her face. She had tried to cover the mess, but no amount of makeup worked. Anonymity – who was she kidding? She was a national martyr, a murderer, and a tapestry. She was famous as they came. How did this happen?

The Citadel came into view, and she peered at the still fire-damaged gatehouse and bridge. Scaffolding had been erected, and a host of tradesman worked on the restoration. The sound of masons was oddly mundane and somewhat pleasant. It was ordinary. Callij had been anything but ordinary. She had been at the centre of a political storm.

Actually, apart from that kid staring at her face, she was actually being largely ignored here. Maybe the news hadn't made it this far yet. Maybe here, she could still be innocuous.

But for how long? How long before her news spread from Callij? How long before she was put on a pedestal for the people of Altunia to gawp over? She needed to get back to the Academy. She needed her freedom.

And she needed to be rid of this awful association. She was no murderer, and she needed to prove it. But how?

Obviously she would need to speak to Aran, but she feared that he was able to offer little. He was too meek. But there were still too many gaps. She had absolutely no recollection of the murder itself, but all evidence pointed to her hand. The only other possibility – that it was Aran's work – was simply too far-fetched.

Then again, she didn't really think that she was capable of such brutality. But her life was endangered, and being that close to the Veil must do funny things to a girl. Her blade was certainly the killing weapon, although that proved little. And then there was the misty recollection of muttered words. The pieces did not fit together.

That aside, murder was the word that riled her most. Murder was a fate reserved for the undeserving, the exposed, but the Governor was neither of these things. He was a traitor against Society, and when she had the evidence of this, she would be free of the charges. And then she could be free of this ridiculous martyrdom too. She had to convince the world she had done them a favour, and to do that, she would need her Mandahoi anonymity. She would not stay in Altunia long. She would return to the Academy while she still had a little freedom.

The gates creaked open on their beaten hinges, and she crossed the threshold. She looked up and sighed. This was her home, the Citadel. At least here the Mind of Ahan could be free, but that in itself was ridiculous. Why did her family feel the need to hide away from their subjects? It was comforting being here in many ways, but it was also claustrophobic. What she really needed was the space and freedom of her Mandahoi existence. She needed to get out of this place and she needed Xen.

A screech called out at her back, and she turned. The gates were being closed, but they were objecting stoutly. They really had been damaged. Hang on. Why were they closing the gates?

"You can leave those open. I will be departing again soon."

Her escort, the head of her grandfather's personal guard, stared at her. They were normally on pretty good terms, but now that she was paying attention, something struck her. He was distant, cold even.

He closed his eyes and breathed in. "You will not be leaving."

"No, I will. I need to return to the Academy tonight." What was there to argue about?

He straightened and his horse fidgeted. "We have orders from the High-Consul. You are not to leave the Citadel without his authority. I'm sorry."

Now it made sense. She was a prisoner in her own home. She might as well be dead.

## Chapter Twenty-Seven

—Felip—

Felip walked through the city, trailing his grandfather. One building dominated the skyline of Callij; one vast imposing structure to which all others bowed. It was built in the highest quarter of the city, upon the slopes of the bordering hills, but it did not need such a high footing. It would dominate wherever.

It was a steep pyramid that stretched to a truncated peak. It was built of black stone that was buffed to a mirror shine, yet no-one was ever seen buffing it. It had an eternal quality, as if time had no more power over it than gravity did. The only endorsements were four snow white dragons that crawled up its side, homage to the god that was worshipped within. Each one of those was as large as the icon of Altunia, and yet they seemed small. Insignificant even. It was an astonishing structure, but he didn't like it any more for the fact. It was still the seat of the accursed Ranji. He did not want to go there and he was making the point repeatedly.

His grandfather sighed again.

"Yes, we have to go. But do not think of it as summons. Think of it as an invitation."

Did the Ranji do invitations? Not likely. The request was worded very much like a summons in his view. It was clear evidence that the priests had grown beyond their boundaries.

"But they will use this invitation to bend our ears. It is the Ranji way. We should stay away."

"We are of Ahan, and we do not flex as easily as these pampered home-landers. The residents of Callij have been weakened by idleness, and the power of the word has ever been amplified by peace. Their political machinations will not work with us."

That appeared to be the end of the discussion, and the two men continued in silence. They edged closer, and the temple's shadow encroached on them.

The light was dwindling, and the late summer blood star had already emerged into the sky, bright and strong. The mysterious celestial body, which cycled with the changing seasons, had been intensifying for as long as there were history books. There were even some occults that believed the star forebode a great disaster. He looked to the glowing plateau of the temple, a place of great mystery and intrigue, and gulped. Here he could believe it.

The summit of the House was one of the great mysteries, hidden as it was by sheer height. Dancing red flames could be seen there often, and many speculated upon the source of such pyrotechnics. The Ranji claimed that it was the presence of Rhanna himself, but there were many other rumours. The red star seemed to throb.

They came to a set of matt black gates which towered over them. Were they that large simply as a means of intimidating people? It that was the intention, then it worked. There was no obvious bell, but the Consul was not deterred. He slapped his fist on the smooth stone of the door, barely a noise from it. The gates swung smoothly inwards, hauled open by a dozen masks. So many priests and all so creepy. The Ranji had a lot to answer for, but he suspected there would be little cooperation. They were famously frugal with their information.

The interior was actually surprisingly bright. He walked in, mouth agape, and turned. The walls, which had been sheer black on the outside, were dimly transparent. He could see outside, and light was filtering through. How? When he regained himself, the Consul was strolling beside a masked priest, and he followed. His grandfather had clearly walked under the shadow of this marvel before.

The pair were taken to a vivid white room at the heart of the temple. Torches provided much of the light here at least, but they were no ordinary torches. The torch-light that brightened the room was rigid, pale and unwavering. Just like the sun. The luminescence of the room was so perfect that his own robes were grubby in comparison. He clenched his fists and ground his teeth. Did everything have to be a contest with these weird priests?

And then he tensed. Anso di Ranji came into the room, his arms wide in greeting. Everything about the High-Priest was falsified.

"Thank you for attending at my humble request. Now, please be seated."

There was nothing humble about this bastard.

He and his grandfather took their places on simple stone benches, taking a moment to settle. By contrast, Anso and his mask eased into their seats, what looked more like thrones. It was a good thing his grandfather was leading proceedings.

"Our coming was as much an opportunity as a courtesy, High Reverence."

Anso smiled broadly. "Can I offer refreshments?"

The Consul shook his head levelly. "Let's forego the niceties and get this over with."

The priest shook his head and grinned. "You of the regions may do as you please, but it is my pleasure to have a drink in hand. I struggle to work otherwise."

What an arrogant showman.

Another mask was called and then dispatched to collect the refreshment. His grandfather started discussions, but he was waved down by the arrogant priest. He would not talk until he had drink in hand. Eventually a black liquor was delivered to him, and after a precise sip, Anso raised a hand. They were free to speak.

"On what grounds do you deem it appropriate to declare my granddaughter as some sort of icon? The notion is dangerous, and presents a vast burden on narrow shoulders."

He had never seen his grandfather so blunt. He liked it. The concept of his sister as a martyr was both terrifying and infuriating. He harried the priest with a stare.

"I speak only with the voice of Rhanna." Anso blinked and smiled, sickly. They really were a weird bunch. Celibate and without any women in their ranks, even their birthing was a disputed area. Cold crawled and he shuddered.

Fortunately, his grandfather was a sturdier verbal combatant. "Is it not strange that Rhanna speaks in such a timely fashion?"

Anso smiled all too knowingly. That was dangerous. The Consul wanted to free Anejo of her martyred burden, but they could not escape the fact that it had saved her life. It would be a delicate discussion. In truth, they were vying for neutral ground, but their tactic was to attack with authority and then relent. It was already crumbling as a method. The priests were notoriously strategic.

"The timing was very specific because it needed to be. I could hardly let the third child be executed for that murder, could I?"

"So you admit that your intervention was intended to influence the trial?"

This was their bargaining token, and Anso roared with laughter. That wasn't the effect they wanted.

"Yes, of course. Any fool can see that was what I intended. I would rather not have compromised the prophecy at all, but intervention was unfortunately required."

The bargain was already beyond them. They should not have come at all. But they were here, and so the Consul pushed.

"What if you have impeded the prophecy by revealing the details? What if its powers are neutralised by your intervention?"

Anso frowned. "That is a risk that my family has had to accept. The interventions of our great Lord are mysterious, and mysterious outcomes require curious action. Do you have a more coherent approach you would like to suggest?" Anso looked levelly at him. Would you rather your sister was dead?"

Anger swelled and he found himself standing. Anso barely flinched.

"Of course not—"

His grandfather ushered him back to the stone bench. His breathing slowed and his face flushed. They shouldn't have come. But it was time to make their demands, and his support would be imperative. The High-Consul of Ahan proceeded.

"In that case, we have a request of you. May we present it?"

Anso smiled again, and took a precise sip of liquor. The mask beside him took out a small leather volume which he opened, ready to immortalise proceedings. The priests had expected this all along. The deal had been taken completely out of their hands.

"We request that you keep knowledge of this prophecy confined to Callij. We prefer that Anejo lives without this burden, at least until she can handle it. She is young."

Anso nodded his head dismissively. He already had his agreement planned out. "Consider it done."

Was that it? He deflated, and shook his head. "Really?"

"The matter is already contained. Those leaving the city are bound by silence under oath to Rhanna himself. It is the most we can offer, but I believe it to be sufficient. The only other option, as I see it, is to cut the tongues of everyone who has had the misfortune to hear the story. That is of course an option way beyond us, I'm afraid."

There was a grim edge to Anso's smile, perhaps suggesting that this particular path was not entirely impractical.

"That is more than we could hope for, High-Reverence. You were wise to take precaution." This was disconcertingly easy.

Anso nodded, and then the smile twisted. Never that easy.

"Shall we discuss our side of the arrangement?"

"Arrangement?"

"Yes, arrangement. There are always two sides to a bargain. The idea is that the two legs of the exchange have proportionate values such that it is beneficial to both parties. It is quite a trivial concept."

It was always going to be a deal, and it was always out of their hands. He gulped, head in hands. The High-Consul maintained rather more decorum.

"What is it you want?"

"We want to build a temple."

The silence hung, but Anso would not fill it. It was up to them.

"Where?"

Anso smiled again. It was irritating. "In Altunia; in the Citadel."

"Never!"

His grandfather was broken, torn inside-out by the poison of the Ranji. This was why he was here. He looked up and breathed in deep; held his cool. He'd never seen his grandfather this broken, and he needed to get the man out of here. But a deal would still need to be cut.

They hadn't lost just yet.

Anso twisted the smile further. "It would be easy to let the prophecy spread like wildfire, wouldn't it? What a terrible life that would be for the young _magistra_. Of course, worse than this, we might have made a mistake, in which case there might need to be a retrial..."

The bastard wasn't even being subtle about the bribery, but there was little to attack. He gritted his teeth. Whether the prophecy was truly the word of Rhanna was now irrelevant. It had given the Ranji power, and they were being blackmailed. Damn Anejo! Perhaps one last try.

"You dare to suggest that you have soured the prophetic word of our Lord?"

"Of course not, but we may have misinterpreted. There are, of course, a number of individuals who were born on the same night as your granddaughter, and we are only human after all."

His grandfather mewed, and it was now over. They needed to get out of this toxic place and he needed to do the deal. He was _Magister Deus_ , second in line, and this was his duty. He would show the Consul just how capable he was.

"What do you want us to do?"

"Oh, just sign here." The scribe passed the open book and a graphite pencil. "My chief engineer will travel with you to Ahan."

Just like that, a hundred and fifty years of independence came to an end, and it was all the fault of his reckless sister. He would bear this burden for his grandfather, and he took the pencil. Each stroke burned his soul.

Later, they walked through Callij, and the blood star shone brighter than ever. Behind them, the House of Rha burned like a beacon. It was a dark day for the Jinq, and he wanted to scream at his sister.

## Chapter Twenty-Eight

—Aran—

Was this truly death? Was it? It certainly wasn't how Aran had imagined death, but how would he know? Death was not something you dipped in and out of. It was absolute; a one-way journey. For him, it also seemed to be an unattainable privilege.

It was dark, very dark, but not complete. There was a hairline fracture which had, over time, turned from a riotous black to cool blue. Now it was a dusky orange, shifting back to midnight hues. The changing of colours had followed the natural order of the living world, the cycle of day and night, and that at least was evidence. But what stops death from having cycles? What did he know, after all?

Darkness came once more, dreams and fitful images. His past was there, the recent past which had tormented him, but also something from further back. It was a repressed memory being stirred by his troubled slumber, but it wasn't clear.

A deep chill seeped through him, a cold so complete that he shivered from the core of his body. His mouth opened and closed, sucking in air and preserving the fight. But it was no good. He was saturated, drained and doomed. Maybe this was death after all.

No, he was drowning.

Consciousness slammed home, and he was half submerged. His lower body still rested on slippery stone, but his frantic sleeping movements were edging him into the water. Instinct overtook him and he righted himself. He breathed in deep and exhaled. He was definitely alive. How had death been to denied him?

He was certainly little more than a shell, even if death had escaped him. He was empty, and terribly hungry. So hungry. He lay on the smooth rock and turned to the hairline fracture. Images from his semi-consciousness-memory swam through his head. There was a search party at one point, but thankfully they had failed. Death may have eluded him, but at least the rest of the world did not know that. He was dead to them.

Could he starve himself? Could he rot to dust in this dank place? No, he couldn't. He found himself licking stone, his tongue extending in long effective strokes. The alga was rank, but it was full of goodness. He slipped back into a fitful sleep, but death stayed frustratingly without his grasp.

He was falling, fast approaching the chaotic rock-pool of Widow's Edge. His end was coming, and he surrendered the shell of his body to its fate. But it was not that simple. He was not the only custodian of his body, and the darkness intervened. He'd watched his limbs go rigid, and then crumple up. He'd hit the water and his legs had kicked out, his body shearing off. The act saved his body from shattering against the sharp rocks, and death was denied. He'd surfaced in the cave and crawled onto the rock, very much alive. Still alive. He woke again, in that same cave. He was piecing the bits together.

So what now for the boy who wanted to die? He'd hoped never to ask that question again, but such was his luck. Something inside him ached, tore at him like the remnants of a blow, and yet it was not physical. It was not familiar, but he'd heard others talking of something similar. He wasn't a complete fool. This was guilt, wasn't it?

Guilt. It was almost satisfying, for the sensation of guilt was evidence of living. Mostly he wanted it gone though.

Maybe that was where he should go? He had no other path. But what did he have to feel guilty about? The blood that stained his hands. So much blood.

He had to leave Ahan for certain. In Ahan, the tug of his past would be everywhere, and his failure would catch up with him. He could not cope with that. The risk of being recognised, slim as it was, must also be mitigated. He must remain dead to the world. If he wasn't going to die, then he would disappear.

He would go far away.

—Xen—

They were travelling together, but they had never been further apart. Normally Xen had to hide her affection for Keles. Today, that indifference came naturally. How had it come to this?

The journey to the Gate was not a long one, just a morning's ride, but this particular journey had lasted painfully. He rode at her side; tall, strong, and enduring. And yet he had not endured. He'd grown tired of her, and now he was going. He was going to be with Kato. That man was polluting his mind.

"What will you say to him?"

They walked their horses down the steep sided ravine which led to the Gate. He was silent on the matter. It was very early morning, still dark, but bright torches lit the way to the cave. The darkest shadow was the one hanging over the pair, and she shivered. Keles was leaving her, and he was going to him. Kato.

"I will tell him that he is a coward, and I will tell him that my respect for him is severely damaged."

He stopped there, but she needed more. She grabbed his arm and waited for him. He reluctantly turned to her.

"And then what will you do?" He sighed. They had argued this point many times already. It made no difference.

"And then I will commit myself to his teachings."

She boiled, but then it subsided. What did he see in the man? Kato had dragged them from Samal, some in a worse state than others, and then loped off before the going got rocky. Somewhere between Saphos and Callij he had fled the boat, and he had therefore evaded the scrutiny of the Mandari justice system. He was a coward.

"But if he disappoints you, why?"

He rolled his eyes. "Because he has much to teach, and I have much to learn." Keles shot her a glance, a statement of finality.

Then they entered the cave, and there was a heavy silence between them.

This was the only way in or out of the hidden country of Ulterada, and even then it was restricted to four specific times throughout the day. This was the earliest passing, at sunrise, but there were already a number of waiting travellers. Many of the travellers wore the grey, but there were others too; a handful of citizens in ragged farmwear. She climbed from her horse, went via a manned desk where she got her re-entry permit signed, and then found a dark corner of the cave. Keles followed.

Even the sight of him brought a flutter to her heart. That was how much she loved him. That the relationship was ending burned right through her, and for that she blamed Kato. He had cast a spell on Keles, she was sure of it, and the bastard had also endangered her best friend. The _rootman_ , whatever his legendary status, was trouble, and she wanted to expose him. It was clear that Keles was well aware of Kato's whereabout, but he wasn't telling.

He sat there before her, and smiled subtly. What was that? Did he think there was nothing wrong between them? Did he expect her to return the smile? That wasn't happening. He was abandoning her for him, and she wanted to strike a blow. After all the pain he had brought her, it was the least she could do. He deserved this.

"And how exactly do you know that what he has can be taught? How do you know he's not just using you?"

"No Xen, not here."

But that was Keles's biggest weakness – character naivety. Despite his natural authority, he had a soft core. Keles wanted to see the best in people, but Kato didn't have a best. He was only toxic.

"If not now, then when? You are running from me."

The tension was growing dangerous, but she had snared Keles. He leaned forward, hands clasped.

"We have been through this. I am―"

"I said, what is your reason for passage? Are you broken?"

The gate-clerk was haranguing a traveller at his desk, and the entire cavern was watching. Keles, as a senior mandahoi, jumped to his duty and went to investigate. Maybe he was just escaping her company, but she was glad. It gave her some space. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. She had been over the coals enough for this man. It was time to release herself. Sod the bastard. She was going to support her friend. That was all that mattered now.

She cooled her breathing and watched the encounter from the shadows. As far as she could tell, the traveller had turned up without a travel permit. Then, when the clerk tried to ascertain the details of the journey, there was little cooperation. Keles's presence eased the clerk's threadbare temper, but the traveller remained stubbornly quiet. Finally, a travel permit was handed over, and the traveller sat down in a corner, on his own. She inspected him, and caught a glimpse of a young man, his face in shadow. There was something about him, and her attention was piqued. Keles came back to her, but she barely registered him.

"What was going on?"

He smiled, easing back down. Did he think he was off the hook? She frowned at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Some youngster wanted to get through, but he didn't have any papers. The clerk kicked up a fuss."

There was something familiar about that traveller, but she couldn't place it. "What was his name?"

Keles's face twisted, and he cocked his head. Then he just shrugged. "Kun." That was definitely familiar, but where from?

"You let him through?"

Keles shrugged. "This gate is here to keep people out of Ulterada. Not the other way round."

She rejected his words as quick as he'd said them. Who was that traveller? She rose to her feet, and peered through the cavern at him. He was clammed up, hunched, as if he was hiding. But from what? Her feet were itchy and she licked her lips. She needed to talk to this Kun. She needed to satisfy her curiosity.

The world turned to noise, and the vast stone gate opened. The sun had come up, and passage was granted.

Perhaps this was the last time she would see Keles. Her heart pounded, and she turned to him a final time.

"I hope Kato gives you everything I couldn't. And tell him from me that he's a bastard."

She grabbed the reins of her horse, and led it through the gate. Keles came behind, and once out the other side, he climbed into the saddle and cantered off. He did not even say goodbye.

When she finally composed herself enough for the onward journey, she found a scrunched-up square of paper in the bushes. It was a re-entry permit, and it had Kun's name all over it. Whoever he was, he had no intention of returning to Ulterada, but she couldn't worry about that. Anejo was her only priority now.

## Chapter Twenty-Nine

—Keles—

The rain was hammering, drenching Keles and his horse without prejudice. Lightning flickered across the sky, followed obediently by a grating rumble of thunder. The heavy fur cloak provided remarkable protection against the late-summer torrent, but it was not enough. He was soaked.

The note that guided him was folded delicately in a lizard skin purse, protection against all but the worst weather conditions. This torrid night was testing the capacity of even that expensive item. He hunkered forward, conceding to his horse's sense of direction. Every now and then he looked up, just to check that the distant glow remained centred. It was there, and it was getting closer.

It was the deep night when he arrived at the small town, sheltered torches hissing and spluttering. It was a walled town, one that had been inherited from the Delfinians – the previous custodians of Ahan. The wall was not high, but it was solidly built. A gate barred the road, and when he thumped it, a small iron viewing hatch snapped open, revealing a beady eye.

"Who is it?"

He was drained both mentally and physically. He had never truly recovered from the battle of Altunia, and the effort of facing criminal charges had wiped any residual strength from his body. The pain of breaking ties with Xen was almost a step too far, and Aran's suicide had layered a sprinkling of distress over the whole emotional knot. Now he rode to his tutor, and he stewed unhealthily. Xen's words lingered, and they burrowed deep. Could he really trust this man?

He shook his head. The beady eye wanted an answer.

"I am Keles, of the Mandahoi. I require shelter and food."

What he was really after was Kato, and that man was here. Hiding. Could he really bow down to this oddity, a man who Xen called a coward? But he wasn't a coward, not really. He was the Axis, and just imagine what he could learn from the man. All he had to do was endure Kato's company. Was that a price worth paying?

"You ain't no mandahoi. Get lost."

He had neither the mood nor the patience to practise courtesy. He rose majestically atop his horse, and in a heartbeat, Mandahoi steel flashed from his side. The weapon quivered at the eye of the guard.

"How dare you question me—"

The gate opened.

It did not take long to find the inn. After all, there was only one. A sign hung above the door portraying a deer being speared by a naked woman, although the image was barely recognisable in the terrible weather. He dismounted and stroked the nose of his horse. No doubt that was barely a comfort for the poor beast, but at least they were here now. It had been a hard journey. Soon his mount was feeding, happy with its head in a trough. He went to the inn, hoping for much the same.

Inside the inn was dark except for a dim lamp which burned behind a counter. The door thumped against an internal wall, and an attendant spluttered into life.

"Wh... What time do you call this?"

He stepped in, heavy steps and heavy drops of water slapping the ground. The attendant softened, but not overly so.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

He was not a sir, but he did not correct the man. "I am here to see a guest of yours. He is called Axel." Or so the cryptic note suggested.

The man's face shifted, and his lips twisted upwards. He shook his head, tutting with it. "I'm afraid there is no-one here by that name."

Bastard. He stepped toward the worktop, and the man flinched, but the smile didn't waver. The receptionist's hand went below the counter, most likely to some sort of weapon. The prospect was wearisome.

"I think you know who I mean."

He shook his head, but his lips curled even further. He was being fleeced. He placed three heavy silver coins on the desk, one after the other, and it was only when the fourth was placed on the worktop that the man perked up.

"Now you come to mention it."

He handed over another coin when the man left him at the door. What a git.

Light fanned out from the ragged gap at the base of the wooden door. The coward was waiting. He was now almost entirely resolved; he would lay into Kato and then get back to the Academy. He already had a ridiculous yearning for Xen, and he needed to sort himself out. First, though, he needed to disjoint an Axis, and he raised a fist in readiness. His hand hovered there for a moment, poised.

"Come in."

That was unsettling. He cracked his knuckles and then pushed at the door. It offered little resistance.

Inside was a small room with a single bed on the righthand side, and a table and chair on the left. The walls were bare stonework, and a spider had created a masterpiece of the ceiling. A lone candle flickered on the table at which Kato sat. He was looking down at a half-empty bottle of spirit. It didn't look like a vintage. The man looked nothing like a legend.

"You coward. You utter coward. You abandoned us. Why?"

Kato turned and smiled. Smiled! What was he supposed to make of that? This was not going to be a straightforward encounter.

"I am exiled from Mandaria; that is all."

Damn him! He stormed forward and slammed an angered fist onto the rickety looking table. The bottle shook precariously until Kato grabbed it. The desk shuddered in disgust at the strike, but Kato did not flinch. There was alcohol on his breath.

"You seem frustrated."

"Frustrated, yes, but mainly furious. You left us to face criminal charges that you had an equal share in. I cannot even conceive of a scenario that would justify your actions."

"And yet here you are."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Kato took a draught of spirit, and then looked up at him. His eyes were misty. "What punishment has the almighty Council bestowed upon you?"

This was bad for his sanity. He was barely able to keep up. How did Kato do that?

"None."

Kato shrugged, as if that was the end of it. Which it sort of was. It was astonishing how quickly the situation was turned.

"How do you know this?"

"It is obvious. If they blamed you, the weight would shift subtly back onto them. They had to put the responsibility on me and me alone. By that reasoning, you were safe."

He squinted and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand. Please explain."

"I am exiled, and as such I am without the control of Mandaria. This is something that they are only now beginning to understand, and something they will be extremely keen to conceal. Any apportionment of blame upon you would trigger investigation, and the subsequent questions would unravel their mistake with respect to me. You could not, therefore, be blamed."

Kato's idea of clarification was not the same as his own. He was even more confused.

"Is exile not a punishment? Why is it a mistake?"

Kato smiled. "It is all a matter of control, and control is something they have unwittingly lost. For now. I intend to keep it that way, and that is why I refused the opportunity to return to Callij."

This was all very confusing. He spoke of Mandaria like the enemy, which was strange. This man was from Mandaria. He served Xante di Mahan, didn't he?

"And what of Anejo? She is facing murder charges."

"Her actions were her own. We never asked her to enter that place."

That was a cavalier attitude. Acid boiled up his throat. "How dare you! Anejo obtained the evidence we desperately sought, and she faces the ultimate punishment as a result of that act. You owe her a great deal."

"That evidence has not yet been verified. Her recklessness was of benefit to no-one as yet. And besides, she will be fine." Kato's indifference was insulting, and he leaned right in. He was ready to fight this charlatan.

"You don't know that!"

"This is true, but if the Book of Divine Providence has any value, then her life is beyond the law."

What? He stumbled back and dropped onto the rickety bed. Kato was proving to be quite the prophet and it was impossible not be intrigued. Xen had called it a spell, and she was right.

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Because I helped translate that text. Come now, there is precious little fighting to do in Callij. We must occupy ourselves somehow."

He lay down on the bed. It was the only way to order his thoughts. "So who exiled you, and why?"

Kato took a long draught of liquor and then offered him the bottles. He was so confounded that he could do with a drink, so he reached out and took the bottle. There wasn't even a label. The spirit was rancid, but oddly satisfying.

"Only the Ranji have that power over me. The exile was by my own design. I started asking awkward questions."

He took another swig. "You engineered your own exile? Why?"

"I have told you already. Out here I am without the control of Mandaria. I am able to answer the questions that have plagued me." Kato held out a hand, requesting the return of his bottle. He took a last gulp, and then handed it back.

"What questions?"

"The questions that plague us all, of course. How did the Delfinians get so close to Altunia? And why are our enemies uniting against us? These are the only questions, and I hope to share the answers with you."

And there it was – the question that had dragged them to Saphos in the first place. As a consequence of the visit, it appeared the Nadari were indeed culpable, even if the finer details of accusation still needed hammering out. But the second question remained largely unanswered.

Then there was the third question that needed answering, the one that was buried deepest.

"How did you come to be at Nazalia at exactly the right time?"

The enigma took another lengthy draught. How was he not drunk? He thought back to that tavern in Saphos.

"That is the last question. We must answer the second before we tackle that particular one. We leave tomorrow at the break. Get some sleep."

What? Was it assumed that he was conceding just like that? Arrogant git. Then again, it had been an arduous journey. His body cried out for rest.

"Where are we headed tomorrow?

"West. Dusk always spreads from the west, so that is where we must go. Now, where are you staying?"

"Huh?"

"You are on my bed. We are student and tutor, not husband and wife. I presume you would like to invest in your own room for the night."

Was that a joke? No, impossible. He jumped up and went back down to the attendant. He kept a stock of silvers close to his palm. He suspected that he would be needing them.

## Chapter Thirty

—Aran—

Freedom was not freedom at all. Aran was still trapped in his mind. At least he had passed through the terrifying ordeal at the Gate of Ulterada unscathed. He had been convinced that Xen was looking straight at him. Now at least the only demons lay within, and his death was assured. Soon he would pass from the quays of Altunia, and he would be gone from this country. Then he could deal with his problems.

He did not like being in this town. It was too close to a recognised existence. He could see the Citadel from here, grand and imposing. That was Anejo's home. How was she? Had she been condemned? It would have been nice to seek out information, but he resisted. That was not his concern. It was Aran's.

And Aran was dead.

He was now Kun. He had named himself after the Kunati in his ditty, but that in itself was stupid. Kunati was a legendary hero from times unknown. Like he could ever live up to that! Though now that he was eing reborn, then maybe...

Well, there was no harm in dreaming. It was just a shame he was bad at it. Maybe he would be painted as a hero one day? Maybe he could earn the name? He laughed.

"Opentilia, Namcalla, Saphos, Cartenda, and Calachon."

The names drifted, tickling him. Calachon: that was a long way away. The perfect location for resurrection. He pushed his way towards a pier. There, a vast man in little more than a cloth skirt stood. The man's body was sun-baked, decorated with a tapestry of vivid blues. He looked hard, and he was probably a slaver from the Reach. Not a man to cross lightly. But he had few options. This was it.

"I seek passage to Calachon."

The slaver looked him over, licking his lips. Was his value being gauged? He stepped back, gulping. Maybe this was a bad idea. There was a sharp sound, and the slaver jerked away. A whip slithered over the ground, and he breathed again. Phew. It appeared the slaver was actually a slave.

"Down, Daklas. You'll scare off the business." The merchant turned on him. "You say you seek passage?"

He nodded rapidly. That was exactly what he wanted. "Yes, as far as you can take me."

The merchant, wearing richly decorated purple robes, smiled and showed off a full set of gold teeth. He seemed friendly enough, in an unsettling sort of way.

"I can take you as far as Levias, in Calachon. Have you been before?" He shook his head. "It is a place of unrelenting sunshine, but a smart soul can make their wealth. Daklas comes from just down the coast, so I'm sure he could show you around."

He looked at the slave and gulped. He didn't really want to see Daklas's home. He nodded and smiled weakly. The slave scowled in return. The merchant chuckled.

"We will be departing by the third degree. The charge will be five silver and a third of your day in labour. You will receive two meals, one in the morning and one at night, and a single portion of rum. These are the terms. Do you accept?"

He had barely taken it all in, but nodded hungrily. He had no choice. He fumbled about his inner pocket for coin, but the trader stopped him.

"We can sort payment out later, when we are at sea."

The grin the merchant gave was filthy. He suspected the price might go up once they were far from the safety of the docks. He swallowed awkwardly. It was probably best if the rest of his stolen wealth lay well concealed. It was all he had.

"May I wait on board?"

The trader cracked his whip and the heavy slave stood aside. He walked onto the boat, staring anywhere but the slave.

Once aboard, he found a corner in which to hide. He was still there when the ship left port.

As it turned out, the price was only inflated to seven silvers. He was headed south, and he was free of his former life, so that was a small price really. That was worth an immeasurable amount. Only Anejo's fate lingered in his head, and guilt rotted in his stomach. How could he deal with that?

He had finished his evening shift and settled down with a bowl of slops. It was quite nice at sea, the salty air fresh in his lungs, even if the food was rank. He took a sip of the fiery rum and then jumped where he sat.

"You have a dark secret, and I know what it is."

He would have run away had his legs not been tucked under him. He turned to the source, and shivered. How?

The cloaked face peered down at him, heavy in shadow and saturated with amusement. The scabbed chin was just about visible, all mottled and littered with faint wiry hairs. There was a twitch. Could that be nervousness? Unlikely. This man was forged of stone.

"Huh?" Hardly assertive. The darkness chuckled at him, and he sank. There was no getting out of this.

"Now now, Kun. We both know what your secret is, and we both know the situation that puts you in." The Enabler floated to the deck, settling cross-legged beside him. "You are my pawn."

The hood turned, and he may have just about caught glimpse of an eye. His body turned to ice.

"What do you want of me? I did what you asked. Anejo was pinned with the blame."

His throat contracted, and he gasped. Could this man really have her killed? Was she dead already? His heart smashed, and his breathing grated. The Enabler chuckled lightly.

"What has happened to her?"

The setting sun caught the lower portion of the demonic half-mask, and it flared; like it was on fire. He instinctively turned away. The Stranger burned that way in his dreams, red and hot. He didn't like the Stranger. It was a terrible star.

"Her path has been complicated, but that is not for now. You will find out soon enough. But consider this: only your subservience might work in her favour. The Veil has plans for you."

His past had caught up with him already and his anonymous future was being ripped away. Already he had failed.

"What do you want of me?"

The hooded man drifted to his feet. The dark cowl turned upon him. It was complete shadow.

"You will disembark at Saphos."

Not there. It was the scene of his great crime, and the home of the Nadari Governor. Was he about to come face to face with his guilt? He should resist, fight back against this Enabler, but what if the man was right? What if Anejo was still alive and this man could kill her? Was that worth conceding to the Enabler for?

Yes; yes it was. With all his heart, yes. He returned to his slops.

## Chapter Thirty-One

—Xen—

Xen had stopped off as soon as the clouds started rearing up. It was one of those storms, a real bone-shaker, and there was no way she was staying out in that. The fine clothes she was wearing would have been ruined. She stroked the smooth material, and smiled. Keles had bought her this dress.

She sighed. Best not to think about that now.

The storm had passed, now just a smear of turbulence on a crisp morning horizon. But its signature was all around. The wide fields were sodden, the roads muddy, and travel was slow. Not all roads were stone-lined, and the packed earthen roads were slushy under her horse's hooves. Trees were bent awkwardly, and not a few limbs were ripped right away, leaves strewn across the ground. The world was strangely silent, which was nice. She had much thinking to do.

Altunia was coming into view by mid-afternoon, and the stone dragon dominated the skyline. It was astonishing, as it ever was, and she shivered despite the day's warmth. When she was just a short ride from the city, her peace was broken by a pair of riders hurtling in her direction. She stopped her mare abruptly and the horse objected, circling on the spot. A noise grabbed her. Someone had cried out to her. She smiled.

Anejo was galloping towards her. She couldn't wait to embrace her friend.

"Forgive me, but how exactly did you escape punishment?"

They were riding back towards the city, a Jinq private escort trotting a few lengths behind. Anejo was twitchy, looking over her shoulder regularly. That wasn't like her. Something was heavy in that head of hers.

"I have been declared as the prophesized martyr of our people. I am destined for greatness, and therefore absolved of any misdemeanours. I am untouchable." Was that really so bad? Anejo didn't seem pleased.

"And this is upsetting you because..."

"In the eyes of the law I am still a murderer! To everyone in the world I am a heartless killer, and it is on the whim of the Ranji that I am allowed to limp on."

"You are alive. Be grateful for that at least."

"Pfft. I am not alive. I am a slave to the manipulative word of the Ranji. That is no life at all."

Damn she was selfish sometimes. In those moments, it was really hard being her friend.

"Are you really going to treat such a gift of fortune with contempt? You could have been sentenced to death. It is not that hard to show a flake of gratitude."

"Oh yes, I should be grateful should I? I should never even have been on a murder charge. That man was a traitor, and he attacked me. If anything, I should be lauded for my intervention, but no. I have this instead. I have to prove my innocence."

Bloody hell! Always with the push-back. "How are you going to prove your innocence?"

"Well, firstly, I'd like to get back to the Academy. Unfortunately, my jolly companion here is making sure that doesn't happen. Aren't you?"

The guard stayed utterly impassive, and it was only then that she registered the oddness.

"Why is he with you?"

"He's holding my leash. My grandfather does not trust me anymore."

She almost scoffed, but held it. Just. This was going to really annoy Anejo. She valued her freedom above almost everything else, and now she'd thrown it away. She would need to support her friend through this. It would be painful

"Is there anything I can do?"

Anejo's eyes sparkled. It was her mischievous look. What was she letting herself in for?

"When you next go back to Ulterada, you can ask Aran some questions for me."

By the _Solemn Sister_ ; Aran! Her face dropped, and this was mirrored in her friend.

"What?"

Could she really tell her of Aran's suicide? She wanted to avoid the subject altogether, but that was hardly an option. They were some of the hardest words she had ever spoken.

The rest of the journey was spent in silence.

At their travel's end, the girls reached the Citadel. The repairs continued on the Jinal Bridge, and the pair had to negotiate craftsmen and scaffolding. It was a relief for her to be back in the glorious hub of Ahan. The cleanliness suited her. Anejo, by contrast, scowled; her head bowed in subservience as was her station. This town had always discomfited Anejo because it reminded her who she was. She didn't like that.

They emerged into the bright central square of the Citadel and Anejo raised her head. Anger flared hot in her friend.

"What the..."

Anejo stepped her horse forward, and she followed. Before them, where the open courtyard occupied the central part of the Citadel, was a wide square of rope and a troop of labourers. Sledge hammers were being dropped methodically, breaking up flagstones and shattering century-old masonry. There was a man in sharp white robes strolling about the space, directing, and they were very white robes, like...

The man turned, and it was confirmed. He wore the semi-mask of the religious caste, and he was here. Of all the places, he was here! There was no way Anejo would leave that unchallenged.

"What is this?"

The priest scurried for the protection of a guard. Who were the guards there to protect? The workforce, or everyone else? Anejo urged her horse forward, her mood plain to see.

"What is going on?"

The priest cleared his throat, but quivered subtly with it. "They are the orders of the High-Consul."

Anejo left it at that, which was a relief. She exhaled. A fight would be crazy, but it had seemed like a very real possibility. But that didn't mean there wouldn't be a fight. The question was: who with?

—Anejo—

Anejo had not been able to find her grandfather, but that was probably a good thing. A tirade in his direction would hardly support her case for renewed independence. Best to play her family at their own game, and sue for time. In any case, there would be other objectors. A temple at the heart of the Jinq sanctum of Ahan: what was he thinking?

She spent the afternoon with Rissé, Felip's charming wife. How had her arrogant brother snared such a humble creature? Then again, he was an excellent father to his children. Perhaps his arrogance didn't leak into his marital life. It was only she who had issues of friction with her brother.

But the day was a delight, such was the power of Rissé's wit and Xen's sheer presence. By the time the evening came, she had almost forgotten about her near-imprisonment. It was time to celebrate her birthday.

"Your bruising has almost completely subsided."

Maybe, but only because she'd caked the makeup on. It was heavy on her skin, disgusting really, but worth it for one night. And it was a kind gesture from Xen. She smiled. It was good to be back amongst friends. It even eased her aches and pains.

She stroked her jaw and stretched her body, enjoying the unfamiliar lightness of the white dress. "I'm ready for anything. Just give me the opportunity."

That stung a bit, even though the words were her own. These familiar white walls were her prison now. It was a constant weight upon her.

Xen smiled, but it was edged. Her dark hair was piled up, and her flawless skin shimmered in the early evening candlelight. It was no wonder Keles had fallen for her.

"Well first things first, you've got some celebrating to do. Let's go."

Rissé had already gone on with her children, so now it was just the two of them who strolled their way to the Sky-Garden. The terraced dining area – a firm favourite of Queen Delfin three hundred years ago – was her absolute favourite part of the palace. This was her grandfather's way of making peace.

"Did you know that Queen Delfin used to dine here?"

Xen rolled her eyes. "You have told me once or twice. You do realise that the Delfinians are now a firm adversary of ours?"

She shrugged the comment away. "We fight distant descendants. Not Delfin herself." Queen Delfin had always been polarising.

They reached the highest part of the palace and a guard gestured them into a circular stair. Moments later she stepped into the elements and breathed in the soft evening breeze. The sight hit her with such a blow that she forgot to breathe out until it ached. Incredible.

This place really was beautiful. She glanced at the stone god above them, and tingled. Even Queen Delfin would not have seen that statue. It was magical. It was befitting of this masterpiece.

Around the terrace, late-summer flowers bloomed in every conceivable colour. _Mother Bright_ tipped over the horizon and the sky was turning a warming purple. Clouds had been scattered lazily across the cosmos, breaking up the deep shades with brushes of red and green. The view was overwhelming, and it took a moment to look back to the dining-garden. She was being applauded. It was all meant for her.

And for Xen of course.

In fact, alongside her family members were Xen's closest relatives. It was rare that the pedestalled higher families of Ahan would socialise with the lower classes, but she and Xen bridged that divide. It was a source of distinct pride. She turned to a rosy cheeked Xen who was smoothing down the fabric of her sculpted bronze dress unnecessarily.

She looked back and there was her mother too. Even her mother was here! Any last wisps of discomfort were blown away, and she rushed forward. This was exactly what she needed.

The evening progressed with the intended order, and the table was low and square, meaning that conversation flowed easily. She even found her brother talkative and friendly, which was uncommon. Her mother was difficult to prise from her shell; she had been ever since the death of her husband, a father Anejo had never known. But she did giggle covertly on a couple of occasions, and that was truly warming. It seemed that all the world's woes had been forgotten for one free-flowing evening.

As befitting a social event of this calibre, the food was exquisite. The Mandari were usually frugal in all things culinary – homage to their island roots – but this spread would have been fitting for the Emperor of Mikaeta. It was beyond compare.

There were birds within birds within birds, and there were rabbits within pigs within boars. The range of fruit and vegetables on offer meant that every conceivable colour was available, and each dish was accompanied by a delicious and often sticky addition. Each platter was given its deserved drama, and she clapped as they were revealed. When it was time to eat, she barely had the energy. It was incredible, and she relished every last moment of it. Ooh, the relish was good too.

By the time of the eighth course, she was beyond food. In fact, she'd been beyond food a while, but the smells kept enticing her in. She reclined on her cushions, finding space by swinging her legs behind Xen. She shifted, and had to put a hand down to steady herself. The wine was winning. She purred contentedly, and her mind got ahead of her.

"Grandfather, why on l'Unna is there a temple being constructed in our sanctum? What in Mandaria could have stirred you to such insanity?"

The table silenced, and she blinked away her fuzziness. She pulled herself up and found a goblet of fresh water in front of her. She gulped it down. She could see that the shadow upon Felip had spread, transforming his facial features. Had she ever regretted words so quickly before? She didn't think so.

"Not now, Anejo. We will speak later."

"Yes Grandfather, sorry."

She exhaled. That could have been worse. But things soured.

Felip was no longer the pleasant brother, but a sniping rival instead. His mood and their tiredness turned his angelic children into monsters, and Rissé soured understandably. Not long later Rissé was relieving the party of her grumbling children, and other guests followed quickly behind. Soon there was only Xen and herself left against the dual front of the High-Consul and his heir. Her brother. The night had grown chilly.

"You have passed into womanhood now, have you not?"

Strange question. If anything, she had passed into womanhood many years ago. She nodded cautiously.

"And it is now time for you to do your country's service. You are Jinq after all, and have played at your juvenile whim long enough."

It didn't look like her curfew was being lifted any time soon. That didn't really surprise her, but it did disappoint her.

"And what is my duty?" Was she to attend dull administrative meetings, carry out some wet social function, or serve on one of the ruling councils? Was she to be detained from the Academy forever, or was it just a partial ban from the place? It was bad news whichever way it played out, but the shade of bad was important for her well-being. Certain prices she could accept, while others she could not.

"You will marry."

That was not even at the bottom of her list. It was much lower than that.

"What? Who am I to marry?"

Her grandfather gulped, revealing his discomfort. Felip maintained a neutral face, but the corners of his lips kept twitching, like they wanted to break into a smile. Bastard.

"You are to marry Magister Nomej, and you will firm up the strained relationship between our great families."

A vision of the repugnant man shot into her mind, and she recoiled. He was a prickly character and a grotesque human being. His jealousy of her family was well documented, and he showed it willingly and obscenely in public. He had an over-inflated opinion of himself, and if there was anyone less suited, she did not know of them. Something switched in her.

"How dare you!"

As it turned out, she regretted these words even quicker than the earlier ones.

Felip stood, taking control of the exchange. "Calm down. You are being unreasonable."

"Unreasonable? I bet you're loving this, aren't you? Finally, your annoying little sister is being shipped off where she can't interfere with your precious ascension to the seat of Ahan."

"Hold yourself, you are being unseemly."

"I don't give a damn! I will not marry that pig of a man."

"Anejo!" This was ridiculous. Her grandfather disliked the Magister as much as she did, and yet here he was, objecting to her reaction.

Felip leaned forward. "Sit and calm yourself. You are making a scene."

"A scene; if you think this is a scene, just wait until the wedding day!" She stood, screaming down at her brother who was comforting their grandfather. Xen stood too, pulling gently on her shoulder, but fire had gripped her. "You have ruined my life."

That triggered something deep in Felip, and he rose. His control snapped.

"Your life, ruined? How bloody dare you. How dare you. Your life is nothing compared to this country, and you have come close to destroying that already. See those temple foundations down there? Those ones that shocked you so. You wanted to know what insanity had led to them being permitted. Well, that insanity was you, sister. They are being built because Anso di Ranji has us by the throat, and it is all because of you, our beloved murderous martyr. We are marrying you off because you need controlling, and we are marrying you off because there has to be at least some good you can achieve in this world. Now stop being such a child, and sit back down."

She faced off to her brother. Hatred swelled in her, but not just targeted at Felip; at herself as-well. She had no idea how much was true, but she feared it was too much for her liking. Was it really her actions that had condemned her country to the unscrupulous Ranji? Had she really undone all the good work that the legendary Jinal di Jinq had done? Her great-great-grandfather's legacy, in tatters because of her? She swallowed, and it grated.

And then the grotesque creature waddled back into her head, and the acid returned. To marry into the Nomej family was a punishment too far.

Her brother was sneering at her, malice in his eyes. Her grandfather was actually brushing Felip's arm, urging peace, but it wouldn't work. Felip was incensed.

Had she really caused all this? The cold reality sunk in, and she heaved. No. She would not give Felip the satisfaction. She ran from the Sky-Garden, nearly tripping down the stairs. Unfortunately, she couldn't escape the actions of her past.

—Xen—

"Marriage. And to that pig! Urgh."

It was clear that Anejo was not a fan of her enforced betrothal. In all honesty, Xen couldn't blame her. Magister Nomej even looked a bit like a pig. But Anejo had brought this on herself. Not that she could say this. She needed to be strong for her friend.

"It might be alright." Who was she kidding? Anejo didn't bite either. She just rolled her eyes.

It was late. Only when the almighty ruckus from outside had died down did Anejo emerge from the goose-down bed. Her face was reddened, eroded by tears. It was very unusual for her friend to cry. She was the strong one. Felip had persisted with his stalking outside the chambers until the early hours, but even his mood eventually simmered. Now the palace was empty, the sky was greying ever so slightly, and the two young women were alone. She really wanted to sleep, but she couldn't. Not now. Her friend needed her.

"What am I going to do?"

Wasn't that just the crux of it? Unfortunately, she didn't have an answer that was far removed from 'deal with it'. And that wouldn't go down well at all. "Perhaps this whole affair will blow over. Perhaps when your grandfather's mood has cooled, he will reconsider his position. He probably hasn't even offered your hand yet. It's just a threat."

It was funny really. All Xen wanted was a hand to hold, and here was Anejo rejecting that very thing. But she wanted Keles's hand. A lump came to her throat. No; she could not. He was gone from her life.

She focussed back on her pacing friend. "Once time has healed the rift, I'm sure he'll forget his threat." There was nothing but the sound of steps. Had Keles forgotten her already?

But Anejo didn't see what was in her heart. What was splitting her heart. In fact, Anejo had not even asked about Keles. Yes, she wanted to be there for her friend, but it would be nice if it was reciprocal. Anejo was selfish.

"Forget it. Pfff. That temple on the other side of those walls will be a permanent reminder of the 'murderous martyr'. I am a prisoner: a prisoner of my family; a prisoner of the Ranji; and a prisoner to a reputation. My life is as good as over."

She looked at the comfortable bed and the luxurious surroundings. Life over; that was ridiculous.

"Anejo, you did murder someone. You have to deal with the consequences."

Her friend turned on her, spitting. "I did not murder him! He engaged; he had me close to death; and he was the traitor. At worst, it was self-defence. At best, it was a national service. But never mind that. I do not even recall killing the bastard. How can I be tainted with an act that I do not even remember? It's not fair."

Was she still playing this card? "Come now, Anejo. There are only friendly ears here. You do remember that night, don't you?"

The look she got was not friendly. They were opponents in that moment. That was not a good place to be.

"You don't believe me?"

"Well, ah, it's not that I don't believe you. It's just that I, sort of, assumed that..." The icy stare would have done Queen Delfin proud.

"I don't believe that you don't believe me."

"Come now. It's just difficult to take in. All evidence points to your culpability. Your weapon was embedded in the man, after all. I just thought that perhaps something had resurfaced by now."

"Anyone could have used my discarded weapon―"

"And what about Aran's account of events. Are you suggesting he lied? And besides, who else could have done it? There was no-one else there."

She didn't have an answer. That was a small victory. And a rarity.

She smoothed down her satin dress which was still wonderful to the touch. It would even be nice to sleep in it; she really didn't care. Her eyelids were heavy, but Anejo dragged her back.

"So, both of those who can prove or disprove my innocence are dead. That's fortune for you. The least I can do is prove that bastard's traitorous tendencies. Then at least I will have some credit. Then at least I will not be labelled murderer."

She yawned. That was the first yawn wasn't it? That was a small miracle. It was very late, or indeed early. The tension was cooling, and she would not persist much longer. Surely. Despite her agitation, Anejo's eyes were dark and droopy. She would have to concede soon.

"How will you prove him a traitor?"

A deflated sigh. "I would pursue his successor; that whelp called Jinqué. He will know of his father's dealings. Unfortunately, I can't do anything from my prison cell."

"What prison cell?"

Her arms spread wide. That was a bit melodramatic. A second yawn stretched her mouth. She was beaten. She fell sideways onto the bed, and stared at her friend, pleading. This really was time for sleep.

"Surely you can do something?"

"Not from here I can't. My brother won't listen, and my grandfather will listen to my brother. I am doomed to rot in this place, or worse – on the arm of that pig."

"Perhaps I can help?" Did she say that? Oh well. Anything for some sleep.

"Would you?" Anejo's face lit up, and that was nice. Anything to help her friend.

"Of course I will. I'll do anything to help you, I promise."

Anejo may have thanked her, but she couldn't really tell.

The next day, she woke to her beaming friend. Anejo was kind enough to remind her about her promise at the first opportunity.

_Dear Father_ , what had she done?

## Chapter Thirty-Two

—Kantal—

Why was he here? Why was the bastard always here? It really annoyed Kantal. Ever since the death of the late Lord Nadari, it had been imperative that the successor be brought on side. Otherwise, all that gold would have been paid over in vain. He needed every small success he could muster, and hence he was here. But everywhere he turned, the Enabler was already there. Bastard.

"My lord, I am deeply sorry for your loss." That was a hard thing to say. It was the softer side of negotiations that he was bad at. If he didn't like someone, then he didn't like them. It was really that simple. The damn juvenile couldn't even grow a beard yet.

Jinqué glared back, his facial features contorted. It was an admirable retort and a passable impression of maturity, but he was still a pup. This man was like the father, quick to temper, but he was also acidic with it. Bitter. He would be harder to control.

"Meaningless sentiment does us no favours, General."

He shrugged. What else was there to do? As long as the alliance was intact, he couldn't care less about this arrogant sod. The young man looked unimpressed.

The Enabler scoffed from within that damned hood of his. He was being mocked, which was annoying. Above all else, he wanted to belittle the Enabler.

"I agree. Sentiment is valueless, but a powerful alliance is worth more than its weight. I would like to reaffirm the terms of our relationship. Delfinia and Samal are mutually useful friends."

The youngster nodded, which ensured the silence of the Enabler for now. That was mildly satisfying, but not enough. They were ushered to a long table, and it was only then that it struck him. This was the very room in which Jinqué's father had died, and yet the young Governor was acting easy. Perhaps there was more to this whelp after all.

Once settled, he passed an official scroll across the table. It was a legal agreement that copied the sentiment of the one that Delfinia had in place with the father, but it was also embellished somewhat in Delfinia's favour. This pup would never recognise those valuable nuances.

"Will you sign, Governor?"

The Enabler just sat there, poised. The bastard was about to ruin everything! Fortunately, Jinqué was not about to concede the chair. The little lord pushed the scroll back in his direction.

"We shall move onto the details of our working relationship shortly. First, I am eager to look at the gifts that you bestow upon me. General Kantal, if you please?"

The presumptuous little... "Of course, Governor."

He put his hand on the handle of a fine cavalry blade. He'd brought it as an offering. It was a truly excellent piece, from his king's personal collection, and it would win great favour. The Enabler barely reacted, but then the freak rarely did. Actually, did he just smile? He had come to reassert Delfinia's mastery over this island, but there were too many hands in the pie. It was slipping from him.

"General?"

Was he really so arrogant that he would push for the gift to be handed over? It appeared so. His king had left a great task in his modest hands, and it was already slipping away. Negotiations were not his strong point. Damn it! What was there to do but to proceed?

He took a draught of ... Whoa, not wine. Some sort of liquor. His head spun momentarily, and then he laid the weapon heavily on the table. The sound barely registered; a sure sign of fine craftsmanship.

The young Governor's eyes were wide, not leaving the fine piece. He liked the weapon, and that was good. The sword was light as silk, and yet it was also strong as diamond. It had been made by his father. The pup clearly recognised its worth, staring at it, tongue all but lolling. The Enabler had to act fast, and he did.

"May I present my gift to you?"

Did the Enabler seem flustered? Unlikely, but he could hope. The Nadari pup barely stirred from his reverie. He eased the sword out of the sheath, accompanied by a soft scraping sound, and the polished blade burned.

Ha! Jinqué was in his palm. The young Governor didn't stir, even when the doors to the room opened. He had the Enabler backing up too, and he smiled. This was a great victory. The freak coughed for attention, and only then did the Governor turn from the weapon. He was not best pleased by the interruption, and was less pleased when he found the reason.

"It's a boy."

"With all due respect, Governor, he is a man."

Ha! He almost spat out his liquor at that.

"With all due respect, Lord Chance, he is nobody. What would you have me do with this nobody? Shall I have him killed for some small amusement? I assure you that I already have many such insignificants at my disposal."

Who did this little brat think he was? Did he not know he was largely insignificant?

He pushed the weapon towards the young man, and was pleased at the broad smile he got in return. He was winning this exchange. Time to press the win.

"I assume that this gift is more to your taste, Governor?"

The young man was bent to the bright steel. It was a very fine blade after all. He reclined, hands behind his neck. This was the sweetest victory of all. He glanced at the Enabler, expecting to enjoy the experience. But he didn't. The freak had barely moved. What was with this bastard? Did this man always have another play?

"Governor, let me explain. What we have here is not just a boy. I guarantee that you will be immensely interested in his history."

It was enough to pique the young brat's interest, but he did not look impressed. The lure of the expensive weapon was laid out, so there was nothing else to do. He had to wait for the Enabler's hand to be revealed.

"What do I care of his history?"

A gruesome smile crept onto the blackened lips of the Enabler. The man's face twisted, and the scarred skin cracked.

"He is a killer, and his ownership will offer you much amusement."

He looked at the boy. No, he was a man just about, but younger still than this little governor. What amusement could be found in this subject? Even he leaned forward, intrigued, and the tide may have just turned. Had he just lost? Somehow it didn't matter. He wanted to hear what this boy had done.

—Aran—

The wood was riddled with the stuff, deep black stains in the grain of the floorboards. Those bloodstains had been Aran's doing, hadn't they? This was the very room where he had killed the man. He shivered. He scanned the area. There was blood everywhere!

"What do you mean he is a killer?"

Back to reality. Ah, reality. Such a harsh mistress.

After all his efforts to disappear, here he was, facing his crimes. And yet the Enabler had had a hand in his initial escape of punishment, so what was this about? What was the purpose of such a frivolous and circular scheme? Why was he now being ousted when the Enabler had encouraged him to the shadows in the first place? This whole affair was like a mighty current, and he was being swept along in its grip. All he could do was stand and wait, watching these powerful men weaving their magic. This could only lead to death, but that was what he'd sought not many days previous.

"He was a mandahoi, but he has now defected. I offer him into your service, and suggest that there is a great deal he can share with you."

What? Offered into service? What could he share? It was fast becoming clear that death, once again, may be the preferable option, but it was the option that was ever outside his grasp.

"How can this be proven?"

"He has documents. Boy, get out the letter."

He obeyed. What else was there to do? Maybe he should just confess here and now, and be done with it. But the ominous authority with which the Enabler pulled strings put him off that idea. If there was any chance Anejo was okay, then he needed to bend. Obedience was the only option. He was at the mercy of the Veil, whatever that meant.

The eyes of the room turned on him, and he reached into a pocket. He pulled out the document and raised it to chest level. He dipped his head, not wanting to be rude, and extended his arm. The document hovered there, unclaimed.

One of the guards in the room, a black cloaked _deadwood_ – the Nadari response to the art of the Mandahoi – took the document and handed it to the Governor. The young Governor scanned the paper and looked up from the rich paper, eyes narrow.

"The document is true enough, but how do we know it is not stolen? There is no name on here, and there is no name to the boy."

Both good points. He fidgeted, fingers playing with each other. Then he switched, stood arrow straight, arms by his side. He had to give a good showing.

"The boy has a name. What is your name boy?"

Let the lies commence. "My name is Kun. It is short for Kunaté."

Why had he subtly altered that name? Was it to avoid being recognised? No, don't be stupid. Who would recognise him?

Silence expanded in the room, and it was then that he looked around. All eyes were on him, and he gulped, fidgeting. The Enabler stared at him, but stayed silent. This was his lie to defend. What was he supposed to say? He wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and then snapped them back to his side. Why wasn't anyone saying anything?

"You see. He has a name."

"Which means absolutely nothing. Can I see this name in this document? No. This is a poor gift."

The Nadari lord looked at the weapon on the table again. Thank the _Father_ for that. Unfortunately, the Enabler was not so easily felled.

"How would you have this proven?"

The Governor shot a dirty smile at the Enabler. He tensed. His darker side swelled, pushing against his edges. Breaking out and controlling him. Helping him. The symbiosis was becoming closer, and here, there was no reason to resist. So he didn't.

His hands moved with incredible speed, and his actions were honed. He was without weapon, but that did not matter. Not when the shadow within was bubbling to the surface. The sharp edge of a sabre scythed into his vision, but nimble hands and the clever use of inertia transformed a moment of danger into the slope of success. The _deadwood_ sprawled onto the ground, his weapon skittering away. Defeated. He retrieved the fallen weapon, and then turned on the second _deadwood_. They were no match for him. No match for Kun.

Wow. He'd never fought like that before. At least, not when he was in control. But that was the point, wasn't it? What lay within was seeping out. If only he could control it, he could be the soldier after all. He could save Anejo. But that wasn't how it worked. Aran was dying, and Kun was rising.

"Marvellous. Absolutely marvellous. That is proof enough for me. Well done. Come and sit down, Kunaté. You have earned a drink."

Pride swelled, and that was disconcerting. The problem was that his appreciators were people that he didn't really like very much. How had he ended up in such a trial? All he'd wanted was to disappear.

But he did owe a debt to the Nadari Governor, didn't he? Maybe that's what this was all about. He'd sought isolation where he could hide and deal with the pain in his gut, what was probably his guilt. But what he'd been given instead was a chance to repay the debt, and to extinguish that guilt.

And yet he didn't like any of these men. Did he really have to work with them? Did he really want this?

"You can call me Kun."

Typical. He was too weak to speak his mind. He was reborn, but not in the way he had intended.

## Chapter Thirty-Three

—Anejo—

Ang – that was his name. Anejo used to have a thing for him, but only in the way she finds a fine weapon desirable. Or the way Xen dotes on an elegant dress. It was not the same as what Xen felt for Keles. Nothing like that.

Was that love? She didn't know.

Ang was the finest swordsman in her grandfather's personal guard. His physique was perfectly honed for the art of the blade, lean and chiselled, well proportioned. He wore his superiority too, walking with a swagger built on a life of achievement. But he deserved that self-appraisal, and he wore it well. He was arrogant, but he was likeable with it.

She had watched him from her window when she was younger, marvelling at the speed and ferocity of his strokes. He had shown promise as a young footman, all polished armour and arrow-straight poise, and now that promise had flourished. He was a fine man. He was the Jinq chief weapon skills officer, and he was formidable with it.

It was his day off, but here he was, stripped to the waist. Humouring her. She had never needed to practise in Altunia before. Then again, she had never been a prisoner in her home before. Xen would have been her first-choice challenger, but her friend was off on an errand.

She was such a good friend, perhaps too good, but is that how Xen thought of her back? She would be a better friend when Xen returned. She would offer more support.

But in the meantime, she flexed her shoulders. The finest swordsman in the Body of Ahan was coming straight for her. They engaged, and there could be only one outcome.

It was obvious really.

"Come on, Ang. I asked you because I thought you could offer a challenge."

He shot a glance at her, his golden locks plastered to the side of his sweaty face. He was not used to being bested, and certainly not by a woman.

"Yes, ah, _magistra_."

She rolled her eyes and bit her lip. That title was utterly preposterous, but such was the permanence of tradition. She didn't deserve the title, and she didn't want it either. Her face flushed, and she dug her nail into the dry skin of her thumb. The ache of exercise was invigorating.

"Don't call me that, please."

"I'm sorry..."

She sighed. What was his problem? "Just call me by my name. We've known each other long enough. Now, let's go again."

He nodded, and settled himself opposite her. He had a small duelling shield on his left arm, a short _talon_ in the left hand, and a medium weight infantry blade poised in his right. He held the heavy length of steel professionally – not too tight. His concentration was absolute. He looked at her, his body side-on, minimising the target. His feet were well placed; far enough apart for stability but not so far as to be restrictive. When he pounced on her, the talon moved with such speed that she stumbled out of the way. Only then did the dulled edge of the heavy blade swing at her, and it could have done some serious damage.

But it didn't do serious damage. In fact, it did no damage at all.

Ang was good, so very good. But he was a league apart from her. She had barely registered the gulf between the Mandahoi and the majority, but it was more than a chasm. Ang adjusted himself, but she was already several steps ahead. His blade swept in and she crafted just enough angle to send it veering harmlessly wide. Then, casually, she poked the end of her training edge straight into Ang's bare chest. He yelped, backed away, and then stumbled over his own legs.

This was almost no training at all. She would need to find someone else.

"Ahh, don't worry about it. Just go, Ang. And remember: tell no-one of this. She threw a bag of coins in his direction, and turned away with a huff. Where would she find someone who could help keep her skills honed?"

"Are you quite done showing off, sister?"

Not now. They had not spoken since their onslaught several nights ago. She did not want to talk to him.

"Please, Felip, I don't want to fight."

The palace courtyard overlooked the Maremanté, the river which dissected Altunia, and which flowed about the island of the Citadel. She dare not look away from the flowing water. The wind whipped up and she shivered. Her brother stepped closer.

"But I have brought my sword."

She scoffed at that, perhaps not the best idea. "You would fight me?"

"I didn't think you wanted to fight."

She turned to him, her fists clenched. "You know what I mean."

His hair was tight to the back of his head, his body encased in expensive leather plating. He looked every bit the ruler that he was. He looked both confident and ready, but he was no mandahoi.

"Okay, let's do this. I must warn you though: I won't hold back."

Anger was coursing through her, discontent at the treatment she had been afforded. But she had her part in the events too. She had swept up the storm that had crashed down upon her. But that was why people needed to treat her with the respect she deserved. She wanted to teach him a lesson, and this was an art of which she was the master. He didn't stand a chance.

After all, he was an officer. They were the gentler class of soldier. She was not expecting him to remember which end of the sword to hold.

"Do not go easy on me."

So she didn't. He only had a single heavy blade. It was no match for her finely honed _claw._

She moved with such fluidity, and she smiled. Sword-lore truly was an art-form, and the steel tapestry swirled around her. Her brother gave her a look, and it was one that she'd never seen before. It was a rarity. It was recognition.

And yet even despite her efforts, her brother remained firmly without her command. She had assumed that the Mandahoi way must surely be the ultimate way, but the way her brother wielded that lump of steel was unique. There wasn't a way past that. And there was no way to defend against it either.

The big weapon sheared towards her, and she leaped sideways, sprawling across the floor. She was free from the bite of her brother, but it was embarrassing. She nodded at her brother, scowling. How had he done that? It would have seemed impossible a season ago, but she had seen the man they call Mandestroy now. In reality, her brother was the same. He knew it too.

"I think you need to hone your skills, sister."

She got up, and spat in response. His sarcasm was not useful. "What do you think I'm trying to do? It's remarkably challenging when cooped up in this pen."

He laughed, the bastard. Then he pulled a scroll from his belt and threw it at her.

"Well, it looks like you need to find a way."

He turned and left. She did not know how long she could spend around that bastard.

She took up the paper and read it dismissively. When she'd finished, a chill went through her.

"Is this true?"

He waved a hand at her, not even bothering to turn around. He was irked, and that meant it was true. It was true! Her heart sang, her mind soared, and she had an urge to hug someone. Why was Xen not here? Oh, of course, she was off on an errand.

Xen was such a good friend. Had she told her that? Probably not. And would Xen think the same about her? She should have been a better friend, but she'd been too engrossed in her own affairs. Selfish. Selfish!

"I am going to Callij, and this time to compete." She whispered the words softly. They were meant for no other. "I may even come up against Yan. Yan!"

If Kato was a legend of the _Root_ , then Yan was too. But where Kato lived in the realm of near-mythology, Yan lived in the duelling ring. He was the unbeaten champion and the darling of all Mandaria. The fact that he hid behind an all-concealing mask only added to his mystique and his appeal. To go toe to toe with him was just... She shuddered.

Until reality hit her. She needed to train. _Bloody Brother_ she needed to train. And now she wished that Xen was still here. She may be labelled a murderer, but she was now enlisted in the all-Mandari duelling tournament, and that gave her a magnificent opportunity.

If she could not fix her tarnished image by unveiling the truth, then she would conceal it beneath a heavy layer of polish. She would compete at Society's most prestigious duelling contest, and she would win the damn thing. At the very least, she would do herself proud. It was a way out, but it would not be the easy route; far from it in fact. She really needed to train.

## Chapter Thirty-Four

—Kantal—

That shut the bastards up. Kantal was sick of his time in this stinking town, waiting around with nothing to look forward to but dreary discussion. He was a soldier, damn it. He had been in Saphos for fifteen nights, but to little avail. The Enabler was still here, him and his charlatan boy who promised so much and delivered so little. Just the presence of the man was holding him back. The agreement remained unsigned.

But he'd received a message, and he needed to be gone. Dusk was coming. He hoped he could use that urgency to his advantage.

"Can you repeat that?"

"I said I must go. Delfinia's far border is threatened, and I must return. The Gathering Dusk is very real, and it's closing in."

The boy ruler was not impressed. "Pah! That's a fairy-tale, you fool. What do you take me for?"

For once, the Enabler didn't mimic the little lord in his childish amusement. The shadowed face didn't move, and the little lord's laughter trailed off.

"If there's one thing that the House of Red is not, it is a horde of fairies."

Did even the Enabler sound unnerved?

The trio were in the same damned room again, the three of them plus a collection of the Governor's treasured _deadwood_ warriors; including that child of chance, the Enabler's pawn. The little lord's face melted, which was amusing. It was night, again, and the shadows of doubt danced all over the young lord's features.

"What will you do? Meet them in the field?"

He laughed as broadly as he could muster. This was his chance to earn the upper hand. Even the Lord of Chance would struggle to dominate this discussion. This was his territory, and he would pounce on it.

"Of course not. You think Delfinia would charge willingly into suicide before exhausting all other options? Is that what you would do?" He rammed the food into the young lord's mouth. "Delfinia is only interested in maintaining relations with sage collaborators, of which we assumed you were a member. Do I need to return to my king with an unsigned agreement?"

He picked up the paper and it crackled, but the little lord swatted the document back to the table.

"I will sign it!" He rubbed his hands together, grabbing a pen. "I may be young, but I am not without my own wisdom."

He doubted it.

"Lord Governor. I advise you consider the details before you commit yourself to the contents." The lisping voice of the Enabler slithered from the shadows. The freak really was like a serpent.

"I am well aware of the details, thank you."

He hoped not, and he licked his lips. But the little lord was indeed an idiot, and he signed the contract blindly. Thank the _Mother_ this torture was over! The young lord may not know it, but he was now servant to the whim of Delfinia's King. He would know soon enough.

The scratching of the nib ceased, and he picked up the paper, blowing over the ink. He then placed the document in his carry-sack, and looked at his conspirators with a beaming grin. The Enabler looked dark, and the little lord reclined, an air of relief in him. He would soon regret his actions.

"So, what will you do?"

Wisdom, eh? Those weren't the words of the wise.

"We will treat with them, of course. Every arrangement has its price, and I suspect that my King will be generous where this foe is concerned."

The little lord sniggered, like a village idiot. It was time he was made to look like one.

"In my absence, I trust that you will execute the finer details of our arrangement? It may feel like a lot of work for limited value, but consider it a 'trial'. It is proof that you are able to deliver as your father did."

The little lord's head snapped round, and the Enabler snorted.

"I warned you about the details, my lord."

"What detail? I was not aware of anything that required our execution. This was a contract of principle"

"Oh yes, a contract of principle, but one with a clause of proof. You have agreed to source something for us, an item that we'd find most useful."

"How dare you! You've tricked me."

He smiled broadly. He'd won. "You have had the document for fifteen days. I obviously assumed that your delay in signing was down to your desire to pore over the specifics. That would, of course, have been the wise thing to do."

Oh _Father_ , this was impossibly satisfying. The little lord did not know which way to turn.

"Ah... Oh... Yes, of course. Sorry, it slipped my mind. Remind me: what am I sourcing on your behalf?"

He shook his head slowly, and smiled. This was great. "The key to Ahan. You are going to find us the plans to the southern defensive wall. We intend to beat our way in."

The little lord's face sunk further, if that was possible, and it was even funnier for it. But the time for amusement was up. Dusk was coming. It was everyone for themselves.

"Our work here is done. I will leave you gentlemen to your ongoing discussions. We hope to hear of the fruits of this arrangement very soon indeed. Time is of the essence."

He turned, a spring in his step, but the lisping freak rose too. Damn it.

"I will come with you. I have a mind to seek out the darkness myself, and could do with the company."

_Bloody Brother_. Company was not a word he associated with this freak. Perhaps that was meant as a joke? Did the Enabler really have a sense of humour? It wasn't funny if it was a joke.

"What makes you think I want to travel with you?"

The freak smiled again, that warped crackling gesture. Every time the man smirked, he had to fight down the bile.

"Because, General, you will want to make sure that you are not beaten to your goal."

Acid crawled up his throat, and he balled his fists. Not that he could beat this man. Instead, he shrugged. He was cornered, just as the little lord had been moments ago.

"I hope you're ready to leave immediately."

"I am always ready."

He dropped his head ever so slightly, turned, and marched from the hall. He couldn't hear the whispering feet of his shadow, but the bastard was definitely there. He was always there, just out of sight. How hadn't he seen that before?

—Aran—

"What do I do? How can he possibly expect me to find those plans? Come, Kun. Help me in this."

What could Aran do? He knew nothing of these plans either. He shrugged. It did not go down well.

A balled fist slammed the desk, and the wood shook. It was middle afternoon, and the Lord Governor's mood was not improved by his sore head. Following the departure of the guests last night, he had pursued a heavy agenda of alcohol and debauchery. Now was a rare lucid moment, but it was a time of anger. The Governor stood and leaned right into his face. He wasn't smiling.

"What use are you to me?"

That was a good question. Why had Lord Chance brought him here and left him behind? What was stopping him now leaving? Apart from the fact he was a gift, of course. If his previous life seemed dark and vacant, this new existence was knotted and confusing.

"I, ah, don't know." By the gods he was still pathetic. Even as Kun he was pathetic. His darkness sniggered.

The Governor sank back down, reclining in the elaborate chair. He picked up the letter of Mandahoi service and looked it over. Then he smirked.

"Why do they present these to you without a name? This could be anyone's for all I know."

How was he to know this? How could he be expected to understand the complex workings of the Seat? He put his hands in front of him, like he was naked. There was quite literally nothing he could...

Until it struck him. It was strange. Such ideas never usually came to him. But this idea sprouted in him.

"Most mandahoi are recruited for life. Once a member, that life of servitude is locked into. The older soldiers then support the community in less active ways, such as directing; teaching; administering. A departing member is a rarity, and that means that such a document is also a rarity."

Was he one of the only members of the Academy to be expelled? He couldn't think of any others. What did that say about him? No more than he already knew.

"That does not explain why a name would be excluded from the document. Come now Kun. I am no fool."

He was beginning to think otherwise. Not that he would say that. The young Governor was still pretty scary.

"It is a symbol of failure, Lord Governor. Why would one seek declaration of one's name on such a document?"

"Because, without clear evidence as to the purpose and ownership of this endorsement, people like me are likely to question its validity."

He gulped. This was getting dangerous.

The Lord Governor ground his jaw, still fingering the letter. "Convince me why I should believe this, and more importantly, tell me why I shouldn't kill you."

Yes. Definitely out of his sphere of comfort. Strangely though, it wasn't overwhelming. He was melting into his alter ego; becoming one with it. It was soothing.

"Lord Governor. We are not all lucky enough to have names. Many of the mandahoi are homeless and parentless, and an even greater proportion have no name of substance. Why supply a titled declaration of service when there is nothing to compare that title against?"

Where was this coming from? It was almost coherent! A part of him was enjoying this verbal sparring match with the Governor of Samal. It was a part of him that he'd never exercised before. No, scrap that. It was a part of him he'd never had before. Aran didn't have it, but Kun did. The shadow purred inside him.

"That is a sad tale, but everyone has a name."

What an idiot. He was absolutely too blinded to recognise the fouler shades of the world.

"So, if this paper had Kunaté scrawled at the top, you would immediately endorse it?"

That drew a questioning look. The Governor was playing with a beautiful weapon, spinning it about his palm. It was the very same blade that General Kantal had offered as a gift; a stunning piece. But the brazen display wasn't unsettling him.

"Are you suggesting that I should doubt the name you have given to me?"

Where was this confidence coming from? It was obvious really, but he didn't like it. The darker part of him had become something of a soothing presence.

"No, not at all. I am only suggesting that I had a different name as a mandahoi, and that my life before that knew me by another name again. I have no title. My name is merely an identifier."

The Governor scrunched up his face. "What name did you go by as a mandahoi?"

That name was dead, a part of a past that no longer existed. This Governor didn't need to know it. It would stay hidden. "I will not tell you."

"You will."

"And how will you know I have not lied to you? How will you know it truly was my name?"

An elongated silence. The knife spun about the palm of the man's hand, flashing in the sunlight which streamed through the tall window. But the Governor had no response. It appeared that he had won an argument. That was a first.

"True enough. But the facts remain. Why should I not kill you? Can you at least reveal the location of the Mandahoi stronghold?"

That was something he should know. Unfortunately, he didn't.

"I know how to get there from Altunia."

Did he really say that? The Governor sneered, and the blade flashed once more. "Could you point it out on a map?"

He shook his head. That really was pathetic, wasn't it? In all honesty, he barely had a clue where he was now. It was slightly warmer, and it was an island, but that was not a geographic specific. The Governor would need more than that.

"I could lead others there."

The Governor seemed unconvinced, and the knife flashed again. The darkness crawled, and for a brief moment, he feared he would have more blood on his hands. Then it came to him.

"There is a document repository at the Academy. I have seen the scrolls being delivered by cart. The plans you are after could be hidden there."

The blade slammed onto the table, pointing firmly in his direction. The Governor leaned over, sneering, but it turned into a wide menacing grin.

"And you could lead others?"

He nodded vigorously. That appeased the man, but the Governor was not done yet.

"I will let you live for now, Kun. Perhaps we will pursue this lead of yours, but in the meantime―"

A knock at the door, and the Nadari Governor jumped up. "Aha! The entertainment is here."

Moments later a line of young women were led into the private chamber. They were ordered in a procession and the Governor walked back and forth, inspecting them. He really was quite foul.

"What do you think, Kun? Which one should I go with?"

One of the girls flinched, and he was drawn to her. She had turned away by the time he looked upon her, but he could see her clearly and his head ached.

Xen! What was she doing here?

"What's the problem? Embarrassed by female company?"

"I am not worthy of their presence."

He looked at his lap, fingers fiddling with each other. Everywhere he went, echoes of his past caught up with him. His heart raced and his brow moistened. If he were recognised, then his masquerade was over. Maybe he'd already been recognised? Oh _Father_ , this was bad.

"I'll take that blonde one. She looks fruity. But leave the dark one too. In case I get cold in the night."

The Governor came and sat opposite him once more. The blonde made her way to the bedroom, discarding clothes along the way. His pulse raced, and the sweat became stickier. His new master would notice for sure.

"Now, where was I? Ah yes. What to do with a Mandahoi defector? If you can help me win the favour of Delfinia, then perhaps you should live. I guess there's no harm in watching you die trying at the very least."

He would take death at that moment.

"And you never know. Perhaps you may even succeed."

Success was not a friend to him, but there had to be a first time. Leaving this room without Xen identifying him would be a step in the right direction. There was nothing left to do but hang his head and hope for the best. A fine mantra for a coward.

—Xen—

It had seemed like the best way to get close to the treacherous Lord Governor's son. Now it seemed like stupidity.

Xen stood there, dressed in an elaborate piece that hugged her body in all the most tantalising places. A small part of her was delighted with the dress and how it flattered her, but that was only a small part. It was repulsive really. She looked like a slut, and that was exactly what she intended.

"I'll take the blonde one. She looks fruity." The audacious girl at the head of the procession stepped forward. "But leave the dark one too. In case it gets cold in the night." He was pointing at her.

She stepped forward, and smoothed the fine silk of her dress. It was divine to the touch, but revolting nonetheless.

The other girls were discharged, and she was ushered to the side. Next to a door. The blonde then proceeded to enter the bed chamber in a flurry of discarded smalls. Ready for action.

What was she doing? She could handle herself; she was a mandahoi. Just keep cool. But the permanent scattering of black clothed _deadwoods_ stirred doubt. And if she'd just been rejected, she would have been ejected. This was a terrible plan.

But she had to go through with this. This was her opportunity.

Her mind was a mess.

It turned to Keles. What would he think?

"Now, where was I? Ah yes. What to do with a Mandahoi defector?"

A what? It was an effort to keep her cool, eyes forward and chest out. Just like the madam had taught her. But she needed to get a look at him; a proper look. She had glimpsed him earlier, but it was only fleeting. Now he was facing away from her, and from the rear he looked like anyone. She had to find out who he was.

"If you can help me win the favour of Delfinia, then perhaps you should live. I guess there's no harm in watching you die trying at the very least. And you never know. Perhaps you may even succeed."

The _deadwood_ stayed silent. Or was he a mandahoi? The Governor reclined.

"Get out of here, Kun."

That name! She had heard it before. But where? The average-build soldier left the room, staring a bit too purposefully in the opposite direction.

But something twigged. It was in the transition cavern of Ulterada. She had heard the name Kun there. Had he been a Mandahoi defector? The hasty one-way retreat and the discarded re-entry permit made more sense with it. Urgency stabbed and she had to see his face. She would recognise him, must recognise him, but he was moving away from her. How could she attract his attention?

"Err, sir. Something has fallen from your pocket."

By the _Uncle_ , that was weak! The _deadwood_ uniform was unlikely to even have pockets. As expected, the soldier did not even deviate from his course. He carried rigidly on. There was tenseness in the man, like he was hiding from her. Did he know that she would recognise him?

"You do not speak, whore! How dare you."

The Governor stared in her direction. She bit her lip, hands clasped in front of her, and watched the defector walk from the room. Anejo would be disappointed at that.

"I'm sorry, Lord Governor."

He smiled at that. It was a sickly smile. "Do you like to watch?"

What did that mean? Oh, hang on. She was posing as a lady of the night. She smiled seductively. It was harder than she'd imagined.

"Of course, Lord Governor."

He got up and proceeded to whip off what few clothes he had on. It was a lean body, wiry and toned, but not what she went for. He was no bear. He was no Keles.

He strutted to the bedroom, ushering her inside and closing the door behind them. She gulped. She had not expected this predicament to be quite so immediate. Maybe she could get away with just spectating.

Fortunately, she did just have to watch, even though the Governor encouraged her frequently. He left the room scowling at her.

"Perhaps next time you'll be sufficiently excited to join in, hmm?"

If there was a next time. She wasn't going to hang around unnecessarily. She nodded.

The Governor sauntered off, and she was left with the prostitute. It dawned on her that this was the least likely place for incriminating discussion. This place only offered trouble. She should leave, really. This was a stupid idea, and it had already yielded more than she could have hoped for.

But she didn't go. At first it was a combination of fear and desperation. Then it was conversation.

"You, girl. Where have you come from? You're new."

It was the whore. She was half-minded to blank the bitch, but she had to play the part. They were equals. At least for now.

"Does it matter where I've come from?"

The woman scowled, but it was half grimace. She was obviously in pain, but not admitting it. Pride? In a whore?

"No, it doesn't matter where you've come from geographically. But with respect to your mind, it is very important." She sounded educated, which was unexpected.

She smoothed the wrinkles in her dress. "There's nothing wrong with me or my mind, thank you."

"If that were true, you would not be here. What's your story?"

The woman was sat on the bed, smoking a skinny tube of tobacco. It was a new cultural phenomenon imported from overseas. The woman was still completely naked, pert nipples staring directly at her, and the woman's pubic region casually on display. She looked quickly away.

"You're nervous around the naked form. You're no slut. Who are you?"

She was more perceptive than one might expect, but there was no way she was going to be verbally out-witted by a prostitute.

"This is my first engagement..." And then the words dried up. How could she make the point that she was the better woman? She was no whore. "I found myself desperate, but I now find myself, ah, uncomfortable. It will be the only time."

That would teach her.

"Then why not leave now?"

"I... I... I..." Not her finest retort.

"Just like all the others. Embarrassed by the labelling, but desperate for the attention. Don't worry darling; you'll make a great prostitute."

"I am not―"

"When the Governor is back, you will most definitely be a prostitute. Come closer. You might as-well acquaint yourself with my genitals. You'll be best friends later."

What a foul creature. She would enjoy leaving the company of this bitch.

"I have eyes for only one set of genitals, thanks."

That sounded silly, but by the _Sister_ it was true. What was Keles up to? He'd discarded her, that's what. She needed to forget him.

"Oh dear. We have a priced girl who's still in love. Get over him."

"Over who?"

"You're lover. It'll do you no favours in this trade, and he obviously doesn't care about you."

How dare she! "You don't know him―"

"No, I don't, but I know the male species and I know what they're like. If he really gave a damn, what would he think of you being here? Don't delude yourself girl. Get on with the job in hand."

The woman flashed her genitals, and she retched. It was only in part because of the vulgarity. What would Keles think if he knew that she was here? Then again, perhaps he wasn't even thinking about her. She sniffed. She would not believe it.

"He is a good man."

"No he's not. He's left you in this position. Hardly chivalrous. And besides, he's probably off with some bitch as we speak. You can't trust a man as far as his cock will reach." She laughed at that. What a foul bitch.

She wriggled beneath the beautiful material of her dress. "He is a devoted lover."

"Don't be stupid. Selective monogamy is the preserve of the weak male. He will be tapping up the alternatives as we speak."

"He wouldn't!"

"Yes he would. He's a man. There's only one thing that can keep a man interested once the chase is done, and if you'd been doing the right things, you wouldn't be here. But you are here, so things ain't gone right."

What a bitch. "You know nothing of me."

"Oh please. If men value one opinion more than their cock's, it is that of their pride. Threaten their pride and they will follow like a child follows its mother. Fail, and you will be cast on the discard pile. You have clearly been discarded which means you didn't tap his pride. Now, live and learn."

She spoke as though she knew all men! How ridiculously presumptuous. "He's not like that. He's not a proud man."

"Which means that you haven't played him properly. Trust me darling, there's only one way to keep a man, and that is to make him jealous of others. Do that and he may retain interest. Fail, and the game is over. Tell me, has there ever been a time when this man has refused you?"

The conversation was slipping from her, which was pretty low. She shook her head, but there was no conviction. Keles had turned her down, and somehow this the bitch had worked it out.

"Yes? Then you failed to titillate."

It was a terrible articulation of the male psyche. She wanted to discredit it, but something niggled. Keles had refused her, then he'd discarded her. Had he grown bored? He would not be cavorting with other women, would he? Then again, what did she know? She was here, and he was... It didn't bear thinking about. Argh! She hated him in that moment, but only because she still loved him. She never imagined this would be so tough.

"Now, either you're fluff or you're a prostitute? Which one is it?"

She was a mandahoi, and she wanted to knock that whore's jaw off. The bitch was smiling, but then there was a grimace. She pounced on the weakness.

"Why do you do it? You look to be in some discomfort."

She shrugged and puffed on her tube. "It is work. It is not meant to be easy. Pain is an essential ingredient of graft."

Wasn't that the truth? She was still affected by the injuries from Nazalia; a dull ache; a constant reminder. She went through all that for Keles.

Was that all she had ahead of her? Pain and indignity. This was a very stupid path indeed. Even Anejo couldn't get herself into this much trouble.

## Chapter Thirty-Five

—Keles—

Where was she? He hoped she was okay. No, he had to stop thinking about her. He'd been like this since leaving Ahan; quick to think about Xen. He hated these imaginings and he loved them too; clung to them. Out here, it was all he had.

She was safe; he was sure of it. He had dragged her into trouble, but now he had left her. She would be safe now, away from him.

But what about Anejo? No-one was safe around her.

He growled, shook his head, and ground his shoulder blades together. This was not what he had come for. It was supposed to be so much more. He had escaped his old existence in exchange for this new one. Now he found himself reminiscing. Yearning even.

"Are you quite alright?"

It was his esteemed tutor; legend; warrior exceptional; Kato. The man had failed spectacularly to show any of those qualities. Kato remained delightfully unlikeable, and annoyingly opaque. Getting a clean answer was like fishing for mermaids. Wistful.

"Where are we headed?"

The man scuttled, a bit like a bug. He walked awkwardly, like he was struggling to keep pace with himself. But he did have focus, that could not be denied. Kato tipped his head.

"We are going to answer the second question. Now, are you going to answer my question?" The man turned to him, those bronze rimmed irises glimmering. Recently, Kato had been asking after his wellbeing a lot.

"I am fine."

"That's not what your other voice suggests. In fact, I'd conclude that you were very much at odds with yourself."

"What other voice?"

"The one that you don't control. The one that, quite literally, leaks off of you."

This was most perplexing. "Are you suggesting that you can read me?"

The legend huffed and sighed, a strange sound. "That is disappointing."

And there it was: the brief moment of awe that tugged at him. There was something there, in this oddball, and it just needed teasing out.

"Then explain to me."

"It should not need explaining." He upped his pace. This is how those nuggets always ended. In disappointment.

Kato's foot caught in a shallow depression, and he stumbled, just about staying upright. But the legend continued, as if nothing had happened.

The sun beat down incessantly, and he'd stripped out of his uniform. Instead, he opted for a loose cotton robe that deflected the worst of Mother's rage. Kato, by contrast, wore his official regalia religiously, and even persisted with the gauze facemask. He was sweating profusely, but the little man didn't seem to notice or care. He was relentless.

They had even abandoned their horses, instead opting for travel by foot. Only the _Uncle_ himself could say how far they had come. The Adunas Encolae were little more than a smudge on the horizon behind them, and instead the Central Belt reared above. The pair now traversed the lower reaches of that almighty range.

Back in Ahan, strange foreign traders spoke of the Central Belt as if they were gods lined up as sentinels. He'd always dismissed the idea. After all, surely no mountains could be more impressive than the Encolae. But to see them in person was humbling. They were more magnificent in every definition of the word.

And there it was – his second current occupation. Wondering at this far off land. It was nice to finally see the further reaches of Mikaeta, but that was really not the point. He was here to learn, but Kato didn't want to teach. He needed focus.

How would he unravel this knot? The second question was this: What has stirred Ahan's discordant enemies into some sort of union? A riddle for sure. What had Kato claimed? That it was the Gathering Dusk. But the sun beat down without let-up, and dusk could not be further away. So what was he talking about? All he could see was Mikaeta's military might laid out below them, majestic in its coverage. That was what Ahan must fear.

"Down." It was Kato and the word was voluntary, which was most rare.

"Down where?"

Kato turned, annoyance plain on his equally plain face. "Did you always disagree with your other tutors so incessantly?"

"No. My other tutors weren't frustrating." His response was short, but it had been long enough. He wanted some direction.

"Obedience is the first step to learning. Now, down."

The legend sunk to the dusty trail, hunkering close to a collection of loose boulders. What did Kato mean? He could see the Mikaetan files of thousands below, but they could not possibly see him. Why on l'Unna would Kato be hiding from them? He climbed up to the pebbly ledge and opened his mouth. But he didn't say anything.

There were the tell-tale sounds of horses' hooves, and he peered over the lip of stone. Coming towards them, on a lower level path, were two travellers. Kato had every right to look smug, but he was too proper for that. Kato was quivering steel; poised and sharp.

The man he envied had returned.

They watched, and the hairs on his arms were on end. He didn't see it at first, but it didn't take long. He recognised the damned horseman. He had almost died by the hands of this traveller before the gates of the Citadel, but he had been saved by the man next to him. The Mandestroy was here.

Once he was sure, he turned to Kato. "Kantal." His tutor nodded. What was the Mandestroy doing all the way out here?

Kato continued to stare at him, like he was expecting more. Ha! Maybe that was it. Maybe Kato was a facilitator and not a teacher. The legend would nurture and guide, but it was he who would determine the journey. Why hadn't Kato just said this? Then again, why was the remarkable legend so frequently absent? The daily Kato was not a man who nurtured anything.

"Delfinia ends way back there," he spread his arms to the south, "so what is the General doing here? Is he here to treat with Mikaeta?"

They were only musings, but Kato looked at him questioningly. He got the feeling it was a stupid suggestion.

"Then why would they be bypassing every Mikaetan dignitary by travelling these paths?"

It was obvious really, and he cracked his knuckles. "They are trying to avoid the Mikaetans. They are sneaking like us."

Kato nodded and he smiled. Pleased with himself. That was the sensation he'd missed. That was why he'd come.

"Who is he travelling with?"

"Let's find out, shall we."

They snuck along the higher trail, moving fast to keep pace with their targets who had an easier path. There was little chance of eavesdropping, but they kept the two men in sight. Darkness would be the best time to spy. When dusk finally did close in, he was energised.

The two travellers risked a fire in a rocky shallow. That seemed like a dangerous move, but actually, twinkling lights popped up across the mountain. It appeared that the desolate lower reaches of the Belt were more heavily populated than he could possibly have imagined. One more fire would not raise suspicion.

The two men spoke quietly, and he and Kato had to get close. He was now back in his uniform, but he only had daggers with him. His _paw_ would have obstructed him. The pair snuck in from different directions, treading minutely over loose stones. The Delfinian General's voice drifted to him and his heart skipped. What was the Mandestroy doing here?

The excitement grew in him, and his foot slipped. The sound of his heartbeat in his ears was followed by the skittering of loose stones. Their targets went abruptly silent.

Each heartbeat pounded intrusively, neutralising his sense of hearing. Sweat coated him; dripping from his brow, stinging his eyes, and inhibiting him. There was a crackle of footsteps, the sharp clicking of stone on stone. He could make out the outline of his would be killer, and it was familiar. He put hand to weapons, but they weren't familiar any more.

Devastating beat followed devastating beat, and piercing step followed piercing step. This was it, there was no escaping this. His story had reached a junction. Did it end or did it open another path? He suspected that depended on Kato. The shadow crept towards him, and even the man's gritted white teeth showed. He gripped his weapons, but his hands were moist. He wanted to wipe his brow.

Stones skittered about him, shattering the moment. He tensed, ready to pounce, but he resisted. And thank the _Father_ he did. A goat sprung out, bleated, and skipped off down the side of the mountain.

General Kantal spun on his heel. "It was only a goat."

Now he owed his life to a goat too. This was getting ridiculous.

Despite his pounding ears, he ventured closer. He could see Kantal clearly. What was he doing here? But the second man was unfamiliar and ever so slightly disturbing. The depth of his hood would have made a Gorfinian proud, but his face was not completely hidden. The fire revealed a scabbed chin and some sort of heavy brace about half of the jaw. Or half a mask perhaps? The man's voice was tainted by a lisp. Perhaps that was a consequence of leathery lips. The man held the deformity well.

"What are you hoping for, General?"

General Kantal scratched at stubble. "I am hoping for intelligence, or time, or both. A truce would be nice, but I get the impression that Dusk is rather non-discriminating." Silence from his companion, and the General shifted. "What about you?"

The hood moved ever so slightly. "I follow greed. Where greed leads, gold follows. Dusk is a hungry mechanism."

What did that mean? The hooded man spoke in riddles.

"Speak sense will you."

"You are already aware that my particular skill is to enable what others can't. Well, who's to say that Dusk isn't in the business for a little assistance?"

A harsh silence. "You would work for this plague?"

"We must all find our place in this world, and the Veil has no prejudice. There are just those who want to understand and those who don't. Besides, perhaps they can offer something other than repugnance at my deformity."

He caught a glimpse of the mottled skin, sandy brown in colour. Was this man really self-conscious? It would explain the hood.

"I'm not convinced I believe your suggestion of vulnerability."

The wind whipped up, howling, and then died down. The strange man's hood barely moved.

"Come now – we are all human and all have the associated frailties." The tone suggested otherwise. Then something twigged. There was something in the accent. He couldn't wait to share it with his tutor.

Pre-dawn crept over the horizon, and the pair were back on their higher plane, safely stowed beneath a rocky ledge. He was equal parts baffled and buoyed. He could not wait to reveal his finding.

"That strange man, the second traveller. He has an Ahani accent. It's difficult to read under the lisp, but it is definitely local. I think it's a tone that belongs in southern Ahan."

Kato did not light up with this news, but nodded slowly instead. He was measuring his words.

"He is called the Enabler, and he is not Ahani. He is Mandari."

"What! A Mandari? What is he doing treating with the Delfinians?"

"He is a renegade with an uncanny ability to 'enable'. Hence his glorified title. I suspect that he contributed to the attack upon Altunia, but I cannot prove this."

This is what he had come for. "How do you know this man?"

At this, the legend clammed. He narrowed his eyes. "I came across information when exercising my duties. He is a remarkably distinct individual."

That wasn't really an answer. Was everything going to be this hard? "So you have never actually seen him before?"

A pause. "I have never before looked upon the Enabler, no."

There was too much there for it to be a plain answer. There had to be more to it.

"Kato. I need you to be honest with me if I am to follow you. Do you know more?"

A hint of the unlikeable man returned, and Kato grinned. "You may not fully recognise this yet, but I actually know very little."

He exhaled. "Then what do you infer?"

The likeable legend re-emerged, thankfully. It was just a question of probing blindly in the correct direction.

"There are two key lessons for us here. The first is that our High Consul is correct. Ahan must look east as-well as west. What he doesn't know is that the Nadari are far from the only threat. This Enabler is evidence of that, and he is empowered to force our enemies into union."

He shivered. If this was true, then the enclosed fortress of Ahan was seriously endangered. "Where is this threat coming from in the east? We must warn Mandaria."

Silence from the man. "I don't know, but I believe it's there. We need to unravel it."

Well that was frustrating. "Then what are we doing here?"

"To look upon the obvious threat. Only then can you appreciate the importance of securing the east."

Still not forthcoming. "Why?"

"Because the West is all but ended, and our enemies unite in its final death throes. The darkness gathers."

That had a distinctly final flavour to it.

Dawn crept slowly over the horizon, and Kato extended an arm, pointing through a break in the rocks. The lay of the land was just so, and he peered into the distance. There was a city in the middle distance. It wasn't particularly remarkable.

"What about it?"

"What do you see?" Kato was deadly serious.

"I see a city."

"No."

It couldn't be anything else. It was too big. Maybe it was a technical issue. "Okay, I see a large town."

"No."

It was a black stain on the wan grey plains of Mikaeta. No, that direction was the Centro civilisation. It was a town of the Centro, one of the oldest nations in l'Unna. Light slowly filtered through to them, and the finer details started to reveal themselves. The coming of _Mother_ unveiled the truth.

This was a land of eternal conflict. There were no towns here, and there never had been. Not really. Because this was the Desolation, and only war prevailed.

That was an army.

His mouth gaped, and Kato smiled.

"That is the Gathering Dusk. It is gathered. The Centro Civilisation has fallen, and Mikaeta will follow. After that, Ahan. The Age of Ku is here."

"But..." There was nothing else to say. He imagined an endless field of shadowy faces bearing down on him. It didn't require much imagining. So many questions; so little time. How things change. All of a sudden, the might of Mikaeta seemed laughable.

"Come, we have seen what we need to. We must return to Ahan. We must prepare for battle."

What was the point? They had already lost. Nothing could stop that host, not even... What? The Mandahoi? The Order of the Root? This man? Even Kato's legend paled into inconsequence.

After another four days they were climbing down the nearer reaches of the Central Belt. They descended onto the lower plains, targeting a small military town. This was the Desolation, a place that had seen war for over a millennia, and now it was ending. But there wasn't a victor – only losers. They needed to get back to Ahan, and they needed horses. Time was against them.

Thunder grumbled behind them, a low throaty noise. The noise grew slowly, breaking upon them, and Kato switched. Once again, he was a primed bolt. He urged caution, steering the pair to a collection of stones and shrubbery.

And then he grew shaky and disjointed. His lip quivered.

"It is him. We must hide."

The legend collapsed in on himself, sweating terribly. He shook like a leaf in a hurricane, clambering over rock and root, getting caught. Cursing. Whimpering even. He pushed the man deeper into the growth, ignoring the persistent whimper. Then he climbed in after. When the horse crashed past, he recognised the rider instantly.

The Enabler did not even offer them a glance.

The sound of hooves receded, and Kato settled. After a considerable time, the _rootman_ stood up and climbed from the shelter. Keles followed, bemused by the violent change in character.

"Are you going to tell me what that was about?"

The legend turned to him, plain simplicity in his face. His mouth was a tight line and his features impassive. This was not unlikeable Kato. This was the real man.

"No, I am not. That is the answer to the third question, and we cannot look to that until we have mastered the second. Now, we must make time."

The third question: How did Kato know to be at Nazalia?

A fourth question sprang to mind. Who was this Enabler and how far was his reach? This may be the same as the third question. What he needed was time to consider this, and the one thing they didn't have was time.

Dusk was gathered, and the Age of Ku was upon them. Whatever that meant, it didn't sound good. He didn't ask for clarification; that was meaningless. His yearning for Xen had returned. Damn, he hoped that she was safe. He wanted to hug her.

## Chapter Thirty-Six

—Xen—

Xen's time had been ill-spent, but things were looking up. She was sailing to Callij, the direction of home, and if there was one thing a boat offered, it was a lack of privacy. Her esteemed patron was in the next room, but his conversation pierced the wooden walls like rays of sunshine in a glade.

Best of all though, she had stayed clear of her duties of companionship. He seemed to view her as some sort of gift that he was not willing to unwrap. Her time would come of course, but she intended to be gone by then. She listened to every word that came her way.

"What exactly is the point of you? I wanted answers, and all you give me is questions. You are supposed to advise, so advise."

"My Lord Governor, I cannot make the decisions for you."

The sea exhaled and the boat swelled towards the heavens. She was not a fan of travel by boat, but at least she was going home. And besides, a bit of seasickness would probably reduce her appeal.

"No, but you can suggest. What do I do? I have been cornered by the damned Delfinians, and I have the Mandari on my back. Which side do I choose?"

The Governor's advisor sighed. The two men were not in agreement, and it was grating between them.

"Your father did not choose, my lord. Your father was crafting a position of value, and that position required a relationship with both parties."

"Yes, I know. He was feigning loyalty to the Mandari but selling services to the Delfinians. He was not under the same scrutiny I am, though. I must tread carefully."

_Dearly Departed_ , this was gold! She drank in the words.

The advisor laughed. "He was not 'selling services', Lord Governor. Your father was a shrewd leader, as you will most certainly also be, and his plans were far more intricate than that. There is no point in selling because demand will eventually dry up. What your father was doing was making the Nadari indispensable."

The Governor settled, and the sound of his pacing ceased. "How?"

"What is the one thing that Delfinia cannot buy?" An intrigued silence. "The answer is that they are not able to buy a neutralising agent for the threat of the Mandahoi. Your father was building that agent."

What neutralising agent? There was surely nothing that the Nadari could do to halt the Mandahoi.

"Ah yes. The _deadwoods_."

Oh, apart from that. She glanced at her _deadwood_ guard and shivered.

"Indeed. All the gold that your father earned from Delfinia has been invested in the Black Academy. I suggest you pursue the same path."

The d _eadwoods_! They had always been a laughing stock in Mandaria, but they were better than she'd expected. Her mind went to the Mandahoi defector, and a chill went through her. Gold opened many doors, and it sounded like the Delfinians had sent a lot of currency to Saphos.

"And I still need more gold?"

"Yes, I believe you do."

"So I need the Delfinians on side, and I also need the Mandari to trust me."

"Indeed. Without the trust of the Mandari, you will have nothing to sell."

"So, I answer their summons and I go to compete in their petty tournament. In the meantime, we start searching for these damned plans."

"Yes Lord Governor."

A reflective silence, like the vacuum that engulfs the loneliest places in the world. There was a jolt, and the sound of the sailors shouting filtered through the window. Then there was a jerk and a loud scraping noise. Had they arrived?

"Then I had better impress our Mandari friends, hadn't I? Cunning and guile will get you so far, but a false sense of trust will always prove to be the ultimate tool. Now, I must relax before the bout in a couple of days. I will bid you a good evening."

Steps in her direction, and the door creaked open. He entered, the arrogant bastard, and stood dominantly before her.

"Get on your knees."

"My lord."

"I said get on your knees! It is time we became acquainted."

The guards tensed, poised to intervene. Her heart accelerated, and her senses dulled. She fell to her knees, half from shock and half obedience. Her patron's groin was just a hand's width from her face.

"Now. Do your job."

Yes, she would do it. As he said, it was her job, and she needed to follow through. She was sweating, licking her lips, her hands moving from her sides. She had signed up to this and she needed to complete the terms of her employment. She smoothed the creases of her dress, and breathed in deep. She was a mandahoi, after all.

—Anejo—

It was impossible not to be in awe.

The stone was polished; all the metal glinted; precious stones twinkled; towers stretched to the sky; and great columns stood like sentinels everywhere Anejo looked. The place was magnificence architecturalised. She hated it.

Callij was built in a steep river valley. It clung elegantly to the stone, spreading itself across the valley floor and reaching out to the wide loamy wealth of Mandaria. There were no defences; why would there be after all? Pleasure was all around. The homeland had fallen into a glut of desire saturation, and that truth was clear on the faces around her. There were smug satisfied looks everywhere.

She was being escorted through the neatly ordered and immaculately cobbled streets to the Jinq Residence, her home for the duration of the tournament. She wore pristine white robes at the request of her grandfather, but even that bleached fabric seemed dull in this place. She stepped around a cat, and even its ginger coat was immaculate. She looked at her fellow Mandahoi, and for the first time in her life they seemed less somehow. Not the pinnacle. Their uniforms were grimy in the perfection of Callij.

Except all was not perfect, and a storm was heading their way.

Highly polished guards came hurtling around a corner, and before them was a ragged looking creature. It was a stark disturbance, and the whole milling street watched events unfold. The pursuit was headed straight at them, perhaps a little too exactly. Her stomach fluttered.

She moved out of the way, but the creature – a woman – followed. Her hands were flailing, her head searching, her mouth crying out. The young woman looked disastrous, an unfortunate thing beaten to the very bottom of the social stair, and she was coming her direction. For what? The guards were almost on her, and her heart skipped. This was no place for such―

"Xen!" It really was her. "Leave her! She is with me."

The pristine guards paused, and then retreated uncertainly. The bedraggled woman reached her and stopped, doubling over. When she came up again, she had a broad smile on her face. She was having fun.

"Come. Let's get you inside."

Once in the cavernous lobby of the Jinq Residence, which outshone her palace in Altunia, she stepped back and took in Xen's appearance. It really was unexpected. Xen was normally a case in presentational perfection. Not today.

"Where have you come from?"

She laughed, genuinely laughed. She hadn't seen Xen this happy for a long time.

"I was on board a boat into Opentilia. I have ridden hard from that town, and I have run the streets of Callij. It's lucky I found you."

"Yes, it is. Such unsightly disturbances are not welcomed in the land of our fathers."

The other mandahoi dissipated, leaving the two of them to talk. But Xen wouldn't stop giggling.

"I apologise in advance, but under all that sweat and grime, I'd have to say that you are looking rather cheap. She gave a twirl. Something had really tickled her.

"That's the idea. It was my way of getting close to our target."

"Ha! Did you get to him?"

"Where do you think I have come from? I was his entertainment for his little voyage. He had me on my knees as we pulled into port."

_Snivelling Sister_ ; what had Xen done? "You didn't..."

That laugh again. Of course she hadn't.

"I crushed his seed and leapt through a closed window straight into the harbour. Now I am here!"

It was her turn to laugh. She could hug her friend, and so she did. Her odour was not fresh, but it didn't matter.

"What news did you uncover?"

She lay the facts out slowly. Every word was music to her ears.

"You were right. Entirely correct. The path to Altunia was traded for gold. A lot of gold. Lord Nadari senior was a traitor."

And that meant that she was no murderer. She stood taller.

"Did you get evidence?"

"No. Just the second-hand conversation."

That was a shame. She would need to get a confession somehow. "And junior? Is he also a traitor?"

"Not yet, but he will be soon. His advisor was laying out the longer objectives. They are fashioning the Black Academy into some sort of rival for the Mandahoi. This is their ultimate bargaining chip."

"Pah. The _deadwoods_?"

"That's what I thought, but take them seriously. The young lord was flaunting them like the _rootmen_ are flaunted in Callij. They were numerous, and not entirely inferior. A lot of gold flows to that academy, and they are gaining in power."

No. It would be centuries before the _deadwoods_ were a match for the _saplings_. If she could unveil the treachery, then that little uprising would be quenched for good. How could she do it? The tournament! Of course. The idea took quick form. It would work.

"I can't thank you enough, Xen. You truly are too good a friend." She turned, heading for her rooms, but Xen tugged her shoulder.

"You have to take the threat seriously. The _deadwoods_ are gaining the services of Mandahoi defectors as we speak."

Mandahoi what? "Who?"

She shuffled, uncertainty dripping off her. "A lad named Kun."

Kun? There hadn't been anyone named Kun at the Academy, and she knew everyone. Xen must be mistaken; that must be it. But she did not want to dismiss her friend. Not when she had done so much.

"Thanks Xen. We need to crush this rebellion at source, and you have provided the leverage. Whoever this Kun is, he'll wish he'd never misplaced his allegiance."

A part of her recognised that name, but she could not place it. But that wasn't important; not now. Her plan was important.

## Chapter Thirty-Seven

—Anejo—

This would have been daunting in any circumstance, but now... Anejo's very name depended on the outcome of this bout. It was massive. The trouble was that her body wasn't aware of this fact. The noise of the terraces swirled around her, and she gawped. Astonished.

Her opposition betrayed no such nerves. The Lord Governor was striding around; chest pumped out. He was even waving at the crowds.

The arena was vast. It stretched into the sky, reaching up to the gods with spinal surety. The terraces heaved, roaring spectators bouncing with excitement. The colours of the arena were painfully bright, and _Mother_ shone down relentlessly. Her light uniform was saturated with sweat, which wasn't pleasant. This was way beyond her brief duelling experience, and even beyond her dreams. Her legs were like water.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your first bout! And what a fight we have. In one corner, the prophesised saviour of _Rhanna's_ vision, and in the other, the son of the man she murdered. I give you _sapling_ versus _deadwood_. I give you the Lord Governor of Samal versus the First-Magistra of Ahan. I give you slighted versus slighter. Let the games begin!"

The crowd were stirred into a frenzy, and the cacophony crashed upon her. That didn't help her liquid limbs. Her weapon was heavier than usual, a dead weight, and it shook in her hands. Come on! This sparring weapon was normally like a friend to her, so why did it feel so foreign?

Her opponent was like a charged hound, just waiting to be unleashed. He wore no hood or mask, and she could see all the hatred on his face. It was meant for her. How she dreamed of belittling the arrogant git, but that seemed so far away. She was awed by her surroundings, and he would crush her.

They were alone at the heart of the arena with the referee, an aged man dressed in deep maroon. An old competitor and wise to this place, his ease in the ring was galling. He didn't even seem to register the swelling of the crowd.

The Lord Governor, by contrast, seemed to draw strength from the noise. The traitor closed his eyes, lifted his hands into the air, palms up, and smiled wickedly. Damn him; he was soaking up the atmosphere. She gulped.

"You both understand and acknowledge the rules?" She nodded, as did her opponent. "Then let's begin." This was almost certainly her worst decision ever, and that was saying something.

Her opponent moved forward and offered a begrudging wrist, grimace on his face. But she was paralysed. She didn't move. After a heartbeat, she took his wrist as etiquette dictated, but the gesture was purposefully cold. He didn't object. She went to her side of the engagement ring, and he did the same. The fight space was marked out by a bleached white rope, and they turned to each other, one either side of the circle. She could still see the venom in his gaze.

She wanted to sit, to run, to weep. But she couldn't. She wedged her legs into place so they didn't wobble. That sensation would pass, wouldn't it? She raised her arms, equally wobbly and somewhat independent too. But that wasn't a particular problem because her weapon was like a lead pipe in her hand. Utterly useless. Surely they could not expect her to fight with these amateur tools?

"Engage." There was her answer.

She wasn't ready! The traitor rushed forward and her legs wobbled. He moved his blades elegantly, like she should be doing, but it was hardly fair. She was handling lead pipes. She clumsily blocked, her feet impeding her, and steel on steel reverberated. She had no control over her failing.

She stumbled, falling lamely on her back, arms splayed. The Nadari bastard pounced on her gleefully, and smashed dulled steel upon her unguarded torso. These may be 'dull' weapons, but the weight of steel was the same whether it was edged or not. Memories of the dragon's swipe clawed at her.

The referee stepped back into the ring. "One to the _deadwood_."

"And no less than you deserve, bitch. You will pay for your crimes."

He smiled, and her breath pulled up short. He turned and walked from her, arrogance all over him. He would not beat her! She needed him riled, but her failure was only energising him. Come on! It was only a crowd of people. She just needed to fight like she always fought.

But it wasn't just any crowd. It was he all-Mandari crowd. Expectations were immeasurable.

The crowd quietened, the ravenous cries simmering to a hushed mutter. Losing even a single point to a _deadwood_ was embarrassing, and the crowd hissed. As she climbed to her wobbly feet, her hand went to a slash in her uniform. Her opponent's weapon had dug into the leather below. Duelling blades should not do that, they should be dull. She looked at the bastard and he smirked.

"Engage."

Moments later she was bullied from the ring, stepping over the boundary just to avoid a blow. The blow still struck, and it drew blood. The bastard! He was using sharpened weapons! The audience booed her, ignorant of the danger of the situation. She didn't take her eyes off him. He was trying to kill her. Here.

"Two to the _deadwoods_."

The Lord Governor narrowed his eyes and smiled in that same sickly way of his. He meant to harm her; actually hurt her. It must be some vengeance for his father, and here, in the ring. That was not going to happen.

She almost called out to the referee, pointing at the sharp weapon which caught the equally sharp rays of the sun. He should be disqualified, but was that the weak way out?

It would be better to earn victory despite the skewed odds.

Fear and embarrassment churned, spreading through her like wildfire. She pushed all her nerves deep into the pit of her stomach, and breathed in deep. Just another day of training. No-one but them: her and the traitor. She looked at her competitor, and wanted him to suffer. Suffer for what his father had done. They were traitors, and they needed to be unmasked. This was no competition. This was justice.

She breathed deeply, closing her eyes and dragging herself into the bout. She kicked her legs and they had returned to a solid state. They now supported her and moved as she intended. Her arms too were obeying, and someone had replaced her lead pipe with an elegantly crafted blade. The crowds were not there. The entire space outside the ring was irrelevant. There was only her, the traitor, and a length of white rope. The _sapling_ inside her had come to the fore.

"Engage."

This time she did.

—The Governor—

Defeat was like a burrowing creature in the throat. It inhibited breathing and heightened discomfort. And to her of all people! The bitch was a murderer, and yet here she was parading her wares before an adoring public. The injustice was palpable. She would need to be taught.

He stalked down the dark corridors of the arena bowels, glowering at all who dared look upon him. His temper was never far from the party, but here. It would snap at an instant. A chain rattled, and he peered into the gloom, searching for his victim. There were footsteps behind him.

It was her.

The deep dinge of the place gave him comfort, and her arrogant swagger gave him incentive. Of course, he could not complete the whole job here, but a personal victory would be valuable indeed. She veered off down a tunnel, and he followed. He sneered.

"You will get your just, bitch." The naked torch-light flickered, but she kept on walking. Then she stopped, and turned to him. Smiling. Her self-assurance was sickening and misplaced.

"And what is that?"

A violent snort escaped him, not that he cared. "You should be hanging from a lanyard, not prancing about like a demi-god. If the Mandari will not punish you, then I will." That was satisfying.

"Isn't that what you just tried to do?" She smiled, sniffed back a laugh, and went on her way. The sight of her back disappearing into the gloom charged him further.

"Your arrogance is disturbing, bitch. You should step back from yourself sometime."

"What arrogance? I am confident, nothing more."

She really was deluded! "You don't even see it! You are blind to your own frailties."

She continued on, waving a hand in rude dismissal. "You are speaking nonsense. I must have hit you harder than I thought." The words were amplified by the silence.

He could barely hold himself back, and screamed at her. That stalled her a moment, but she was resistant to the taunts. She would need to learn to respect his tongue.

"You are a murderer!"

"On who's evidence?" She stepped through a door into a dark room lit by just one torch. It must be her private changing room. Pah. Women should not be allowed in this tournament. He stalked after and slammed the door behind him.

"Do you mind?"

"No, I don't. You are a murderer and you know it."

She stood staunchly, but there was an edge there. She was goading him. "I'm sure your father would disagree. He struck me first."

The anger turned cold. He still needed caution.

"You were trespassing, hence murder. You have been condemned by the law."

"And yet I live?" She shuffled on her feet.

"And yet you live. We shall need to correct that oversight."

She waved a hand absently. "Your father was a traitor, we all know it. Admit it. He sold out Ahan."

Sneaky bitch. She was trying to get a confession.

"My father did everything for the good of his people. That does not make him a traitor."

"Pfff. He hated Mandaria, so why not sell out?"

"Of course he hated Mandaria! You pathetic believers have ever marginalised the Nadari and condemned us for our enlightenment. That does not make him a traitor."

"Of course not. Selling access to the Inner Sea does, though."

The bitch was so damned confident. It was sickening. "You think you have all the answers. You know nothing of this world."

She stepped forward, putting her smooth face just a hand's breadth from his own. "I know enough to keep you scrounging around on that rocky prison you call home for the rest of your life. You will never complete your father's vision."

He balled his fists, but ultimately resisted. Caution was necessary. He sensed his surroundings, checked that the door was closed, drew comfort from the darkness. No, this was between him and her. Perfect.

"That's where you're wrong, bitch. Everything you know and love will end, and who will be the facilitator of this great downfall? I will. The forgotten family will rise, and the house of _Rhanna_ will burn."

There was a shuffling noise. What was that? The problem with darkness was that it hid a multitude.

"You are no longer welcome in the house. I suggest you run."

He wheeled around, and a mandahoi melted out of the shadows. Bastard! Behind the speaker came a woman; an attractive woman, and a familiar woman. The disobedient whore. He should have known.

A torrent of frustration and fury filled his head, but none of the words came out. His mouth opened and closed, but still no words came. The mandahoi came closer, and he recognised the hawk mask and the black banding that singled him out. This was the Chief Sensor of Ahan. It was Aleña, and the Nadari secret was now out. It had all gone wrong.

"I said run. You have given us all we need. Your father was a traitor, and you are his blood. The line Nadari is now firmly detached, and you are the enemy." The sensor unveiled a portion of his finely edged sabre. He did not need a third invitation.

"There is still a charge on your life, bitch. Think on that."

He walked quickly from the room, but wouldn't run. That would suggest he'd been defeated.

The bitch called out after him. "Your father squealed like a girl when he died!"

If it wasn't before, his mind was now firmly made up.

—Anejo—

Anejo was free. The traitor had been unmasked! So, what was the problem with freedom? It really hurt.

The half-edge slammed into her side, and her face screwed up. Her own weapon was on the sand a pace away, and more than that, she'd fallen beyond the boundary too. And the shadow of Yan hung over her. Yan!

"Three to the Root."

His face was entirely covered, just two dark holes for his eyes. The man was an utter legend, comparable in stature to any in history – perhaps except one. He wore the dragon, _Rhanna's_ caste; the caste of absolution. That was a rare privilege indeed. He was Yan, perpetual champion and undefeated. He stood over her, then he walked away, and she followed his movement. This challenge was beyond her.

She had won through to the final, each step sweeter than the last. In reality she had done exceptionally well, and even a defeat here would be victory. But one point at least would be nice. She wanted people to remember that she had reached this pinnacle. It was a big deal after all. It wasn't a good showing so far.

She needed composure, and called over the referee. "I need a moment with my duelling master."

He shook his head and tutted. "Be quick."

She fled to Master Blasetté, her only realistic source of advice. "What can I do?"

He looked to the sky, hand under his chin like he was thinking. She wanted advice; not philosophy. When he looked back at her there was a mystical quality to him.

"He reads your intent, sees your actions before you execute. That is what you must overcome."

If there was a less useful bit of advice, she could not think of it. "How do I do that?" Her torso ached and she grimaced.

Master Blasetté still cupped his chin. "Stop thinking about what you will do."

As it happened, this advice was less useful still. Was he mad? She returned to the ring, no better off for her tutor's crazy advice. Yan looked like he was infinite. Perhaps it was best just to get it over with.

"Engage."

He moved like lightning, and she struggled against the flurry. The man had immense power, standing a head taller than most, but he was quick too. His steel sung, a threatening hum in her ear, and her response was impotent. She fell back towards the ground, and every instinct told her to raise her arms in defence. But she ignored her instincts, and embraced the words of her duelling master. Stop thinking. That is what he'd said. She had no idea what it meant. But she embraced it anyway. It could hardly do harm.

Her body shifted. Yan reacted, but it was less fluid than usual. This in itself was a victory. She pushed up onto her knees, ready to take the opportunity. Yan's blade bit down, and the moment was there. It was perfect; tiny but perfect. His defences were good – incredibly good – but not absolute. She thrust forward in desperation, both defending and attacking. Her weapon was pushed back, but it may have touched him just. Maybe. She couldn't tell.

Yan's second weapon smashed into her shoulder, and she shuddered. She crumpled to the floor, screamed out, and rubbed the throb out of her joint. That was going to bruise nicely. The quicker this was over the better. The man was a monster.

"One to the _sapling_."

What? Yan looked utterly bewildered by the statement. He quickly turned on the referee and roared, but the adjudicator dismissed him. And he was right; she was sure of it. She had hit him. It was a shallow victory, but it was a victory. She'd touched Yan before he'd landed his blow. A marginal and rather unjustified victory if truth be told, but rules are rules, and she touched first. She smiled broadly.

It was the first point he had relinquished all tournament, and that singled her out. It was a victory.

Yan grimaced, sniffing the air. He was not impressed. Did she really want to anger him? Probably not; she had now given a good showing. She may have dreamed of winning this title, but in reality that was beyond her. Not against this legend. She prepared herself for another onslaught.

"Engage."

It became a game between the two; Yan on the attack while she defended. Her training was exquisite, but she barely used it here. Instead she followed the path laid by her gut, trusting to an instinct way below consciousness. She definitely used her training to throw up defences as Yan attacked, but she was always conceding to the path. This would not lead to victory, of course it wouldn't, but it would at least look impressive. She had to do something worthwhile. The crowd roared, and she was beginning to enjoy the bout. She may be doomed to failure, but―

Everything changed. It was minute, just a fraction. Time slowed, and her heart jumped at the unexpectedness of it. She had to act. It was a gift. Her body was committed, but she broke her rhythm and shifted her blade forward, jabbing crudely. Yan had grown slack in his reading of the contest, and in that he failed. He was too late, and his eyes went wide. He adjusted himself, and her stab landed and bit at his chest plate. The stadium silenced.

The wind whistled, a high screech spinning through the arena. Both competitors paused, waiting on the referee. His confirmation would be a joy beyond all others.

"Two to the _sapling_." And she had earned this one! Now she was enjoying herself.

The next point progressed in much the same way, though this time it lasted far longer. Time dragged and the contest ebbed and flowed, but ultimately her luck won out again. Yan stumbled and she nudged him from the ring. Now it was an even conflict, and she may have actually believed. She took up her position, and took in the mood of her opponent. He was stunned. If he kept fighting like this then she could do it!

Except this time, Yan was savage. She was left bewildered, bruised, and bereft. Never mind. She had given a good account. She could hold her head high.

She pulled herself from the sand and sucked through her teeth. The crowds were roaring, the natural order having been restored, but she was not rolling over. The least she could do was offer resistance.

"Engage."

He was brutal once more, his whole body flowing through every stroke. She was unable to pace the attack, and blow after blow rained upon her. The ache in her body built heavily, but she was not conceding to her own weakness. The least she could do was keep resisting. But it would only be a matter of time; he was Yan. She danced about the periphery, saving her ache as best she could, but the inevitable was coming. The margin was tightening, and true to form, his sparring blade jabbed her in the torso. That would be another almighty bruise greeting her in the morning.

"Four to the _sapling_."

What? The _Father_ was smiling upon her. Yan's foot was outside the boundary. Every champion needs their bit of luck.

Yan spun and snarled, but it was cut quickly short. He looked down to his foot and cried to the heavens and the terraces. To his terraces. He was losing in his own arena. His reputation was endangered, and all she needed was one last rub of fortune.

She was invigorated, fuelled by something new and raw. She was a slave to something deep within, and every tiny thing went her way. Was bent her way. She hustled forward, taking the challenge to Yan. Astonishingly, he struggled. His footwork was becoming ragged, and she snarled at him, enjoying the fight and moving faster with each step. She was hammering him fruitlessly, and that was always going to fail. Her arms ached, the attack grew heavy, and he shifted out of defence. He stabbed up, assaulting her with accuracy, but his blade struck nothing. She had shifted from its path, following her own thread. She leaned back, left foot supporting her at the near-horizontal. Yan was taken by his momentum, and she pushed her own weapon at his looming shoulder. He snarled.

He had lost. She had won. The look on his face was of pure disgust.

"Mandahoi wins."

The next moments were hazy, but the silence of the arena finally burst upon her. Yan sat alone in the sand, staring nowhere. She should probably shake his wrist, but instead she was whisked away by her fellow _saplings_. The place was chaos.

And she was free of her burden.

She would be freed of her crimes.

And she was champion of all-Mandaria. How life could swing.

Caste-Master Blasetté came to her, a grin on his face. Had his misty advice actually been of use to her? It bewildered her.

"If you knew how to earn victory over him, why didn't you use it?"

He laughed. "You don't think I tried?" She shuddered.

Others arrived including her grandfather and a rather sultry brother, but the finest congratulations came from Xen. The world became a cloud, each moment drifting and elevating into the next. Xen ushered them to some privacy under the terraces, but even isolation was not enough. Her mouth opened and closed, like a fish. She had won! No, more than that.

"I am free! And I am the champion! The world cannot ever feel more magnificent than this."

She spun around at a noise. Aleña crashed the arena doors open, and sprinted to her grandfather.

"High-Consul, your presence is immediately required."

"What is it? What is so urgent?"

The Chief-Sensor spoke with nerves at the edge of his tone. She had never seen him at such unease.

"It is war, councillor. Dusk is coming."

Her victory was swiftly forgotten.

## Part Three
## Chapter Thirty-Eight

—Anejo—

"How do we know they will target Ahan?"

Anejo's grandfather was not in a good mood. He'd stormed from the arena and was now simmering in the Jinq Residence across town. Her brother was also here, along with Aleña and a sheepish waiter. The serving boy held a silver pitcher before him, all four glasses placed delicately around the edge on the tray. It had not been touched, and the weight was visible on the boy's face. She wanted to relieve the poor waiter, but Aleña's message took priority. That was right, wasn't it? Everyone suffered for the greater good.

"It is not certain, but it is likely. By the time they reach the Gates, it will be the late season. They will seek security for the winter. Ahan offers that security."

Her grandfather glowered from beneath heavy eyebrows. It was speculation, and Aleña was not even denying it, but the Chief Sensor was rarely wrong.

"How many?"

"There are at least fifty thousand."

A big number. A very big number. She was itching to unveil the confession she'd obtained, but it paled in comparison. She was smaller than this. She was smaller than her country.

"Then we had better prepare ourselves. Those borders will not defend themselves. When can we leave?"

Felip jumped at that. He was like a puppy eager for attention.

"Horses are being readied as we speak." What a valuable contribution.

He looked at her. What did that mean? Did she speak aloud? No matter. She wanted to enjoy the experience of annoying him, and she wanted to enjoy her newfound revelation. She was innocent; she was free; and she was a champion. Felip's acidity could not damp her.

The impending arrival of Dusk was another matter.

But she still needed to clear her name. Ahan was walking towards disaster, and she needed to contribute. She had to share her news. The confession. It was important. She was still out of favour, and that needed to change. Her grandfather would appreciate it in the end.

The door slapped open, and in walked a bright-eyed High-Priest. Now was definitely the time for her news, but the priest clicked his tongue.

"Ah, thank goodness that I have caught you."

Her grandfather moved with considerable verve considering his years. He formed an instant barrier, and the priest stopped. His lips curled in mischief.

"My, that was hostile. Would you deny a priest his godly mission?"

"Be quick about it."

Anso's mouth stretched, which was chilling. Was that really how a priest wanted to be seen?

The priest's beady eyes fixed on her. "I recommend that your granddaughter is kept in Callij, under our protection. She has a great religious burden upon her, and she will need a firm guiding hand. I fear that Ahan will offer too many, ah, distractions."

"No!" That wasn't going to happen.

Anso raised an eyebrow.

"I share Anejo's sentiment. She has survived perfectly well in Ahan, and it will continue to be her home."

The priest curled his lips. "High Consul, forgive my bluntness, but your granddaughter is a convicted murderer. We can hardly consider that as being 'perfectly well―"

"That's where you're wrong." This was her time. She smiled, and winked at Aleña. "We have extracted a confession of treason from the Nadari Lord Governor. It was not murder. It was self-defence."

Her brother glared at her. "Stay silent, sis―"

"I second her claims, and I know of another who can third. She speaks the truth. The conviction will be unwound."

The words of the Chief Sensor were unparalleled. She wished that her grandfather would give her the same respect. Maybe she hadn't earned it?

"You heard her, High-Reverence. You hold no charge over my granddaughter."

The smile had been wiped from the priest, but he still held himself. "She is still the Third Child. She must be protected."

"My place is fighting for my country, not rotting with inactivity. I am going." She had to go. It was her place. She looked around the room, but no-one mirrored her enthusiasm. She was on her own.

"You will not be fighting. Your time for games is over." Her grandfather spoke with leaden certainty.

"But grandfather, I have proven the worth of my actions―"

"That is enough! Now, High-Reverence, would you please leave us to our arrangements."

"You cannot deny the prophecy, High Consul." Anso turned and left the room, but it wasn't permanent. He would be back. He always was. That man would be interfering for many years to come.

Her grandfather turned to her, frowning. No, this wasn't fair. She had proven herself innocent of that crime, and done more than that too. She had unveiled a murky truth, a genuine threat to Ahan. She deserved the respect and the freedom that she had earned. Yes, she may need restraint, but she was no longer a prisoner. She had been right. There was a soft edge to her grandfather. Perhaps she could play it.

"Grandfather, you don't really mean to deny me my duty?"

Her sibling jumped forward. "Your only duty is to your country and your family. You have done enough damage already, so now you will only be entrusted with work that has no risk attached. You are a liability."

She looked at her grandfather, but he didn't intervene. There was something beneath the surface of the older man, but the thrust of the statement was shared. They still meant to keep her shackled.

"But―"

"Please Anejo. This is not the time to discuss such matters."

"Then when is the time?" Her grandfather shook his head slowly, and the conversation was over. She ground her teeth and looked at her tightly clasped hands. This was so unfair. Her golden path had been snatched from under her feet.

A groom entered, head bowed. He twisted his foot back and forth on the polished marble floor. The poor waiter was still left with the full pitcher balanced on the tray, but he would not be dismissed until they were gone. She left first, stomping past her brother.

"The sooner we get you married off, the better."

She had forgotten about that, and her mood turned darker still. It was darker even than the shadow gathering against Ahan.

—Felip—

Even despite the circumstances, even despite the weight bearing down upon them, life was good. Wind whipped through Felip's hair, which hung loose and danced about. His travel clothes were being aerated by the elements and Callij was drifting into the distance; always a nice sight. Ahan was sliding slowly into view and clouds were heaped on the horizon. Home.

And below deck, his sister was brooding in the darkness. She was back in her place, despite her best efforts.

Watching her parade in that arena had been difficult, and when she went and won the damned competition he could have crawled inside himself. But he needn't have worried. Despite the success, the flair, and the celebrity, she was his same old sister.

"Magister."

His reverie was broken. Such was the life of a high-born.

"What is it?" His steward looked shaken. Strange.

"The High Consul has requested your presence."

This was a welcome invitation. It was time to craft the defence of Ahan.

Moments later he strolled effortlessly into his grandfather's quarters; the largest available, at the stern of the ship. But there was something different about the room, as if he didn't quite understand it anymore. There was nothing tangible to point his finger at; it was still the same cabin. It was the same old cabin with the same old resident, but definitely different. Somehow.

He smiled at the Consul, but got nothing back. His steward's edge crept into him.

"Grandfather, is something wrong?"

"I am not 'grandfather'. I am the High Consul."

A pocket of air caught at the back of his throat. He was colder than he normally was. This was unnerving.

"I apologise, High Consul. You requested my presence?"

He nodded, his fingers steepled thoughtfully. And dangerously. This wise ruler was always most dangerous when he was thinking.

He needed water. Sod formality. He took a cup and poured himself.

His grandfather looked at him with those piercing blue eyes. "You are the commander of the combined armies of Ahan, are you not?"

He was seated and watered, but weaker for it. This was an unexpectedly heavy atmosphere. What was going on?

"I am."

"And what do you consider to be the necessary attributes for your post?" Now he was certain. It would be a personal attack.

"Why there are so many―"

"In order of priority."

He was being cornered. This old man, this majestic ruler, had tutored him as a youngster, placing indomitable challenge after indomitable challenge in front of him until he was in tears. But his grandfather always stepped out of that ruler at just the right moment. He suspected that there would be no embrace at the end of this confrontation.

"Leadership; assertion; conviction; intelligence..." He could go on, but that was not the point. Whatever he said, it would be wrong.

"These are all qualities that you have in abundance, yes?"

"I don't like to boast―"

"Then don't. Do you think that my list would look like yours?"

Of course it bloody wouldn't. "No."

"Quite right. My list has one word right at the top, a quality that trumps all others. The quality I value above all others is trust; even in my commanders. Do you understand?"

"Of course I understand. A commander must trust his troops to carry out his commands. A commander must trust his officers, who must trust their petty officers, who must trust―"

"Yes yes, but absolutely no also. You misinterpret my quality, so perhaps I will use a softer articulation. Would you consider faith to be a facet of a great commander?"

He scoffed, but it was half-hearted. He turned, checking the door. It was closed. Was he sensing the ghost of his pride?

He turned back to his interrogator. "Faith is for the weak."

"And yet it is a close cousin of trust, a quality you clearly cherish."

He could fight back here. "Faith is blind trust. A commander is not blind."

"Nor is he all seeing."

"Which is why a commander has officers, runners, and standard bearers. He lays his systems out and brings light out of chaos."

"Which means you can see everything?"

"Yes. Every corner will communicate to the command. From there, decisions are made. It is as the mind serves the body."

"Which means you will know where every body falls; where every stray weapon is strewn across the battlefield; where a pile of entrails have made a slippery bog of the ground. How hard the men are blowing right along the line. Who has pissed themselves. You will know all of this?"

"No, of course not."

"Indeed. Our natural senses are limited, and the delicate fragility of our sense of command is a pale shadow of what nature has given us. You will not be blind, no, but you will not be all seeing."

Silence stretched. The familiar creaking was all around them, and there was a cry from the deck. It had to end, so he ended it.

"What is your point, High Consul?" He leaned forward, pressure in the subtle movement.

"You will need to have faith in others, Felip, and I fear that I have neglected your training in this regard."

Did he have a point? This was following a familiar path, but he wasn't going to start running along it. The Consul could lead.

"Then teach me, grandfather."

He did not object to the familial name this time. He leaned back and looked to the ceiling. "Politics is a game of agendas, of challenge, and of disagreement. Only through the judicial interaction of conflicting ideas does a greater whole emerge. This is a game that you are familiar with, and a game that you are good at. War is different.

"A battle is not like politics at all. It is sport: a simple game of one versus the other. Everyone takes sides, and you fight. It is true that deception and political nuances can creep into the manoeuvrings of war, but these are ultimately shapers of the field. It is then just a case of what you see on the field and what you don't. It is what you don't see that will defeat you.

"Which is why faith is fundamental, and why the stimulation of fragile bonds is fundamental to success. It is always the fragile that is most likely to break, and it is these ties that must bear the most attention. Especially when they are connectors of a great asset. Do you see what I'm saying?"

It was painfully obvious and his heart quickened. He would not play along. His grandfather could lay out his entire hand. "Could you elaborate?"

"We all dislike the Nomej. However, regardless of the lengths I would go to upset them politically, on the battlefield, they are my ally. A fractious relationship is fine, but it must be firm enough for a strong battle allegiance to form. Does that make sense?"

Of course it did! It was plain as the day outside. "Then you think that I need to re-forge my ties with the Nomej?"

His grandfather tipped his head back and sighed. The time for games was over.

"You know very well that it is not the Nomej that you have a problem with. The Mandahoi are also our allies. And more than that, they are our weapon. They have sense and understanding beyond our recognition, and we would be fools not to enrich ourselves with that insight. But the price for that enrichment is a loss of control. After all, if we want the Mandahoi to act on their superior senses, then we must release them from our blinded intuition. This is why faith is fundamental, especially for commander of the combined forces."

That had been said a thousand times, and he would attack it as usual. After all, how could a highly trained unit function without order and discipline?

It was the first time the Consul had made the point though. Maybe it held more weight than he gave it credit for? But he couldn't trust them; he just couldn't. How could he after all?

"You don't think I can command?"

"Of course I think you can command. You have every necessary quality in abundance, with a singular exception. You must learn to trust them in the coming days. You must learn to have faith."

Was that it? That was his lecture over and done with. He nodded, and his heart slowed. He rose, but his grandfather commanded him back to his seat. Not over.

"Why do you distrust the Mandahoi as you do?"

Please no. Please not that question. He had avoided it all his adult life. He had avoided it all his life since then. He couldn't confront this, least of all now.

"It is their independence that―"

"Do not try to fob me off, Felip. We are relatives now, and I know you better than anyone. What is it that rattles about in there?"

The door opened with a deafening creak, each squeak jarring. The noise from within was terrible. To see his mother like that was beyond the tolerance of a young boy.

"It is not their instinct I distrust, or even their independence. It is their indifference."

His grandfather walked towards his stricken mother, arms outstretched, offering comfort. But his mother would not relent. She screamed, cried, a noise of such pitch that he winced. He was still unnoticed, and a part of him wanted to leave, but another part ...

"Indifference? I don't quite understand your meaning."

" _He's dead! He's dead! The father of my children is dead, and it is all your fault! You entrusted him to those soulless demons, and they abandoned him. They abandoned him!"_

" _Please Selena, no. It was misfortune, no more. Your husband was incredibly brave in the face of the challenge, but the opposition was overwhelming. He will be honoured, and he will be mourned."_

The High Consul's words did nothing. His mummy leaned in, pointing; hand quivering. "You wanted him dead. Too lowborn for your lofty standards. You wanted him dead, and you condemned him to die by the inhuman objectivity of those monsters. You were the judge, and the Mandahoi were executioners."

"Inhumanity; or slavery to logic. They are astutely intuitive, of that I cannot deny, but they lack the human qualities of compassion, judgment, or feeling. Odds may be odds, but numbers must concede where humanity is involved."

He shivered, glaring. His grandfather had pushed for this.

"This is about your father, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"How long have you known?"

He shivered. His mummy was never that angry. And she seemed angry with grandfather too. The wailing grew, and each sob tore through him. Soft padding feet came up behind him. That could be only one person. He would need to act.

"Since I was six years old."

The Consul dropped his head into his hands and sighed. When he resurfaced, he smiled warmly. The inquisition was over.

"Dear Rhanna, I am sorry Felip. I am sorry that I haven't confronted you with this sooner. I am deeply sorry for what happened, and for what your interpretation has become. The fault for your father's death lies entirely with me, do you understand? It is me that you should hate."

But how could he hate his grandfather? His grandfather had taken him under his formidable shadow, crafted him into a leader, a politician, and a commander. There was no way he could hate this lovable old man. The steely blankness of the Mandahoi though – easy. A weapon without a soul behind it was a dangerous thing.

"I will try, grandfather. I will really try."

The Consul shook his head and stood, then came over, arms out. The hug had arrived after all. He had his face in his grandfather's silvery locks.

"Why have you never said anything?"

He turned. His two-year-old sister was toddling towards him. The horror-show continued beyond the door, and a protective urge overcame him. He wiped his eyes, and swept his vulnerable sibling away.

" _Is mummy upset?"_

" _Yes, yes she is. But it's okay. Grandpa is going to comfort her. Dusk is coming, so we need to head to bed."_

Everything he did was for his damned sister, and after all that, she had joined the very institution he now hated. They would not take her humanity.

## Chapter Thirty-Nine

—The Governor—

Jinqué entered the palace in a hurricane of urgency. "Get to work, immediately! I want to be out of here before that bastard sun is in the sky."

Unfortunately, his bastard servants were not quite in the same place. One man gawped, simply gawped, and he rewarded the idiocy with a punch to the face. When the gawker was sprawled on the floor in a growing puddle of blood, the other idiots caught the gist. Things happened.

"Lord Governor, what is the meaning of all this?" He turned and found his head of special services just an arm's length away. For a moment he considered sending this second idiot sprawling, but changed his mind. He looked up to this man. So much so that his neck ached.

"I'm afraid that this is no longer a place to call home. We leave immediately."

Damn this mess! He turned and went straight to his quarters. That deceitful whore had been here of all places. Here! And she'd followed him all the way to Callij. How did he not see that? And how did he not see the thread when she'd compressed his genitals with her head and leapt from the boat after disabling two of his _deadwoods_? He might have known she was a _sapling_. How many damned prick-firmers did they have in their ranks?

It was Anejo who grated worst. She would use this to shirk her crimes, and then he'd have absolutely no chance of retribution. This would disappoint his dead father.

And that was the worst of it. It was his fault that everything had unravelled so badly. His bloody fault, and now he was running like a virgin in a barracks. And where would he go? He was buggered if he was pleading, but there may be no other option.

"Lord Governor, you may want to elaborate on your commands. Your servants are in chaos."

It was Iago, his chief advisor. He could not run from the truth forever. He must confess to the man. The giant of special services was just inside his door, but he waved the man away. This was between him and his trusted advisor. At least for now.

"We have to leave Saphos, and Samal for that matter. The place is no longer safe."

"And why is that?"

This man had been on the boat all the way home, and yet he'd stayed silent even despite the heavy mood. He was a smart man, and this was reassuring. He needed to confide.

"I may have unveiled the deception of my father, and therefore, my deception, to the Mandari hierarchy." He expected gasps of astonishment, consternation, despair. All he got was a measured stare.

"Who did you reveal this to?"

"Anejo―"

"Which is not a problem. Of course she will make such―"

"―and, Aleña." He stayed silent. Alena's voice had rather more weight to it. He flushed and tried to cover his face. "I was deceived and cornered into the mistake. That bitch drew me a trap."

Iago wasn't a man for coarse language, and he flinched. Strange man.

"Then yes, Ahan will apply the pressure, and I have no doubt that the Nadari reign upon these isles will quickly draw to a close. But, Lord Governor, Ahan has a bigger problem at present. Would I be remiss to suggest that perhaps we have a bit of time?"

For the first time since Callij, he could properly read his options. Darkness was on the doorstep, and Ahan would be frantic. Of course Iago had a point.

"Then we should collect ourselves before leaving this place?"

"At least prepare ourselves for departure, yes. You never know, fortune may smile such that your secret never grows wings."

That was an interesting idea. And maybe he could encourage fortune onto his side. He urged Iago on.

"In the meantime, I think that you should mobilise what assets you have. Wealth will of course come in handy, but your greatest asset is, as we discussed, your Black Academy."

Yes of course. He would bargain, not plead. "You are the saint of reason Iago. Would you be kind enough to make the arrangements?"

His advisor nodded slowly, a dry grin tugging his lips.

Ah, relief. It wasn't that bad after all. He exhaled noisily and reclined in his chair. He would miss this place where he was a king, but greed had always pointed in other directions. In reality, all this did was expedite the inevitable. So be it. He would jump on the opportunity.

But he still had a charge, and no lead whatsoever. Well, he had one lead. He would need to tug.

"Send me that turncoat, Kun, will you? It's time he showed us what he knows."

The advisor rose and left the room, re-closing the door carefully behind him. It was amazing how quickly order could be formed from chaos. Perhaps he could bend fortune to his will, and perhaps retribution was still within his grasp. Dusk was coming, and his hand would go unnoticed.

He laid out his plans and the quill scratched over the paper.

—Aran—

So this was it. Aran was back on the water and heading in the wrong direction. The docks were drawing close, mist gripping the coastline. _Mother_ was only just brightening the eastern skyline, but the port bustled already. Grey sails littered the water that lay before the capital of Ahan.

He was back in Altunia, the last thing he wanted.

Could he not do anything right? This was exactly the place he'd been fleeing, and now he was back. The Enabler was not even manipulating him now. He had a new master. The Nadari Lord was less scary, true, but only just. But he did owe the man after what he did to the father. He supposed.

"Come to port, ten degrees. Come on you buggers, we haven't got all day."

The irony was that morning was just creeping in and so technically they did have all day, but that probably wasn't the point. It had been a pleasant journey compared to his last one, but that was small comfort. There had been a night of storms, which had tested his constitution, but he had come out the other side. Now he just needed to worry about the chaos that he was diving feet first into. He reached for his shoulder.

The mist was intense, a haze between the water and the brightening shades of the shore beyond. The Beha Lomal could be seen to the left, a great mass of stone topped with sporadic icy peaks. That was where his compass pointed, the Hidden Land. He gulped. But that wasn't the worst of it. He put his hand in the leather bag and felt the note within.

"S'that Altunia?"

He was not alone. He had a small troop of _deadwoods_ in tow.

It was his commander who spoke, a squat man with obvious strength. His jaw was a broad angular thing, and it jutted out from his face like a jetty. Ned spoke with colloquial laziness, but it was not something to be mocked. He had a temper on him to make the young Lord Nadari appear rational.

"Yes, that is Altunia."

The magnificent city came into focus, as did the winged deity that dominated the skyline above the Citadel. It was black in the early morning against the grey shades of the country beyond, and it was fair to say that the icon was even more magnificent as a silhouette. This was the first visit for Ned and his jaw stretched out towards the sight.

"Damn arrogant bastards, aren't they?"

He could not agree less. If there was any arrogance that he had seen in his time, the Nadari regime was the very manifestation. They flaunted the sacred image of the dragon in apparent spite, and they acted with the kind of attitude that suggested the world owed them everything.

But what did he know? Why was he so certain this man had no right to wear the dragon? He was a tiny player in a vast game that he was only now beginning to comprehend. It seemed easiest to lie.

"That's one of the reasons I defected."

Ned turned to him, his oblong jaw grinding from side to side. "Have you read it yet?" There was a smirk on Ned's face, which wasn't nice.

He pulled the note from his bag, clutching it tight in his grip. The Lord Nadari had given it to him with precise orders that he was not to open it until Altunia was in sight. Did Ned know what lay in this document? He wanted to read it alone regardless.

"Not yet."

"Well ain't ya going to? I can see 'tunia so I'm sure you can."

It was such a brutish dialogue, devoid of intelligence or poise. Ned had the remnants of heavy bruising on the right side of his face, only visible now that he was face on. He'd asked about it before, but got only hostility back. Later, another of the troop had told him that Ned received the injury whilst assaulting a pair of young women. He and his cronies were roundly beaten, much to his dismay and embarrassment. Ned seemed to be trying to wipe that moment from history, but it wouldn't disappear. It was part of his past. He'd been whimpering against the wall when Ned was beaten. Not that Ned needed to know that.

"I would prefer to read it in private."

Ned flared, his face contorting. His eyebrows arched and his piggy eyes shone with malice. His nostrils fanned and his incisors were just peeking below his top lip. Ned was threatening, about to strike, but his commander stayed silent and still. He stared on and waited for the episode to pass. The darkness bubbled deep inside, ready to erupt if necessary.

"You'd better read it soon." Ned stormed off.

He took up the paper and stared at it. The seal showed the dragon head of the house Nadari; another example of their public disrespect. Only the Ranji priests were entitled to display the dragon face of the Mandari god. He ripped the wax and unrolled the paper. He could just read in the early-light and raced through the message.

Kun,

If you have obeyed as I hope you have, then you are approaching Altunia. That is your nautical destination, but for you, it is more than that. You will be spending some time there.

_You have taken the Black. You have accepted the charge of the_ deadwoods _, and to prove your worth, you will be guiding your fellows to the Hidden Land. For this, the Nadari will be eternally grateful, but for me, it is not enough. Such an act proves much, but not all. You must prove more if you are to earn my sincere regard._

You will know by now that my father was murdered in the unseemliest circumstances. He was ambushed, set upon, and killed in his own home. He was defenceless against the revolting act, and that is a darkness that sits heavy upon my soul. Do you know what it is to lose a father? Well, it stirs a deep desire for vengeance, vengeance that must surely be sated through the channels of justice.

But no! The perpetrator, the arrogant Anejo of House Jinq, admits her guilt and yet walks free. What crude injustice! What a clear sign of the disrespect that is showered upon my family. The Mandari whole may have earned my people's betrayal, but Anejo has earned much more than this. I cannot sleep while this injustice remains. You are to deliver me that justice.

I regret I cannot be the one to execute her personally, but I fear I would struggle to get close. But you are to be my hands, Kun. You are to be the hammer that obeys my will. Through this achievement alone, you will confirm yourself in my deepest regard. Do not fail me.

He had to swallow, squeezing his eyes shut. He shuddered, the cold penetrating and mingling in him. The secret location of Ulterada seemed a fair price for the murder that stained his hands, but the Lord Governor didn't see it that way. Murder would need to be repaid with murder. He had killed the man. He had deprived a son of his father, and his penance was a princely sum indeed. He would have to murder Anejo. He would have to murder the only person who had ever been genuinely and selflessly kind to him. He doubted he could do it, doubted he could come close to doing it, but he had no choice. What could he do? Run away? He had tried that once, and now he found himself here.

"Yer face is a picture. That was worth the wait."

Ned walked off, laughing in short grunts. He ignored the comment. He was conscious of the darkness uncurling inside him.

## Chapter Forty

—Felip—

Felip's feet crunched through early-morning dew. He jangled, fitted out for war. He didn't remove the armour these days, not even to sleep. But he was used to that. This was his world. He was always ready here. Who dared disturb his preparations?

Worse than that: he was summoned. Who dared summon him where he was king?

He had been asked to the vast tent that served as the army's command. He had been called by his grandfather, but the source of summons was another. He was certain that this guest would be unwelcome. It was in his gut. It was tiresome, and frustrating. He should have been with his men. They needed focus, preparation, and continual support. Dusk was coming, and he did not have time for unwanted visitors. He entered the tent, and his mood sank even lower.

"What do you want?"

"Please Felip, a little more grace if you will. Manners are just as potent as weapons in the art of political reason." His grandfather's humour was appreciated by no-one. The Steward to the High-Reverence was the other guest.

"The time for pleasantries is long past. What are you doing here, Scribe?" He did not even know the bastard's name.

The visitor reclined in a chair with undue arrogance. His robes reflected blue in the pre-dawn light, and his half-mask reflected dully. The female semi-visage seemed sadder than usual; the tear exaggerated, and the mouth drawn down in desperation. The living half of his face was smug by contrast.

"I am the High Priest of Ahan, so surely it is my right. I ask only to walk these fields, offer absolution, and recite the word of our great Lord. A most humble request, wouldn't you agree?"

He sat down next to his grandfather, not even attempting to hide his disapproval. He didn't have the whole truth yet, but he was sure he wouldn't like it. He turned to his grandfather.

"What is he talking about?"

The sigh that gusted from the old man was forlorn. "Anso di Ranji has seen it fit to appoint this man as the head priest of the Citadel." The words stretched, like there was something unsaid.

What was the priest not saying? "This is not the Citadel, and you are not welcome. Leave."

There was a sharp intake of breath from his grandfather, but silence prevailed. The Ranji priest, epitomising distrust, put his arms out in protest. It was purposefully transparent.

"Are you going to allow this, High Consul?"

"I'm afraid the field is Felip's. I must concede to his authority." It didn't sound entirely supportive, but it was something. How could he earn his grandfather's absolute faith? It was starting to grate, and his throat caught.

The priest turned to him with an icy glare. "Surely you wish for Lord Rhanna's favour?"

"God is behind Ahan as he ever has been. We have survived a hundred and fifty years without your interference, and we will endure one more day."

It was a silent stand-off, but this was his territory. He leaned forward, gripping the edge of the desk, but the priest didn't flinch. The air itself could have snapped at that moment, but the priest did finally relent. Was that Ranji decency?

"What is it that you have against my family, Magister?"

The words were crisp, and they struck like steel. He inhaled deeply. He was the head of this army, and he would not trip into embarrassment. Not this day.

"What reason do I have to trust you, priest? If the great Jinal di Jinq saw fit to exclude you from his plans, what possible right do I have otherwise? Your very presence is a source of distinct embarrassment for my family."

His grandfather recoiled, but the priest seemed annoyingly unaffected.

"Then how can I earn your trust?"

That was too easy. The words caressed his tongue. "Get out of my country. Get out of Ahan, and take that renegade Kato with you. Tear down your temple and leave; respect our desire for sanctity. There is no place for what you preach here."

The wind whipped the canvas menacingly. He breathed smoothly, convinced that he had retained the upper ground. This was his command.

"I can leave your precious army, but I cannot bring an end to the temple. That agreement exists between your grandfather and my superior. It is not for me to intervene."

The Ranji were not well known for their compromise, but that was very much what this tasted like. A tingling sensation consumed him. Was he winning the unwinnable?

The priest shifted. "As for that renegade, I can certainly help you there. Do you have some paper?"

What? This was too intriguing. He pushed the writing apparatus across the desk. The quill was new and scratched the paper with satisfying smoothness. When the priest finished, he carefully rolled the document and sealed it with melted wax, clerical qualities displayed in his movements. The seal that he punched into the hardening wax was a face; half dragon and half weeping woman.

"Next time you encounter this thorn, hand this over and state my name. He will have no option but obedience to its contents."

He took the document, and it seemed to have an unnatural weight to it. Preposterous! He was back on the defensive, but intrigue was a powerful master.

"What is the order?"

The priest smiled, the man's visible face contrasting with the sombre mask. He clicked his tongue. "They are orders for him to leave Ahan. Is that not what you want?"

The priest turned abruptly and left. All very sudden. He jumped out of the chair and had to skip to keep up with the departing priest.

"What do we say your name is?"

The sun burst through the tent-door, casting the priest in sharp silhouette.

"Kato will know me by the name Mandros."

And then he was gone.

—Keles—

It was a Mandari army like no other in history, but it was still insufficient. The darkness was all-encompassing. Keles walked purposefully through the camp, pumping the handle of his _paw_.

The valley of Aperta was severe, culminating in two pillars of rock that seemed to fall out of the sky. At its narrowest, it was barely fifty strides across, half filled by the meandering river. The army was positioned a little further back, taking advantage of flood plains that spilled out. The tents and banners were innumerable, and there were even emblems that he didn't recognise. Ahan truly had pulled together, but it would still not be enough.

His companion remained unfazed. Kato's flash panic had melted into many days of stoic indifference. Had those strange set of events actually occurred? If anything, since their time together commenced, his tutor had become even more enigmatic, which was impressive. If he'd been asked a season ago, he would have said that was not possible, but this man really was a conundrum. He doubted every moment he spent with Kato, but he was always brought back to the feats. Always the feats.

And the questions.

But first he had some feats of his own to conduct. First he had to help Ahan in its crisis. Dusk was coming after all.

The command tent sat on a shallow rise, dominating the procession of canvas. The temporary office offered palatial dimensions, and the flag that snapped showed the hammer and chisel on a black background. It was clear who commanded here. The Jinq were as much architects of war as engineers of startling structures. Jinal di Jinq had ensured that. He strode on, and Kato kept pace.

A door flapped casually open, inviting them into the dark interior. Two guards nodded at him, and his stomach flipped. This was familiar territory and it was good to be back, even in these circumstances. It would be good to know where Xen was too, but that was beyond him.

The tent was not as dark as it appeared from outside. Far from it in fact. The linen walls permitted light through, and a regiment of candles supplemented the natural luminescence. But despite the permeating light, the tent felt heavy. It was as if there was too much in the frankly ample space. It was not the smiling old ruler that was suffocating.

"Hello Keles. Your timing is impeccable."

His heart bounced. He settled into some fine furniture opposite the ruler.

"It is good to be back. We have witnessed what is coming, and I fear we shall need every resource available to us." He tilted his head to the left, to the _rootman_ at his side.

The Consul picked up the suggestion easily, nodding in a non-committal way. "Then you will be offering yourself back into the service of the Mandahoi?"

"If you will accept my assistance."

The Consul didn't nod, but smiled. This was easier than he'd expected. Kato shifted, and then leaned forward.

"I offer my services too—"

"The hell you do!"

The tent was crammed with the new presence. Felip strode in with bloating arrogance, although his authority was impressive. This was his battle, his supreme struggle, and his army would adore him for the authority he presented. But that did not bode well for him, and even less so for Kato.

The Consul put a smoothing hand on the arm of the young magister. "You had no need to rush back. I am more than capable of—"

"Grandfather; this is my command, and nothing shall be beyond my scrupulous gaze. I can take care of this."

Was there some hostility in that statement? That was not beyond the heir of Ahan. He was an ambitious young man. The High Consul reclined and shrugged. There was nothing else for it.

"Magister, I hope you can accept my offer of support?"

"Your fellow mandahoi will be here soon enough. Join them if you will." All that hostility, and for what? Would it have been different if Felip had led this debate from the start? He cracked his knuckles. He should probably get up and leave. Kato could look after himself. He was half out of his seat when Felip coughed.

"Although, you have abandoned your precious order, which changes the circumstances somewhat. I must of course ask you to leave Ahan, and to take your debris with you."

It obviously wasn't that easy. Felip glared at Kato.

"You would refuse my assistance when the odds are so heavily stacked? Surely even you cannot be so rigid?" That was a bold statement, but he had to probe. It was not an unwavering view that was guiding Felip. It was something else.

"I need people I can trust, Keles. The thread I hold over the Mandahoi permits a working relationship, but you are now without those bounds. You have given yourself over, and I cannot mould order from chaos. I am not a magician after all. Do you understand my conundrum?"

Chaos? He peered sideways at Kato. For the legend, the analogy seemed fair. But he was not chaos. He was the very definition of order.

"Your grandfather has given his consent. Does this not prove the trust you doubt?"

"Then I must concede. But you will understand that any continued diversions with this rogue will wear my patience very thin. Your 'friend' will have to leave."

He couldn't pull the same hand there. Kato was on his own. In truth, not a season ago, he would have been of the same view. Even now he was struggling to disagree. The bewildering Kato offered very little except conundrums and frustration. Well, that and a killer touch. Was his particular brand of brutality suited to the battlefield? Annoyingly, the man was probably suited to anything. And he loved a conflict.

Which was probably why he smiled breezily. Kato was laying the foundations for another conflict.

"What is your issue with me, Felip? Are we not all Mandari brethren? If I wish to stand upon this field, then what can you possibly have against that?"

Felip kept to his standards, but his fists were clenched at his side. The anger would be quick in coming.

"We may all be Mandari, but I fear that our goals have diverged. Your trade is very, ah, unique, and so I cannot expect you to grasp fully the truth of the matter. The battle we are about to encounter relies on collective trust, and an ability to obey orders. You, I suspect, are deficient in both."

That was far from polite, and he had to massage his temples. Kato retained his composure. The man was unwavering, another fine reason for his presence.

"I suspect that you believe you can command me, Magister. You will of course know, deep down, that this is not the case."

The pot boiled over, and Felip gestured wildly, his words a tapestry of colour. Felip grew redder, and Kato's smile widened. He was a madman. Finally, Felip withdrew a scroll from the desk and thrust it upon the _rootman_. Kato looked at the seal, and his eyes widened.

It was a ghost of the panic that he'd seen on the other side of the world, but it passed quickly. Kato's smirk had been swept away.

"Who gave you this?"

Felip grinned like a child. "Courtesy of Mandros, and he asks you kindly to read it immediately."

Kato obeyed, which was unusual in itself. He breathed deep once, twice, and then locked Felip with a gaze. "You support these orders?"

"I wholeheartedly do, Master Kato." Joy was on Felip's face, but Kato's indifference added salt to the sweetness. The truth was obvious. Felip didn't know the detail of the orders at all.

Kato stood abruptly. "If you believe my craft to be chaos, then chaos I shall bring. I wish you good fortune in your endeavours." He nodded, and then left the tent.

Felip stood up. "You are leaving Ahan, Master Kato?"

The _rootman_ waved a hand in dismissal. "Oh yes, Magister, immediately. I would not want to sit on these entrancing orders."

And he was gone. Felip's face fell. There was always a sting in the tail. It was time for him to leave too.

"Good evening." He left under a penetrating glare from the Magister.

Outside, he found Kato staring west. At the setting sun. It seemed a perfect time to ask the question.

"Who is Mandros and what is the order?"

Kato handed the document over. It was a quick read.

"You can't. It's suicide." That was the simple truth, even for this man. Not even Elai had breached that place.

Kato walked casually off, but stopped and glanced back. "For a moment there, I feared it would be."

He hadn't lost his touch.

## Chapter Forty-One

—Xen—

It was nostalgic time, but strangely melancholy too. Xen would rather this than the thick of battle. But she did miss Keles. Where could he be?

She needed to stop wandering like that. She needed to be strong for her friend. Anejo's mood was dark.

They had been back in Altunia ten nights, and they were now utterly alone. The rest of the Citadel was readying itself for war. The palace was a crypt, but outside the walls of the Citadel the city was still bumbling along in blissful ignorance. Strangely, it was like a return to her childhood. It was time wiled away with her best friend, little to occupy them but mindless chatter and a sense of mischief. It was nice, or it would have been had Anejo not simmered so toxically. She was almost unrecognisable.

But tonight she seemed buoyed. That was a relief.

It was dark outside, the Old Town across the river stretching in pale patches against the deep shadow of night. The New Town on the north bank burned bright, a stark contrast to the sombre mood of the political elite. In some ways it would have been nice to be part of the ignorant masses; just her and Keles enjoying a fine night. Large fires burned on Friendly's Gate, and she could just about see guards upon that gatehouse. Why bother with guards this far into Ahan?

"Why do they keep a garrison in Altunia when the borders are in such crisis?"

"To keep me locked inside." There was the usual bitterness in the words. When would she get over this?

"Oh come now, it is for the best. I've seen Dusk close up, and I'm glad I'm not there."

It was a partial lie; she wished she was with Keles. He might be there. Damn it, she ached for him. If only he would reciprocate. They were perfect for each other!

"If we're defeated at the borders, then these walls will offer no protection. I'd rather help shape the fate of my country." Anejo's had always been stubborn.

Then again, their days may have been filled with humdrum, but the danger that the country faced was daunting. Information was leaking slowly into Altunia, and Anejo was grasping it hungrily. Every report brought only worse news. It blackened Anejo, and brought a blanket down over her. Did she think she was missing out?

"You would really be there?"

Tonight, Anejo seemed brighter, and she may have even accepted her impending nuptials. She looked up from the wedding dress that she had laid across her lap. She even smiled.

"It can't be worse than sitting here waiting for news. This is torture."

If this was torture, she would take it ahead of the horror of Nazalia. She was no soldier, and in all honesty, it was nice to be sitting out this battle. But always, her mind went to Keles.

They had no news of him, and she had to assume he was still travelling with his adopted tutor. Either that or he was dead. She shuddered. She would know if that were the case. There was a connection between them. There was. Her heart quickened and she wiped her brow. It was moist.

The question persisted, though; where was he? She didn't like to think of him involved in this terrible fight, but he was probably there. Would she even consider searching him out? She wanted to search him out. She had convinced herself that it was her immaturity that had driven him away, but she could overcome that. She needed to raise the idea with him, but she couldn't do that while he was away. But equally, she didn't want to go where he was.

"Done."

What was that? Her best friend was standing at the far end of the palatial bedroom. The doors were fast, and candles flickered in their cradles. Anejo moved to a grand wardrobe and started to change out of her dining gown. She replaced the dress with drab clothes. Not night-wear.

"Why are you wearing that?"

Anejo beamed, which was suspicious. She never beamed innocently. A tattered waistcoat appeared in her hand, and she scraped her hair into a tight bunch. She had riding boots on, and she threw a handful of items into a leather bag, items associated with adventure. What was she up to?

"I am going away. Are you coming?"

She gulped. The answer was obvious, but she would confirm it. "Where?"

"To war."

_Uncle's Teachings_! There was no stopping her. Anejo threw a length of white material out of the window. It was the violated remains of her wedding gown. She had clearly not come to terms with the marriage after all. She tied off one end to her bed frame, picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Then she clambered onto the windowsill. Anejo meant to leave, and she must stop her. She hurled herself forward.

"What are you doing? You can't!"

She grabbed her best friend by the arm, but it achieved little. Anejo was straddling the sill, ready to descend. She stared back, poised, and smiled mischievously.

"Do you want to come or not?"

Of course not! Why would anyone want to go willingly to that nightmare? We can't. We're defying everybody if we do this. How will we even get out of the Citadel? They're not going to let you just walk through the gates." The question was more hope than anything, but Anejo's face was wicked.

"I've bribed the grocer. I'm being smuggled out of in a pile of old food. There'll be room for two."

She had this all planned out! Oh, this was bad.

Anejo tipped over the ledge, but she grabbed her and gasped. She knew the grocer-boy and shivered at the deception he was facilitating.

"How can he assist you in such folly?"

Anejo shrugged casually. "He doesn't know what my intent is. And besides, it's amazing what a sum of gold will do."

She tipped once more, just a degree from descending into the garden below. No, not yet! She caught Anejo once more.

"No!"

Anejo looked at her, and then to the doors. This exchange was creating a lot of noise, and it was only a matter of time before the guards grew intrigued. Was she wishing for that outcome? Could she scream for assistance? Anejo pleaded, and there was twenty years behind it. She couldn't do it to her friend. This was Anejo. They had always been together.

"Look, you're either coming or you're not. Which is it?"

She shook her head slowly. She was torn between her desire to seek out Keles and the threat of what was bearing down on them. Anejo edged over again, but she stopped her one final time.

"Wait!"

"What?"

Her heart thundered; she was torn by the choice she had to make. Could she? Fear crawled through her, but she was not sure what the fear was of. Surely there was only one course of action, wasn't there? After all, they had always been together.

"Let me get some things together. I'm coming with you."

As they climbed into the grocer's cart, her head still ached with the weight of the decision.

—Aran—

Aran had only been here once before, and on that occasion, Altunia was under siege. Yet this was strangely worse. The streets of the New Town heaved and swelled. He had little choice in his direction of travel. He was pulled through the stream of revellers.

There was something underneath the revelry, but it was well-concealed. The country of Ahan had been at peace for over a hundred years, but that was now genuinely in danger. But Ahan did not close down on account of the Gathering Dusk. Night was here, and instead they celebrated. What was being celebrated was a mystery. From what he could tell, it was simply because tomorrow was Stranger's Day; a day of rest. He cowered under the gaze of the Stranger.

"C'mon."

His chaperone was still with him. Ned was like a limpet. Ever since Ned had got wind of the details, he'd been a permanent breeze upon his neck. Ned wouldn't leave him alone. Did he want to gawp over Anejo's destruction? Did he know that Anejo had given him the bruises? Maybe that was it. The notion filled him with bile.

"I don't really have much control over my direction." He was drawn towards a tavern, but he managed to manoeuvre himself into a new current which flowed uphill. The wings of _Rhanna_ loomed on the far side of the river, their undersides glowing orange. The gusting flames sparkled brilliant blue in the demi-night, a wondrous sight.

The main avenue across to the Old Town yawned before them, and people were vomited along its length. This was no place to operate. This was no place to commit a murder.

But that was largely irrelevant. Anejo would not be here. She was in the Citadel.

A wooden cart lurched along the artery, splaying the crowds about its bulk. It pushed on with neither concern nor consideration. There was no shortage of abuse pointed at the young driver, but he carried stubbornly on. The cart-driver was oblivious to the crowds around him, but the crowds were not oblivious to him. The flow seemed to pull in the direction of the cart.

"How far to the palace?"

Aran turned to his dumb officer. Did he really just ask that? He wasn't an expert, but stupid questions were guaranteed to draw attention. And that was a stupid question. The Citadel was the exclusive residence of the Mind of Ahan; the Jinq. Anejo's family. He suspected it would be thoroughly shut tonight, as would access to the Old Town. The Body of Ahan, those who lived in the peace of the realm, were bursting with life. Tomorrow was a day of rest, so why not? But the Mind of Ahan would be cautious. There were darker forces at work these days. It would be closed.

But Ned would not accept that. He'd insisted that it get done now rather than later, and hence they were here now. He touched his shoulder, but only briefly. Ned sneered back.

"It's a short walk to the Nerve, but we are constrained by the pace of the crowds." The masses swelled around the cart, throwing curses.

There was a horse over on the left, and its static bulk helped funnel the numbers. The beast was tall and elegant, powerful looking – a warhorse. There were numerous taverns down in this part of town, close to the Western Gate. The horse must belong to an officer who had ducked into an inn. The beast looked ready, saddled for a journey, held in place by a groom. That wasn't particularly interesting in itself, but the cart seemed to be heading in the direction of the beast. And that was strange. A grocer's cart had no place at a stables, did it? Maybe it was resting there, close to the inn. The crowd eddies swirled, and he was all but thrown into the wooden vehicle. It was filled with rotten veg.

The green matter shifted about with the movement of the cart, but there was more to it than just that. There, jumping from the back of the cart, was his target. Anejo stood just paces from him. And so did Xen.

His left hand went to his short weapon, much like a mandible, hidden in the rough material of his trousers. His right hand gripped his shoulder. His heart thumped terribly in his ears. His breath shortened, and he spun. He was terribly visible. They might spot him! He wanted to hide somewhere, anywhere, but could not think. The darkness stirred inside.

The crowds! He could hide in the masses. He turned, but there was no escape. Ned was there and he gulped. His left hand flexed and his right hand massaged his shoulder. His officer grunted and poked a finger into his chest.

"You look like you seen a mandahoi. Wha's up?" Fortunately, Ned was very stupid.

"This cart's in the way." Would he buy it? Ned wasn't the quickest tool out there.

"Then go roun'." Ned's piggy eyes peered over his shoulder. A sickly smile stretched onto those lips, which meant only one thing. Ned wasn't totally stupid. "Tha's her ain' it?"

He would not crumble and would not break. He was strong enough for this. Wasn't he?

He gulped, and Ned laughed.

"Come on, trai'or. This is your moment. Come on, ge' your weapon out."

There was a whisper of steel, and he turned. It was Ned's weapon being drawn. He gulped and sweat trickled down his back. He refused to look upon the girls, in case they recognised him. Why had he come here? How was he ever going to kill her? But that was an obvious answer. All he needed to do was to release himself. But still, could he really do that? It was Anejo. Aran was losing control and Kun was gaining. Maybe this was the moment of breakage? His steel slid free, and he retrenched. He could fight no longer.

He turned and watched the horse trotting down an alley. The sound of cantering hooves clopping against the cobbles was enough to break his shackles. He exhaled loudly, and Ned raised an eyebrow. Steel was placed safely back into hiding.

"We missed our chance. We should probably head straight for the mountains."

Ned grimaced. "We'll wait in the moun'ains. You stay 'ere 'til the opportunity crops up again. We would no' want to disappoint our master, would we?"

Was it a stand-off? No, a stand-off was two-sided. His shoulders slumped. He would need to find shelter. Kun was digging in.

## Chapter Forty-Two

—Keles—

Exactly the same tent, but it now seemed larger. Keles cracked his knuckles. He hoped the conversation would be just as enlightening. He looked at the Consul; his inquisitor.

It seemed stupid, but the old man before him seemed older. Rianja di Jinq had always had an eternal sheen, but something had happened to it. The sheen had cracked. That was foreboding.

"Felip cannot command the combined armies."

Hmm, that was rather large. He didn't know what to say. "Consul?"

"I said that Felip cannot command the combined armies. He is not ready."

Of course, the irony was that he completely agreed. Felip was far too fractious for an effective overall command. Two things rankled though: why was he being told this at all; and why couldn't the Consul have seen this a few days ago, before Kato was cast upon a suicide mission. He flushed and grabbed at the collar of his uniform. That was happening far too frequently these days.

"That will be tough news for him to take."

The old man hummed. Those sapphire blue eyes locked on. He was subservient to the will of this man. He always had been if truth be told.

"Do you know why I am revoking his command?"

It was obvious really. He rolled his shoulders. "I assume it is a consequence of his apparent Mandahoi trust issues."

"Indeed, hmm, yes. In many ways I sympathise of course, but ultimately I must blame myself."

"Oh? How so?"

The gaze locked him tighter, and the High Consul leaned forward ever so slightly. His voice was frosty cold. "This doesn't leave the tent, understand?"

He nodded, and the old man fidgeted. He was uneasy.

"Felip's father was killed when he was six years old. I sent him as an envoy to treat with Gorfinia, and I sent him with four fellow knights and twenty mandahoi. They were ambushed, and the Gorfinians played their hand well. They attacked from distance, in a wide circle, hidden by the forest. The mandahoi, being logical creatures, reacted as they should. They fanned out to meet the threat. But it was a trap. Once they were out of sight, Felip's father was ambushed. He and his four companions were left sprawled on the ground. Their heads were returned to Altunia, dragged behind a horse. Felip's mother was understandably distraught."

An intimate story certainly, but why was he being told this? "That doesn't explain where Felip's Mandahoi distrust comes from."

The light was disturbed by a steadily growing shadow on the cream canvas. Instinctively, the discussion paused. He watched the darkness spreading, fearing that it would turn into the heir of Ahan, but the shadow moved past the tent, and away. Nothing to worry about. The two men were soon alone once more.

The old man coughed. His hands squirmed around each other, keeping busy.

"Felip blames the Mandahoi for his father's death. They abandoned him, after all. He has consequently taken a common conception of the Mandahoi psyche, and blown it into something grossly out of proportion. This distrust has been festering in him since he was six-years-old. It is consuming him."

He stepped tentatively. He didn't like where this was going. "What conception?"

He looked ever so slightly bemused. "That the mandahoi act independently of naturally occurring emotional, ah, standards. The Body believes your kind to be somewhat apart from humanity."

"What? The Body suspect that we are somehow inhuman? But that is absurd."

The Consul appeared displeased. "Have you not seen the way that you are looked upon by the Fist?"

"Well yes, of course, but I construed that as respect."

"Fear and respect are very different animals, Keles."

"But―"

"Come now. Is it so surprising? You know the story of Dara's ghost."

A ghost in more ways than one. Why was he bringing this up here? "Those practices died with Dara, and the Mandahoi are almost entirely removed from that arcane ideology."

"Almost; that is the key. The Body see only the stories, and history's shadow. You must sympathise with their ignorance."

Ignorance was one thing, but being considered sub-human was quite another. He would never look upon the ranked masses in the same light. He would never stand amongst them with the same comfort. Everything was changing.

"And what does Felip believe?"

The old man looked even older, if that was possible. This had dragged him down, and for good reason. The succession had been Rianja's one failing as a leader. He had not borne a son. Felip was that last chance for the security of the lineage, but even this route appeared rocky. He was old, and yet there was so much to do. A sigh gusted from the old ruler.

"I'm not certain that I can articulate what Felip believes, but it impedes his objectivity with certainty. He will command the Fist, but I will direct overall. You will be my Mandahoi link."

"I cannot. Archmaster Hephesta commands the Mandahoi, and any such suggestion would undermine that authority."

"I do not care who commands the Mandahoi, but you will be my voice. You will provide the bond of faith between the Fist and the Sword. Do you understand?"

He nodded, but did it slowly. He wasn't entirely sure what this meant.

"And you will also keep an eye on Felip. His emotions are hot, and I do not want him taking undue risk. The same goes for you."

He sounded like a father commanding his children, not the general of a great army. The tent seemed to shrink. The world seemed darker too, but perhaps that was just a cloud.

"High Consul forgive me, but if you cannot trust Felip to command an army, how are you comfortable conceding the rule of Ahan to him?"

The tent grew darker still and the Consul contracted. "You do not want to probe in that direction."

But he did. A lot was being asked of him here, so he wanted something back. "The question stands, unless you wish to dismiss me."

The Consul stared from under heavy brows, exhaling noisily. His hands were clasped together; a barrier. But the two of them were close; almost father and son. The Consul had adopted him when he'd been abandoned by his mother. If the Consul had not intervened, he would probably have died as a baby. Or worse. It did not bear thinking about.

"Felip is a great ruler in almost every respect. He just has some learning to do."

"But what if this distrust is so deep-rooted that it impedes his capacity? It is not like you have an alternative succession plan."

The Consul gulped, and he shivered. Probably the wind sweeping through the door-flap.

"There is an alternative. The path is not yet open, but it soon will be."

Well, that was unexpected. Rianja's succession was a frequently gossiped subject, especially with such unlikeable characters as High-Magister Nomej waiting in the wings. He raked his memory for the particulars of a second succession path.

"You don't mean the boys? They are too young, and forgive my crass observation, but you may not live to see them come of age."

It was a measure of the relationship between the two that the High Consul chuckled and shook his head. So not the great-grandchildren.

But that left only one option. Her gender certainly caused a blockage, and any attempt to validate her claim would send tremors through Society. It was unheard of to have a woman at the head of a family. Except of course Lehcar, but that was exception.

"I fear that Anejo will be harder to tame than Felip. She may trust the Mandahoi, perhaps a little too much in all honesty, but she has many gaps in her armoury."

"Keles, please do not push this point. It is not Anejo."

Then who? This was now genuinely intriguing. "Forgive me, Consul, but who could have any claim to succession? There is no-one else. You don't have a secret bastard child, do you?"

The old man went rigid. He was still reclined in his seat, but he was stiff and unwavering. This was truly shocking! The purest of rulers had a secret. A dark secret.

" _Father's Fortune_ , it's true! Who is it?"

The silence stretched, and the Consul chewed rhythmically. But said nothing. The punch of the ruler's gaze gave the answer away. He daren't speak it.

"Me?"

"Please Keles, do not freak out at this."

Too late for that. He sprung from his seat, knocking it backwards and sending a floor lamp sprawling. Linen caught the last of the flames from the candle, and smoke quickly swirled into the midst of the tent. But he was sharp, as a _sapling_ should be, and he quickly stamped out the flames. Smoke filled the tent quickly. He turned to the High Consul – his father? – not a hand's width away. He instinctively stepped back, his foot landing in the charred remains of the brief flare.

"How? Why?"

"Your mother was a respectable young lady who was staying in Altunia with the intention of meeting a suitor. I have never met anyone who makes my heart stop like she did, and for the first and only time in my life, I was a slave to my emotions. I succumbed, and she reciprocated. The affair lasted a season, but soon the news emerged that she was pregnant. Twenty-five near-fruitless years with my beloved wife, and yet this young woman took the seed hungrily. She was shamed, and she was cut-loose from her family. She had to be seen to be punished for her infidelity, and so she was cast from the Citadel once you were born."

The old ruler looked into his lap. He had never seen the Consul this way before, and that was worse. It meant he was telling the truth.

"Which family was she from?"

The vacuum exaggerated the scale of the situation. "She was a _magistra_ of House Nomej." The heavy silence didn't do that fact justice.

"Nomej! So I am of two Higher Mandari lines?" The Consul nodded, and smiled solemnly. By the _Father_ , this couldn't be happening. This was a nightmare.

Unless he accepted this new-found nobility, and adapted to the life of the Mind. He would have to marry. Xen! Could he marry Xen? He tingled all over. By the gods – or was his god now the God? – he missed her badly. Where was she? Was this a dream?

"So, you see that you are an heir to the seat of Ahan. You are a bastard, yes, but that hurdle can be circumvented."

He was not even listening. The questions crawled into his head. He didn't care what impact they had on the Consul.

"Where is my mother now?"

"I hear that she lives in the lower part of the Old Town. I hear that she is a washerwoman." That was galling. He would look for her.

"Does she know I am her son?"

"No."

Did he hate this man? His father. How could he do this! Argh! His fists balled and he grabbed the arms of the chair, levelling his breathing.

"Who knows?"

"My wife found out. I fear it contributed to her early demise. Councillor Nomej also knows, but no-one else. Nobody knows it is you."

Word of the _Wise_ one! So that was the true source of the Nomej animosity. He had assumed it was just the man, but it appeared the head of the family had good reason to hate his father. The Consul had besmirched the Nomej family name. He shivered.

The smoke was spiralling through the air vent at the peak of the tent, and wittering advisors, officers, and squires were crawling all over the canvas. Their voices called out in concern, and they erupted through the door. The Consul, to his credit, looked horrified.

"I am sorry Keles, I did not mean harm. It was a moment of weakness."

"What happened High Consul?" The congregation looked down to the charred linen that had produced so much smoke. His fists were still balled.

"We all make mistakes, High Consul, but it is how we deal with them that defines us. My father taught me that lesson many years ago, before he was lost to me."

He turned and strode from the tent. Acid crawled up his throat, and ideas stalked through his hammering head. He would need to think this over: preferably with Xen. Away from this toxic battlefield.

But he couldn't leave, because Dusk was coming. And he was starting his ascension.

—Felip—

Felip jumped through the floor and the ogre stamped down on him.

"Felip, you are babbling. Come up now."

The beast spoke with a softer voice than one might expect, but then it did have golden hair. He would love to come up, but the ground was chewing on him. There was only one way, and that was down.

"It is too late."

"I know, I'm sorry, but I need to speak to you."

The ogre wore pale linen which shone in the darkening sky. A tiny orange sun flickered in the distance, and his tent flapped gently. It was mighty dark outside.

"The ground won't give up easy."

"Felip?"

He stared into the sapphire eyes of his grandfather, and sense forged itself from befuddlement. He was just waking up. It was a dream. It was all so stupid, and worse, he could not remember what was stupid. What had he seen? What had he said?

"I think I may have been sleep-talking." And then it struck him. "What in _Rhanna's_ realm are you doing here? Have they come?"

Damn it, it must be the very early morning, if not barely midnight. He flailed wildly for his weapons, his armour, his clothes even, but his sleep fog disjointed him. His grandfather raised his hands. It took a moment to decipher the meaning.

"No, Felip. It is not battle. At least not now anyway."

Phew. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his knotted hair. A chill caught him through the bedclothes he'd succumbed to this evening, and he pulled the coarse blanket to his shoulders. He yawned, sucking air in. It was time for answers.

"What news then?"

"The masses draw close, but they are camped some distance still. Our sensors believe that they are formulating their plans."

"Good, good."

But why visit in the dead of night with such scant news? A gust caught the canvas and rattled the tent. This was the hour of the old god known as the Stranger. The red light of the star seeped into everything. That only frayed his nerves further. "You didn't wake me to give that news, did you?"

The old man grimaced and shook his head. He could read that look. His gut churned, though that could have been hunger. He sought out a cup of water, and drank greedily. There wasn't enough water in the Maremanté to quench that thirst.

"No Felip, I didn't. I am here, now, because I want to give you the dignity of a private audience. There is not a soul within a hundred paces."

His grandfather looked so disappointed. By God that was maddening. He wanted to cry, but he also wanted to laugh in frustration. He wanted to scream and shout, punch the air, punch the furniture, punch the tent walls, punch...

"What is it you need to tell me?"

An almighty breath of air; a visible fidgeting of the hands; the tapping foot; the chewing of the lip. By God this was painful. His body tingled. Everything he had lived for, everything he had trained for, was being ripped from his grasp. This man had shaped his life with a single selfish purpose, and now it would be snatched away. Ahan needed a hero, and he was being side-lined. Damn!

"I am revoking your command of the combined forces. You will command the Fist, but mine will be the ultimate authority. The Mandahoi need not be your concern."

The Mandahoi. Only then did he know what it was to truly hate. The Mandahoi saw him for what he was, a threat to their hidden agenda. Somehow, they had duped the Consul into unwitting collusion. He was being written out of the greatest conflict Ahan would ever see, and for what? Because he saw the Mandahoi for what they were: untrustworthy ghosts. What was a man to do? He wanted to scream from the depths of his lungs.

"Yes father, of course."

He was rather impressed with his cool delivery. He was agitated, but that was expected. He could blame it on the time. He had been woken after all.

"You are accepting of my decision?"

If truth be told, he had suspected this moment would come. He had been ordered to trust the Grey, but he hadn't made any progress. How could he treat with those zombies after all? But Keles, the big brother who had looked after him, was a _sapling_. He was no monster, and nor was Anejo.

But no! He couldn't! No!

His grandfather was no _sapling_. He must obey the old man, for the good of the country. His fury festered in the pit of his stomach.

"Of course, grandfather. This is your realm to defend."

His grandfather sighed audibly and a smile stretched across his leathered face. His grandfather's head went back, his neck cracked, and his arms drifted out for an embrace.

"Oh, thank _Rhanna_ for that. I feared I would lose you forever."

"Of course not." He'd lost him years ago.

His grandfather rubbed his back, and he squeezed in return. The High Consul squeaked rather pathetically.

"Good. I need you to trust the Mandahoi, Felip. I need you to accept their actions and to refrain from any wild intervention of your own. I need you to be my commander, and that requires acceptance of Mandahoi autonomy. Can you do this for me?"

A pause threatened, but he would fill it. He needed to convince the High Consul of his reliability.

"I will. I promise." He had never lied to his grandfather before.

## Chapter Forty-Three

—Anejo—

It was near-impossible to make out the individuals in the masses. The morning mist was simply too think. The immediate vicinity was plain to Anejo, the ranks of filed men, but beyond a few rows was only a misty whiteness. She was in a private world, sort of. She was a single grey cloaked mandahoi amongst the heavily armoured infantry of Ahan. They were the Body of Ahan, and she was something else. She shivered. She was definitely isolated.

She and Xen had remained hidden until the order to arms arrived. At that point, she'd ushered Xen into the valley. It was not unfair to say that Xen had been reluctant. In fact, Xen had been very negative about this whole idea, but her friend had followed nonetheless. Why she had followed she had not asked. Perhaps she should have insisted Xen stay in Altunia? At least her friend was several files back.

She went on tip-toes and peered back. Xen looked calm. Or that might have been a trick of her mind.

But that didn't matter now. They were in the military-machine, and there was no way out.

Now she was here, it dawned on her. She had never actually experienced the methods of Mandahoi integration into the military of Ahan. It was a technique unique to the Mandahoi, crafted by Jinal di Jinq himself. The technique turned the light armies of Ahan into the most potent force in eastern l'Unna. It was a well-taught theory. What she had not reckoned on was the practical tension.

It was a strangely hostile environment considering that she was amongst allies. She was looked upon like she was the enemy, which was unexpected. Yes, the _saplings_ had a fearsome reputation, but still... She shivered. Eyes lingered on her, but when she looked, the staring stopped. Only to be replaced by other eyes behind her. She was isolated in here, all alone. That was strange. The look she'd shared with Xen was a brief respite, but too brief really. Dusk was coming after all.

It was barely light, and the whole world was bathed in dull grey. Red was the first colour to infiltrate the greyscale, brief flashes of it in the masses of the pillar straight infantry. The view slowly shifted from monotonous pre-dawn into stark day, and time took on proper definition. As _Mother Bright_ finally burst over the eastern horizon, the light shifted. The mist dissipated and the extent of things became clear. That was a lot of men.

The ranks were uncountable, an ordered mass all about her. The sporadic grey of the mandahoi barely broke the unending spread of polished armour, and officers commanded from high horsebacks. Could anything compete with this collection of military might? Dusk was coming, and that was another proposition altogether.

Silence filled the valley called the Bloody Gash. The name said it all. Was this the right thing to have done? Yes! Yes it was. Definitely. She scraped at the skin of her thumb and chewed her lip. The rich copper taste flooded her mouth.

Was she really prepared for this? No doubts; not now.

She had never doubted previously. But the truth was that she had precious little active experience. Nazalia had been a conflict created for her order, a fight of open spaces where her skills could sing freely. The battle for Altunia had been chaotic, a brief flurry of activity before the gates of her home. This, however, was something else altogether. The ranks pressed in, and the unseen enemy crushed her, giving her a headache. She was thirsty, and she licked her lips. They were already scabbing over.

There was a burst of commotion, whispers passed through the ranks. Horsemen were approaching from the distance, hooves beating the ground and dust being thrown up. Sensors. They had returned with news, and judging by their urgency, there was only one message. Her heart quickened. The wait was excruciating, the wind growing and whipping through the valley. She shivered. It seemed cold for this time of year.

Three long mournful blasts echoed through the valley, and her heart quickened. Other horns took up the chorus, each one an echo of the initial notes. The mood shifted and the ranks quivered. Men exchanged words; questioning, confirming, reassuring. No-one spoke to her; she was still alone amongst allies. The unwelcome looks of the infantry turned sourer somehow. Different. It had never occurred to her that this might be a bad idea. Now she did.

The din was cut off, officers silencing men with sharp whistles. The whole mass hunkered, prepared, and then there was a shift, a subtle shunt forward. Weapons were raised; feet were stamped; and the strong-smelling liquor was passed around one last time. The military mass shifted and she was a slave to the momentum of the whole. She was a servant to the vast machine of her grandfather's army. Any chance of abstention had passed. Dusk was coming, and her chest tightened. It was a struggle to breathe.

—Xen—

What was Xen doing here? The anticipation was dragging down on her, but she kept her breathing steady. This was neither the time nor the place for weakness; that much she understood. But that was about the extent of her understanding. She was utterly lost.

Not geographically lost of course, for this was a place she had passed with Keles many times before. They travelled through this valley for their elicit meetings in Mikaeta, and that was almost worse. This place resonated with positive experiences, but today would not be positive. Today was a nightmare. It was a home which had been invaded by strangers. The infantry about her were allies, but they didn't seem it.

"Forward three!"

The order came from a mounted officer at the edge of her check. The armies of Ahan were organised in a chequered fashion, each square a thousand men. The pattern provided space, and that allowed the army to bend and flex where the usual lines were rigid and unwavering. Her own check was the second row back, and she herself was way back in that group. She was protected until the abrasion of war had worked its attritional charm. Anejo was further ahead, only two _saplings_ from the front of the check. Ever keen for action. Hopefully her own contribution would be minimal. She wasn't as brave, or perhaps as mad, as her friend. The entire check stepped forward in unison; once; twice; a third time. The army was now poised.

"Arms!"

It was strange obeying the orders of a non-mandahoi, but the _sapling_ masters in each check mirrored the commands. The two elements – the Sword and the Fist – may be wholly independent, but here they worked as one. They always had, ever since Jinal. She settled with the men around her, but the staring didn't stop.

There was a familiar whistle: military code. Some of it made sense, but not all of it. She hadn't finished the training. It was then that it hit her. She suspected that most of her fellow apprentices were in the rear ranks, but Anejo had manoeuvred them close to the action. There was no option here. She obeyed, and her steel caught the sunlight. She gulped.

Chaos erupted, shocking her. She turned to a wall of stony faces. In amongst the grim faces was a young man who betrayed only terror – she was reminded of Aran. She was very scared, but compared to this boy, she was the epitome of confidence.

"Please, let me go."

He was scrambling against the mass, fighting the tide which would push them ever forward. He was leaking, urine spreading down his legs and tears in his eyes. But he was not released. He would not escape.

"Please!"

He could be little more than fifteen years; too young. She was still young, but she had lived on this tangent. This young man had probably been drafted in against his will. He was probably an orphan, no choice in his direction. His movements were wild, his hands flailing and scratching, but there was no sympathy. Not here. The masses were handling him, turning him, shoving liquor down his throat. The dark amber liquid spilled from his mouth, but some was reaching its target. He succumbed, and settled into his misery. The poor pup.

"Please help me."

She shivered, horror leaking through her. Her face stayed implacable, and she turned from the commotion. She smoothed her uniform – how silly was that? She gripped her _mandibles_ , flexing her fingers around the leather-wrapped hilts. There was familiarity in the touch, but not enough. This was something else. She had not taken to her chosen career as Anejo had.

"They're here!"

"Darkness is coming."

Unrest rolled through the ranks, the alcohol haze being swept away by the rumour of what was approaching. The prospect of what was coming infected her, like a disease unravelling in her stomach. A shudder swept through the men about her, and she joined them. She stood on tiptoes, peering over the masses. But the allied host was too large and she couldn't quite see. She looked about, just something to do. To the south, two senior mandahoi stood authoritatively on the slopes. Her heart stopped; her mind emptied; and her throat dried instantly. She was certain it was him.

Her heart warmed, but it was wrapped in an insulating halo of frozen terror. She started sweating, the cold clammy sweat of the ill. Or maybe the petrified. She had come in part just to see him, but mostly she wished he was away from here. He would not remain a peripheral figure on this encroaching dawn of carnage. He would not cower like she intended.

She stared at the figure, and her imagination caught her. Every face about her seemed hostile, and she craved the comfort of Keles. Was he still thinking about her, or was she out of his head? A cry went up and she went onto tiptoe. Yes. There. There was a shadow spreading across the fluvial plains before them. That danger was a barrier between her and the answers she wanted so badly. She could never forget about him. Love conquers all? She hoped so.

—Keles—

Was that her? No, it couldn't be. Keles had been assured that Anejo was holed up in Altunia for her own safety. Xen would be with her.

It did not stop his imagination running away. He dreamed of the private solar, the centre of Jinq power. He was there in his dream and Xen was sat beside him. She looked beautiful, a creature of grace and poise, the embodiment of female power. Felip was there too, bowing to him. How strange that they had been near-brothers almost all their lives, when actually they were uncle and nephew. He was senior. He ruled in equal parts magnanimity and authority. His father would be so proud.

"Am I boring you, Keles?"

Snap. His commander broke his reverie. It was a dream, a ridiculous dream. He could still barely believe the preposterousness of the suggestion. And besides, Felip would never succumb.

"Of course not, Archmaster."

"Then please at least make it appear so. Now, please confirm: am I correct in thinking that the High Consul has appointed you as chief conduit?"

What could he do but nod? It was awkward.

"Does that not undermine my authority?"

Yes, yes it does. He will be the driving force behind the interaction between Mandahoi and Jinq; the Sword and the Fist. The mandahoi were nothing without the infantry, and so he was effectively in command. It was a privilege befitting his birth. He smiled.

"Keles?"

"Erm, sorry. The High Consul suggests that this does not undermine your authority. Your overall command of the Mandahoi remains intact."

He got an unfriendly look, which was fair. It was probably easiest to avoid further debate, so he turned to the blossoming conflict. This could affirm his ascension.

"The High Consul lies. But I cannot blame him. Perhaps this will encourage you away from any further deviancy. I hope you recognise the value this country places on you?"

More than his senior could possibly know. He nodded, and could not help smiling. The idea of ruling was becoming tangible. And exciting. He would forgive his father. He would forgive the High Consul.

"Come on then. What value did you glean from your time with him?"

Was that genuine intrigue? Kato was a legend, even if he didn't rule the respect of men. And he had now trained under the man, which was a privilege, but it was hard to explain what he'd learned. Had he learned anything? He was sure he had discovered something, but he could not articulate the detail.

"It has been a concealed path, Archmaster."

Hephesta grunted. "You mean he had nothing to teach you."

"No, not quite. I just couldn't quite see..."

"Best you stay in a place where you can use your damn eyes then, eh? Ahan will not let you wriggle free so easily this time. The world grows dark, and you are a bright light."

How right he was.

There was a flash, and he saw Felip in the distance, majestic in gold plated armour. A god amongst hardened and adoring men. Was he jealous? He never been jealous before. Then again, there'd never been any point in jealousy before. He rolled his shoulders. He peered into the distance.

Hephesta was peering through an expensive glass, a piece that could magnify well over six times. He followed the direction of the instrument, and scanned the field. The enemy horde was now clear. He could identify individuals in the mass, and the sharp lines of weapons. Armour glimmered dully in the mid-morning light, but it did not flare like Mandari steel. This was an army forged of darkness, and every item reflected that same ominous moral.

"Where are their officers?" The problem jumped from him unexpectedly. Their own army was dotted with mounted cavalry, standards, horn bearers, and other signs of the complex command structure. Their opposition were devoid of all these signifiers; it was just a dark mass. Hephesta handed him the glass.

"On the left, a hundred files back."

He trained the piece, and his breath caught. There, astride a horse of monstrous proportions, was the stuff of nightmares. His nightmares. The smoky flesh flickered, the substance of its body hidden beneath a cloak of darkness. It rode with authority, commanding the endless spread of men with ethereal ease. This was their officer, the sole source of their command. Only gods led with such surety.

Gods or demons.

A sharp noise carried on the wind, and he focussed on the enemy's front ranks. Spent crossbows were being hauled back and reloaded. From that distance the attack was little more than a gesture. The intent was there though; this would not be a negotiation.

He pulled the glass away and gauged the distance between the two armies; two hundred and fifty paces at his best reckoning. It would not be long now. The crossbows would fire sporadically, but soon this horde would come to understand the true meaning of the projectile weapon. He shivered. He always did that before a battle. A fight like this deserved respect.

His time would come soon, but for now, others would press their authority. He needed to be ready. His ascension was drawing near. And Ahan was perched on Widow's Edge. Every man would need to play his part. That was what was important.

"I will head north."

Hephesta didn't even look up, but nodded. "Burn bright, Master Keles. Your country needs you."

He rode along the files of waiting men, and there was a flash. There he was, the resplendent heir of Ahan. He was charged with that man's life, and also with his own; a tall responsibility. The dark stain of the enemy lay in the west, and he gulped. Maybe Kato's suicide mission was the better option after all? That didn't bear thinking about.

## Chapter Forty-Four

—The Commander—

The Commander; that is what they called him. Simply the Commander. Few dared speak to him, and that was how he liked it. Trust few and the chances of betrayal were deeply thinned. That was the mantra of his people. They had grown on the idea, expanded and flourished under the flag of isolation. He could count his acquaintances on one hand – ideal. Despite the sprawling swarm around him, he was alone.

"Shall I order the crossbows, Lord Commander?"

No, not completely alone. He growled, but the poor sap was only trying to do his work. Was it his fault that he was inferior?

He turned upon the interruption, a man he had promoted on the back of his pliable nature. He stared a long time, watching the sap's bobbling eyes. Most people couldn't look at him straight. It was the shade that drew people's eyes, always a source of amusement for those within. It was another source of authority, his cloak of fear, and he smiled. The contrast of his teeth in the shade would be just visible, and sure enough, the sap's attention switched. How satisfying that was.

After all, a veil was a tool of immaculate value. It was the master of the veil who didn't fear the other side. Just ask the Stranger: he commands the final veil. He would like to ask the Stranger just that.

But before the exotic comes the mundane. "Do I need to confirm my previous order?"

The words were frustrating, long winding monstrosities that were awkward in his mouth. He hated the language, recoiled from its ghastly artistry, and craved the company of his fellows. He craved the tongue of his people. That ancient language worked with efficiency. It was not entombed by complex grammar or needless elaboration. His people spoke what was required, and that was all. When he used these foreign words, they were spoken with a gravelly quality, and he hated it. But at least the words grated in the ears of his subordinates too, which was satisfying. Not that that's why he spoke their language. He consented to speak the ghastly words because it was offensive to think of these inferiors applying his own succinct tongue. Offensive.

The sap recoiled, contracting right down on his horse. A single broad blast was issued, and moments later there was the twang of the crossbows. It was followed by the distant thud of enemy resistance. His projectiles were making little impression, but that was no consequence. This day would not be won at long-range.

This was a strange little enemy, but all else had been swept before him, so why would he doubt? This little enemy were lined up in resplendent order, as all others had. Their highly polished steel reflected the brightening morning, but what was polished armour other than a bauble? A familiar story if ever there was one. It was a fine spectacle, the colourful flags and shiny officers adding to the pomp, but what was the need? His was an army of purpose, constructed for the simple task of smashing another. These 'Mandari' – an even more flowery word than most others – had chosen their ground wisely, but they were outnumbered almost five to one. They would crumble just as all the others had.

Except there was a difference that he could not quite grasp. It was both puzzling and grating. The man who had called himself 'Enabler' had advised caution, but why? He could not lose. He wanted to return to his people, and he needed home. He needed this done.

It would be done by the end of the day. Today was Stranger's day.

His army was stamping in precise uniformity, crying out in balanced tones. Moving forward. Always moving forward. He could smell the sea already. This was the final push, an onslaught before he earned control of the entire width of the continent. Winter was coming, a time when he could re-forge his numbers behind the protective walls of these conveniently placed mountains. It would be a tough fight, this narrow valley posing a challenge for his swarm, but numbers always ultimately succeeded. Energy coursed through him, and he cried out. His guttural roar was echoed by his fifty thousand soldiers.

They were drawing close, the twanging crossbows delivering little. The enemy had used no projectiles, which was odd. Not that it mattered. He had marched right across the entire continent, and the strung weapon had never been more than a sideshow. It was the weighted head of the axe, the spiked mass of the mace, and the deadly edge of the sword which were the victors. The two armies would meet in a frenzy of highly charged battle lines, and they would batter each other until the numbers won out. He smiled again, privately this time. He kept his teeth hidden. This would be a magnificent victory indeed.

His army cried in unison once more, a rumble of thunder against the still Stranger's morning. The beginning of the end was nigh, and he would earn his place at the summit of his people. At the summit of the world. This was his ascension. His swarm would deliver him.

A sharp whistling sound pierced his daydream.

The sun darkened all of a sudden. Funny. He had not expected an eclipse today? His people had an unparalleled understanding of the heavens, and this was definitely not the day for an event. Today was just a normal day, a morning of the Stranger. What was going on?

The whistling increased, and he looked up. A blanket had drawn itself over the sky, a delicately woven sheet spreading in their direction. What was that? It was certainly unexpected. The cloud grew closer and the whistle got louder. When it made sense, it was already too late.

The killing began, and the heavens spewed deadly steel.

The arrows came in relentless volleys, and even the Mother dulled under the weight of it. The screams of his dying army followed moments later.

## Chapter Forty-Five

—Felip—

The weight of the west marched on. Fifty thousand armed men. Fifty thousand men, and Felip smiled. Oh, how he smiled. The sky darkened, and the killing began. The sight was wondrous.

The irony was that they were hugely outnumbered, but none of that mattered. Fifty thousand men approached, but only a small portion would face his army. The weight was behind the West, but in the narrow valley of Aperta, this would be an even fight.

No, that wasn't true. The archers continued their relentless onslaught, and he beamed. The numbers were on his side.

"Fools." And that was the truth. They were fools. His gut still tickled with nerves, but that was good. He was on edge. He needed to be the strong head of his army and he needed to ensure confidence. 'A confident army is a victorious army': one of the many proverbs attributed to his father. He exhaled that confidence. "Fools!"

He stabbed an arm into the air and gritted his teeth. He growled, and his infantry grunted with him. The grunt turned into a cry. A war cry. The message rolled through the files and ranks of men, and he shivered, smiling. The noise died down and it was replaced with the shrill whistle of projectile death. The archers plied their trade.

The arrows swept overhead in waves, an astonishing spectacle, and behind that artistry lay a depth of strength and training; a point of distinct pride. He was a strong man, capable of wielding mighty blades with poise and delicacy. But he'd once flexed a longbow in competition, and he'd been shown up. Badly.

His men loved to challenge him, and he loved to reciprocate. Even when he was left looking silly. It helped break down barriers, and it forged a bond between him and his men. One day, a few years back, he was challenged by a boy. What was there to do? He accepted.

The youngster was all wiry arms and skin wrapped around bones. It was a lean hungry body in a ragged and oversized uniform. No challenge at all. He'd been more inclined to feed the boy than compete with him, but the offer was there, and he took it. The pair were presented with field-bows, and the furthest arrow would be declared victorious. He'd been confident of victory, but his men rarely presented an easy challenge.

His own arrow skidded to a halt some fifty paces up the field. The emaciated boy hauled back greedily on the chord, and his missile sailed true and long. Very long. The arrow was never found. It was only when the young boy removed his ragged top, that he understood. The boy revealed a body of entwined and knotted muscle, the mass necessary to wield that mighty weapon.

He was strong, but not strong enough. But short-term embarrassment was replaced with long term gratitude and pride. Now there were two thousand such boys, all full-grown men, firing a constant rain of death into the enemy ranks. Oh so satisfying. He smirked.

"Sir, they are still coming."

It was a measure of his men's nerve that his standard bearer even spoke up. His standard bearer was a brave man. But these were exceptional circumstances. He needed to be the father his men could stand behind.

"And they will continue to do so. But think on this: would you rather be standing here with the sun warming your back, or would you be in their mass, death just a neighbour away?"

And that was the truth of the archers. They instilled a fear in Ahan's enemies. They served as a stick with which to beat the opposition; a tool that could be exercised from afar. The rain of steel would yield many casualties, but its greatest contribution would be to embed a forward momentum in the enemy ranks. The enemy would push forward, away from the deadly squall, and the front line would be driven against the second key component of the Mandari war machine. The enemy rushed forward, escaping the bite of the arrows, but that was no use. They would impale themselves on the steel of Mandahoi. It was a sensational and proven combination.

Mikaeta, Delfinia, and Gorfinia had all fallen to the well-oiled killing machine that was Jinal's legacy. Now the West was following in those illustrious footsteps.

Only the West had numbers; so many numbers.

But it would be fruitless to think on the plain statistics of the situation. A confident army was a victorious army, and there were plenty of reasons to be confident. The sporadic scattering of stony cloth marked out his greatest asset. The Mandahoi were well represented, and that was good.

It was good, but it was also unwelcome. At least it was for him. The fact that he relied on these monsters was a mockery. It shouldn't be necessary. And yet here, it made sense.

But it worse than that too. They were without his control. The Consul had ripped control from him. It was galling, and the prospect of those key assets roaming the place undirected was a scary one. And yet, the Mandahoi had never underrepresented themselves in the past. Why would they here?

But even if he could not have command, he still directed the majority and he would stamp his mark on this battle. It was not enough to simply follow in the footsteps of those who went before him. He needed to differentiate himself. There was only one man he could never hope to emulate, but try he must. This would be his signature, a century-old echo. He tingled.

"Pel, get your horn at the ready."

His standard bearer looked up at him, face drawn. He stared pointedly, and the young man duly conceded. He pulled a silver horn from the pommel of his horse, and put the mouthpiece to his lips. This was it; the moment his signature was unveiled. This was his moment. He'd told precious few of his plans, but he was sure they would be a success. He stretched, taking in the glorious mass of his men. Then he judged the enemy's distance.

It was time. "Now please, Pel."

The Long Mourning Cry was what it was called. It was easy to work out why. The note was both high and low: the elevated weeping of a distraught mother; the base grumble of the distressed father. It was the sound of the regret for what was about to come. The note travelled up the steep sides of the valley and descended upon the valley like a blanket. Then it was over. Confession ended. It was time to do God's work.

The beating of the drums erupted through the narrow space, bursting upon them. The great instruments spewed their inspirational rhythm, and the ground shook. The masses stamped their feet with rhythmic symmetry. Each beat was uniformly matched by each and every drummer, and the echoing complexity of the rhythm was both intoxicating and inspiring. Each beat bounced and resonated, the sound climbed the steep walls of the Gash, and the field succumbed to the beat of Ahan; to the beat of Jinal. To his beat. A new dawn was coming.

"That is inspiring, is it not?"

Pel did not seem entirely won over, but he did seem happier. The beat continued.

In truth, the drums were nothing more than a resurrected ghost of the past, but this was just the start. One hundred and fifty years ago the Mandari had marched and charged their enemies to this beat, and he was the one to resurrect that glory. First he would stand his ground and deter this formidable foe upon his doorstep. Then he would set the rhythm, and chase them back to the deepest west. It was time for the Mandari to bring light to the world. It was time for him to bring light to the world.

But before day came night. The dark stain continued doggedly on. The arrows rained down, and the Mandahoi were ready. At least he hoped they were ready. As his grandfather had so wisely imparted, he must have faith in the uncontrollable. It was a delicate balance, yes, but he could at least trust the stony killers to do predictable work. The Mandahoi were uncontrollable, but they were well trained and they were disciplined. After all, it wasn't like his sister was here.

—Anejo—

The drums were unexpected, and they did little to boost Anejo's confidence. The infantry about her, grim looking men all of them, were briefly perplexed by the beating. But they were quick to catch on. Feet stamped on solid ground, and the collective vibration loosened her. Now was not the time. She pumped her weapon's handle. The Fist screamed around her, and she shuddered.

This was not for her. Why hadn't she stayed in Altunia?

And then the day darkened further. The dome of steel still raced above them, a waterfall of pointed death, and the sun drifted behind a cloud. The air cooled and she shivered. The infantry cried out, and a great tremble rolled through the ranks. The sound of steel striking steel sprung up. There was contact. Somewhere.

This really was a stupid idea, wasn't it?

Her check was frighteningly close to the frontline, just the second wave back. She could see through the crowds to the enemy beyond; vivid and real. Her battalion was not engaged, separated from the enemy by fifty paces of untouched grass, and the enemy seemed incensed by this, screaming across the void. Shouting insults in unknown foreign tongues. To her right and left the fight was well underway, but she was saved engagement by that scant space. But for how long? The enemy were numerous, and friction was a cruel master. Her time must eventually come. She cowered.

A vicious jolt re-engineered her fears. It was not friction that would bring her to the brawl. It was Jinal's military genius. Ahan was flexing its might, and the drums beat out a new rhythm.

It was a magnificent piece of command, testament to the long hours of training. The checks either side of her stepped backwards in glorious efficiency, and long pikes were left hanging. They were like girders filling the emerging space between the Mandari and their perplexed opponent. The enemy were at bay, at arm's length. They were crushed forward by the momentum of the rear ranks, but contained by Ahan's military engineering. The pikes were held in place by the retreating infantry, and their control was astonishing. It was well practised.

And there, scattered amongst metal shafts, were the mandahoi. The _saplings_ stood, and the penned enemy clawed and screamed at them. But the pikes were true, and the saplings were unwavering. The Sword of Ahan was about to bite.

The pikes swept back, and the killing began.

The enemy were pushed forward by the momentum from their rear ranks, and they broke into chaos. It was like a sprung leak. Amongst that chaos, Mandahoi steel sung true and quick. A mandahoi could not fight in a battle-line; their tools would be rendered useless. But here, in this chaos, it was like a gift. Her grey-clothed brethren accepted the gift greedily.

Grey cloth was stained black, and she gulped. This was way beyond her.

But it wasn't just the checks either side that flexed. The infantry either side of her retreated, and so it was that her own check lurched forward. The sound of steel hitting steel slammed into her. They were engaged.

Sick clawed up her throat, and she put a hand to her mouth. She swallowed the acidic reflux, retching with it. She couldn't alter this path. Her stupidity stung like a wound. Could she escape? No, of course she couldn't.

There was no way out. This was her doing.

By the _Sister_ , Xen! Her stupidity grated, and she shook her head. What had she done? She was a few files back, destined for conflict, and her idiocy would haunt her. But Xen's involvement was a burden too far. She spun, and caught her friend through the forest of hard-looking men. Xen looked distraught. Rightly so.

A shrill sound reached her ears; the disapproving signals of her superior officer. The senior mandahoi glared at her disapprovingly. She could not cope with this. She would not be able to do it. She had grown too big for the illustrious reputation that she had somehow forged, and here she would fail. Just at the point her country teetered, she would fail. She would fail in everything.

A noise came; an order. There was a distinct mechanical shift in the masses. The time had come, and she was about to be thrust into the chaos. She ripped her steel free and crouched, concealed beneath the bed of pikes. The ranks before her parted, and there was daylight between herself and the enemy. Only one other mandahoi crouched in the way. The Fist shifted backwards, subtly at first but then faster. The infantry flowed over and she shivered. It was a terrible experience, like a wave was washing over her. Her confidence was shredded to the barest bones.

Above her was only the steel of the military girders, and the sky beyond. The enemy heaved against the restraining pikes, all wild cries. This way of fighting was new to them. They struggled forward, their cohesion endangered by the sudden removal of the battle-line, but their desire for conflict not lessened. Dusk lurched against the resistance, men intoxicated by the insanity of war, and she cowered. Her fellow mandahoi stood, but she couldn't. She couldn't.

The steel disappeared, and the mass stumbled forward. Her fellow mandahoi did soldier's work.

Steel flashed, and grey cloth soaked black. It was a strange place, for the usual clangour of conflict was strangely absent. There was only grunting, breathing, and the slick sound of Mandahoi steel piercing. There was steel striking leather; steel slashing cloth; steel puncturing mail; steel parting flesh. It was carnage, and the sound was terrible. Screams reverberated around her; through her. They were varied; cries of resilience, exhalations of terror, and moans of death. It was like humanity ceased to exist, a world where only violence prevailed. There was no honour here. This was butchery.

What had she done?

She was attacked by a group that had forged forward. She raised her weapons, sweat stinging her eyes. She blinked the sweat away. She was attacked with a heavy mace, a crude sword, and a menacing axe. All crude tools, but effective in this chaotic conflict. The first one stepped up, and she was still crouching. He swung viciously. All she could do was deflect.

Other blows rained, her vision saturating with enemies. She shifted this way and that, terrified. There was surprise on the face of one of her opponents, and that was an opportunity. She stabbed at him, but his armour grabbed her sword and it got stuck. He leered and raised his arms, weapon falling. She was cold with paralysis, staring at her Already her end.

The pikes swept back overhead, piercing her opponent and pinning him back into the western flock. Her check had shifted forward once more, working to the flow of the conflict. She'd previously considered this military Body to be inferior, but oh how wrong she was. Now she owed them her life. The Fist didn't even look at her. They were focussed on their work. They showed only confusion; and perhaps disgust. Disgust for what? The deeds of her fellows flashed through her head, and she retched. She needed out.

She breathed in and out as steady as she could manage, but it still wavered. She hunkered down against the looks from her allies. She didn't care anymore. Her commanding officer was screaming at her, abandoning his whistle. It didn't change anything; only made things worse. More eyes were upon her, even less friendly. She needed out. She would admit her errors. She would admit all her errors.

And then the body was hauled through the ranks, sliding across the floor. The dead unceremoniously drawn through the living. The dead had no place in this military engine. She looked at him, and she was barely able to identify the bodily form. Her fellow mandahoi had paid a high price indeed, and that price was creeping upon her.

Xen!

In that moment, she could only see the face of Xen on the carcass. It was a price she couldn't pay.

She breathed deep, a sort of serenity engulfing her. There were no options, and therefore no point in fretting about options. She just had to do it. She steadied her breathing, eyes closed. A fleeting memory jumped at her; the now-dead mandahoi ushering her forward, asking for help. She had failed him. She had failed herself, her country, this magnificent army, and she had failed him. She did not know who he was, but it didn't matter. She was a fool. She sought this path, so she must pay the price. Others wouldn't pay on her behalf.

She turned and smiled at Xen. Her friend's eyes widened.

The ebb ceased, and the flow returned. She crouched smoothly, gripping her blade tighter than she ever had. Her steel was un-stained, and that in itself was a source of embarrassment. She needed focus, if not for herself then for Xen. She had dragged Xen here. It was her stupidity that brought them here, so it was her stupidity that must be punished first. She gulped, but she had control.

The Fist swept back, like the retreating tide, and in their place was a perfect canopy of steel. It was like a great military scaffold, locking the enemy's position. It was only brief, or it only seemed brief, but then the supporting structure was whipped away, leaving her entirely exposed. The enemy was loosed; they were stumbling, falling, and bearing down. Her face was wet, her hands trembling, but her mind was clear. Her training took her: her arms moved in precise arcs, and her legs danced. She was between states, delicately poised. On an edge. The first of the enemy came at her, and she tipped one way. She screamed.

And punctured with surgical accuracy.

His eyes glassed over and his head reeled. Blood leaked from the savaged neck in a gruesome flood. Some of it sprayed her and got onto her face. Even in her mouth. Not that that mattered. It was a long slow moment, but she did not concern herself with it. Time sped up, and the chaos wrapped her in its embrace. One down; a population to go.

The battle had taken her, and her weapons flowed. Bodies fell beside her, in front of her. She stabbed and struck, sliced and hammered. Again, her deadly steel got caught, stuck in leather, or clothing, or flesh. She didn't even know. But this time, she ripped it free. Her world was of chaos and horror. The faces before her showed varied emotions which melted into a single horrible tapestry. The fouler shades of humanity. She was stepping into them, moving forward with dogged resolution; absorbing herself in her work. Her butchery. Nothing else mattered; there was only death. This was her purpose. She ploughed on.

Steel wrapped about her, surprising her. She swung, snarling, her instincts absorbing her. But her mind was sharp, and the red haze fell away. These were her allies, and she dropped her weapon. She was safe, in the check, free from the burden of the Mandahoi. A moment passed without death, and the simplicity of this fact descended upon her. Again.

She convulsed, and was sick.

She spat the blood from her mouth, but it only splattered the inside of her mask. It had a metallic taste to it, a sweet note, and she scrunched up her face. Her head swam, but she hung onto her stubborn streak. She looked at her blade, reached out and picked undefined matter from it. So much blood. She was shivering from it, chilled by its proximity and its clammy grip. At least she had now done her job. But something else dragged at her.

She had done evil. She had brought much death, and she had done it with a total lack of remorse. She was a monster. She was a killing machine. She was a mandahoi.

And then the check shifted once more, and she readied herself. She had no other option, not now. The command came, and the butchery resumed.

## Chapter Forty-Six

—Keles—

Despite Keles's skills with the blade, despite the many plaudits attached to his feats, this was where he excelled. This was his calling, and he re-adapted frighteningly quickly.

The masses were arrayed all around him, a bewildering spectrum, but he commanded. The Fist was beyond him, but for how long? His ascension into the highest family was close, and he would be master of all. But here he was still part of the Sword. He was a _sapling_.

The West did not know what had hit it. He pumped the hilt of his _claw_ and puffed out his chest. This was what he was made for.

The drums were a stroke of genius, a relic of a glorious past. He had to concede that to Felip. They created tension, instilling pride in the Mandari and concern in the enemy. When the two sides finally engaged, the enemy were more malleable than expected. They buckled under the strain, even despite their numbers. It was remarkable.

Numbers proved nothing. Not when the will of humanity prevailed.

The enemy casualties were substantial. Their rear ranks were still assaulted by the archery, and lapses in concentration meant a steady stream of the dying. The front ranks too were dying, even the hardiest bastards falling to the quick steel of the Mandahoi. This was an enemy which had never experienced the rhythmic mastication of the Mandahoi-Mandari symbiosis, and it was chewing them up. It was too unique not to chew them up. The front-line was stagnating, the enemy holding back from the Mandahoi steel. They were halted, and while their rear ranks sought shelter, their front ranks died.

And yet there were so many. Despite the impressive bites being taken from the enemy, they still far outnumbered the defenders. This would be a long day.

But all was not well to the north. The fighting was intense there, and he could see that the enemy engaged with verve and purpose. The enemy had been more successful there, and they dealt with the Mandahoi threat better. A huge cheer erupted, and a limp grey body was heaved into the air, speared on a standard. The enemy jeered, and when the body was flung back into the Mandari ranks, a shrill cheer went up. His _saplings_ were falling, and he needed to act. He commanded, after all.

He found Hephesta in the field. Even his Archmaster conceded to his authority. This was his domain.

The path was obvious. This too was instinct, training, a lifetime of practise and development. He took the whistle from his belt, put it to his lips, and relayed a complex string of notes. It was almost musical, urgent in nature, and encouraged action. The signal ceased and there was a disturbance in the ranks. His mandahoi were going to support the right flank and the left flank would be weakened justifiably in response.

This was the obvious thing to do, and so he did it. It was logical.

Something flickered; a story of a butchered prince. No. Felip's burden must not be his concern. This was the logical thing to do. He found the commander of the Fist – his nephew; how strange that was – still in the ranks and safe. Felip would not be rash. But even if Felip was rash, he would intervene. The right flank needed support, and that was what he'd done. Ahan would succeed; Dusk would be turned; there was no alternative.

But his heart raced and his skin itched. Was this what it was to be the Body? He didn't like it. Is this what Xen had to deal with?

He shook himself. Such weakness was unforgivable on the battlefield.

He watched the grey heads spearing their way north, and exhaled. It was the logical decision, and logic was king after all. He flexed his knuckles, and they cracked. The future was becoming the present, and the path was clearing.

—Felip—

Felip could only watch on as history repeated. He pictured his father, the lone horseman with the dark drawing all about him, but it was not his father's face. It was he himself; the son. The same fate was drawing in, albeit on a different scale. The circumstances were the same; the Mandahoi had abandoned him like they had abandoned his father.

In some ways, he could not believe he hadn't seen it before. He was twenty-five, the same age as his father had been upon his death. His oldest son was six, the exact age that he had been, and his younger son was two – Anejo's ghost. It was a repeated moment in history, an echo from an age almost two decades earlier. This was his family's curse.

He needed to break it. He needed to make this right.

He watched the _saplings_ dart through the masses, an army of killers fleeing north. They were abandoning his flank; leaving the fight; weakening the front. The course of events was obvious, and the echo would form around him. The cracks were coming, and he waited, holding his breath. He had to stop it. He straightened on his horse, sitting tall and rigid.

"The mandahoi have gone north, sir."

Pel was beside him, looking up at him with wide eyes. It was a frustrating statement, completely lacking in necessity, but it was still true. And at least the words confirmed that he wasn't imagining this. What he was witnessing was not a deceit of his mind.

A confident army is a victorious army.

"Yes, Pel. The northern flank is in urgent need of support."

The truth was that the mandahoi had not abandoned the southern flank, but rather thinned their presence. The rhythmic assault of his infantry worked in spectacular union with the mandahoi, so what was his concern? He watched the checks advance, engage, settle, retreat, and advance once more. The sharp steel of the grey was biting relentlessly, enemy corpses littering their increasingly encumbered front line. Victory was coming.

And the northern ranks were struggling. The enemy pushed on there, and they paraded the dying mandahoi above their ranks. The weight of battle needed to shift, and the mandahoi had moved logically, but that wasn't enough. It lacked the human element. This current course was well and truly correct, but in his heart he couldn't accept this. Logic could never be the sole custodian of action.

"You don't need to accept anything, yet. The south holds."

He muttered under his breath, reassuring himself. The past had not yet unravelled. The historic parallel was straining, fighting for emergence, but so far at least it had not revealed itself fully. The south was holding. The position in the north was settling back to a rhythm. The plan was working. The internal conflict between logic and emotion need not be breached.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

Pel had assumed the words were for him. His stomach knotted for the first time, but he must be above that. He faced Pel with a falsified grin. He wanted only to watch and hope, to watch and pray, but he was commander. His staff looked up to him.

"An unfortunate slip of my mind, Pel. Nothing you need concern yourself with."

The horn-bearer looked up quizzically, but he was not one to challenge. Pel nodded obediently and turned to the action once more. He turned too, and his gut climbed up his throat. History was straining against its shackles; the battle-line was faltering.

As each check came into contact with the front-line, it needed to stay firm such that the pike-forged 'buttress' could be levered against the enemy's bulk. When the check moved back, revealing the mandahoi bite, it had to be as a single smooth organism. He looked on and the engaged edge of his leftmost check was being put under catastrophic pressure. In fact, the battle-line was not really a line anymore, but a buckling semi-circle. Such an outcome was disastrous for the whole delicate system.

The adjacent check advanced, consuming mandahoi, but the failing check stayed still and a single persistent battle-line was created. The line faltered further, and the trouble spread like contagion, impacting the checks further along. The whole battle model was faltering, and the south was failing. His father's fate was bearing down and the weight of inevitability was clawing at him. His heart raced, and there was only one choice. It was the same one his father had.

No, it was no choice. Flight was not written into his constitution.

He shook his head. He needed control, and he needed to grab the situation. He calculated the situation, looking for the path. There would be only one.

The breach in his line was coming from one place, and even by a single individual. He was a vast brute of a man who fought with a double-headed axe, and he was inspiring the masses around him. The dull weapon was flashing, the weight of it clearly not impacting on the man who wielded it. Each time it descended over the shield wall it came back fresh with blood and gore. His men were crumpling under the pressure, and they needed help. They needed more mandahoi, but the mandahoi were gone. They were slaves to logic, but he was not.

He looked on, grinding his teeth. This moment had meaning for him. It was a tipping point, the turn in the swing of the pendulum, and this man was significant. He was a commander, and he was a changer of things. This was a man who could turn a battle, and he needed his own catalyst against the momentum. His mind buzzed, and the only conclusion presented itself.

History repeated.

He kicked his horse, ripping his heavy sword from its scabbard and lofting it high above his head. Light reflected off the weapon, sharp and wondrous, and his men turned to him. He cried out, and screamed the name of his god and of his family. He shouted the name of his country, molten emotion flowing. His horse pushed forward and his words were echoed in the ranks, invigorating those he passed. He leapt from his horse, landing amongst the screaming mass of his troops, and he could sense the mood shifting. He was the counterpoint to the uncoiling failure. He must go, and he must avenge the memory of his father.

In a matter of moments, he was at the heart of the action. The battle hinged around this defining duel, and the axe smashed against his sword, triggering deep ache in his arm. The past was reflecting bright and clear and he was resisting, but battling fate was never going to be easy. He snarled at his enemy, and a space had been created around them. It was a private arena within the mass of two colliding opponents. It was his arena. He charged, bringing his gloriously balanced sword down. This was his arena.

The brute stumbled against the blow, dropping to one knee and steadying himself. His eyes were almost completely black, but they widened revealing a corona of white. He had a face of fiery red hair, and muscles undulated across his body. His teeth were rotten, briefly visible with the man's effort. The brute reacted, rose to his feet with surprising poise, and attacked with a flurry of aggressive blows.

The duel was balanced, but he had seen that the man was not invincible. He had tasted the victory he sought, seen its beginnings, and was encouraged. The effort of the fight lifted, ease spread through him, and his heart took over. He parried deftly and was quickly on the assault. His fate was reversing before his very eyes, and he smiled.

History would not repeat today.

## Chapter Forty-Seven

—Anejo—

The battle had taken its toll. Anejo was physically and mentally drained. Her body was light, her mind was heavy, but she continued nonetheless. There was only death, and the intent of death.

She had been hauled back through the ranks, given brief respite. Time eluded her, the passage of things passing at undefined and random rates. She breathed heavily, gulping down packets of air, and she looked to the heavens. The sun was high. It was near to midday.

_Mother Bright_! It felt like years had passed!

Enthusiasm leaked from her and she slumped where she stood. Her muscles ached, each one an entity with no power of self-sustainability. It was as if she was physically supporting the dead-weight of her body. Her shoulders slackened, her head wobbled, her arms swung gently beside her. Even her eyelids were heavy, teasing towards the comfort of closure.

But the battle was not won. There were too many of them.

The enemy casualties must be large, but it was not enough. It would never be enough. The defenders were immense, gigantic, a whole entity far beyond the sum of the individual parts, and yet the maths was still against them. The enemy numbers were too great and the momentum was shifting. The enemy was winning. The defenders of Ahan were like a well-greased siege engine: they would be magnificent until one piece failed. At that point, the whole thing would tumble.

She could sense a change in the collective about her. Something was amiss. The engine was faltering.

Concern stirred her from her shattered state. Some of the weight lifted. Not a lot, but some. She opened her eyes and scanned her surroundings. The infantry about her mirrored her state, but it was cleaner in them. It was the punishment of continuous physical exertion rather than her own extreme flashes. They looked back at her, those same eyes that betrayed such mixed emotions earlier. Now there was respect in the ranks about her. But there was something else there too. She could only imagine how she looked, but that was the nature of her chosen life. This was her: a blood-soaked monster. It sickened her.

Reflection, though, was a luxury outside her grasp. Something was wrong, and despite her lethargy, it registered. She did not know whether it was from casualties or something else, but her fellow mandahoi were in thin supply. The grey hoods were scattered throughout the front ranks, but it was a sprinkling.

The entire battle impetus was shifting. The machine was seizing.

At the extreme left flank, resolve was breaking. The check had been compromised, the straight line becoming a curve which the enemy was forging a splinter right through. Other checks were also stalling, the contagion spreading along the front line until the beautifully ordered pattern tended towards a single, sprawling mass. A battle-line. They could not win that fight. Numbers were king in that world.

There was real danger here, as the entire battle teetered. She seemed to lose weight instantly, and stood straight. The men about her shuffled. Something was afoot.

"Damn."

She was re-energised, but that was not enough. The hard reality was that there was nothing she could do. She scratched at her cuticles, scraped skin from her thumb. She was useless in that close quarter chaos. None of her skill, none of her ability, nothing that she valued so highly mattered. She would die in that chaos. Ahan was falling, and its safety relied on brave strong men. It relied on the infantry; the Body of Ahan. How wrong she had been.

At the thrust of the enemy resurgence, a monster was creating bespoke havoc through axe-craft. He was vast, a mass of fiery red hair and naked muscle. The damage he was reaping with the double-headed weapon was brutal. Yan was a powerful foe that she had somehow overcome, but that contest paled against this. This was a man of the wild, a killer, and a rabid psychopath intent on destruction for destruction's sake. He was single-handedly shattering their stubborn resistance, and for the first time since the arrows had flown, defeat was looming. They needed a hero.

It was not long before someone stepped up. Her breath caught.

She sensed a shift in mood, instantly recognisable. The impetus swung once more, and she searched for the source. It was near impossible to determine the details in the chaos, but she didn't need a lot. A single flag fluttered and approached the enemy's point of resurgence. Her stomach clenched, and she shuddered, biting her lip and tasting blood once more. Her lower lip quivered.

"Please no, not him."

The bodily heaviness dispersed, her heart started racing, and she tensed her body. Her weapon lost weight, and the blood-smeared length was delicate and poised. Her steel was ready and at her command. Horror flooded her; consumed her; commanded her. Her feet were taking her forward and tears stung at her eyes. The rate of her heart was painful, but she was focussed and her feet followed. She was heading for the splinter, for the thrust that drove the enemy on. She was headed for a private battle, for a duel of champions, for the heart of the conflict. She was going to save her family.

She walked on, and she watched Felip parrying urgently. He was being battered to within a heartbeat of existence. A sense of loss was crawling all over her, and she hurried. Felip was the heir she could never be, and Ahan would be lost without him. She had to save him even it meant conceding her own life.

He was too important. She saw that now.

—Keles—

Keles could not believe what was happening; the stupidity of it. Chaos stamped its mark on proceedings.

The north was stabilised, but the entire battle-front was stuttering; warping into a single solid line. That faltering was teetering on contagion, and their military elegance was in danger of descending into a single, sprawling mess of men and steel. There could be only one winner in that scenario.

The whole army was infected with a sense of dejection. Great deeds had been done for certain, but against those numbers it would never be enough. It was never going to be enough. Mortality crawled all over him. His ascendency was further away than ever.

Fortunately, not everyone was paralysed by inadequacy. There was life in the military engine yet.

The banners marched forward; the horns blared; the defenders engaged. There was a path to victory still, and the Body were taking the initiative. The enemy were focussing their efforts through a single pivotal point, and the Mandari engine was flexing back. They were pushing against the splinter. He watched on, admiring the bold move. He flexed his hands, cracking each finger in turn, but all was not perfect. Nerves tickled him.

He recognised the banner – the hammer and chisel of house Jinq – and he froze.

"No. Please _Sister_ , no."

Felip jumped from his mount and his golden armour flashed. Glorious. The men about him were charged, and the momentum was shifting. It was remarkable, and it was terrible. He was failing with every step the heir of Ahan took.

Of course, there was every chance Felip would succeed. He was a strong competitor after all. But when the flame haired monster emerged at the head of the splinter, it became obvious. It was a risk he could not take. He pumped his _paw_ , and made his move. He would save his nephew.

And then the parallels fell upon him. Felip's father had been abandoned by mandahoi, and here they were again. Was he to blame? He had followed the logical course of action, but was it right? He never doubted himself, not until now.

His _paw_ was unleashed, smashing left and right, bludgeoning any who were stupid enough to get in its way. Felip was engaged, upon a slight rise, visible to both armies and leading a private duel. The sun was high, he was sweating, and the enemy pushed forward in a rabid mass. The defenders were retreating. This was not how they fought.

Felip stumbled, and his breath caught. Fate was dawning, bursting upon them, and he had brought it into being. The High Consul had charged him with two lives – just two little lives – and the first was now teetering on the edge of existence. He forged forward, his brutish approach cleaving a way through the heaving masses, but it was slow.

Felip recovered, taking the ascendancy.

He breathed lighter. He was shoved from the side, and he stumbled in a slick mess. A great axe fell upon him, and he rolled away. He spun onto his back, and the sky above him was deep and blue. The defenders were backing away, and a dark brute stepped into his vision. The axe was not yet done.

And it was not alone.

His heart pumped manically, desperation clouding his immaculate mind. Indecision was the ultimate failing of a _sapling_ , but in reality he had already failed. Dusk roared and he feared that Felip too had faltered. Two kin, felled on the same field, and one did not even know of the other's existence. He almost wanted to cry at that. Almost, but there was not time. The semi-circle of rabid opponents drew in, and there was no way out. He had come close to his end too frequently recently, but there was no Kato here. He was alone, and he would falter.

He closed his eyes and the veil leached in. It would be eternal darkness soon. The sounds of battle raged about him, all the foul tones of human self-destruction. He had made a life from it, but the _Stranger_ always held the advantage. He cracked his knuckles, but they were silent. This was his end, and he had not even ventured into his true life yet. That was annoying.

He opened his eyes, and the axe descended. He hoped it would be quick, but he feared not. A memory of a fellow mandahoi hoisted atop a spear jumped into his mind, and the agony crept upon him. He must at least resist―

The _paw_ swept overhead in a brutal arc of destruction, and the scream that went with it speared his soul. Few could wield that weighty weapon effectively, but here was a mandahoi, lithe as a dancer, doing just that. Was this Kato come to save him again? His saviour screamed, a release, and it definitely wasn't Kato. His heart almost escaped through his mouth.

She was consumed by insanity, growling at the opposition, swinging in wild destructive arcs. She was slashing great wounds into the opposition. Her voice was demonic, and the enemy recoiled. Every step she took drove them further back, and every step she took was more astonishing. This was not his love, and yet there was no denying it. He jumped to his feet and took her in his arms.

The infantry were revitalised, and a mass of men washed about them, pushing against the threat of Dusk.

"What are you doing here?"

She did not look at him; could not look at him. Her chest heaved, but after enough beats of his own rapid heart, she melted. His _paw_ fell to the ground and she looked up at him. He looked back at her, and smiled. Oh how he smiled, even in this place of horrors. This was his princess, his woman, and she had no place here. He was supposed to protect her. He'd failed.

And he was supposed to protect Felip too.

And then he looked into Xen, and recognised the truth. It dawned malevolently upon him, and his breathing stopped. She was supposed to be in Altunia, but she was not supposed to be alone. He reeled, and his vision faltered. The sight of her charging wildly towards her brother was like a fatal blow.

"Anejo."

The fate of Ahan balanced on the edge of a sword.

—Felip—

God but this man was a monster. Felip's arms were full of ache, heavy and cumbersome. But his mind was sharp, and it was his mind that propelled his body; defending, parrying and attacking.

The masses roared around him, two encroaching oceans with their attention focussed upon this elevated private tussle. Felip was the focus of a thousand eyes, hundreds of ears, the hopes and dreams of two vast armies. He was the centre of a storm, the living breathing pivot, the game-changer. He was the difference.

The fight continued, every blow from the huge axe sending shudders through him. He would not concede, would not cower under the weight of the enemy, under the weight of expectation. He resisted, recoiled and readied himself. He was springing from the onslaught, frustrating the opponent who had a clear battery agenda. He kept coming again and again and again, like an analogy for the entire dark swarm. They would simply not concede.

Flashes of his father tumbled through his mind, snippets of the haunting past. He was like his father, a lone figure against a sea of dark enemies. But there were still friends here. The Mandahoi may have abandoned him, but his troops had not. And yet maybe he didn't need support. The path of retribution materialised.

His opponent stumbled onto a knee, and his axe was placed supportively on the ground. The red hair of the demi-giant was saturated with blood and sweat. His eyes were hungry, but distantly so. This was a beast who was fuelled by destruction, but he would not succumb. He was a wall. He was unrelenting, and the tide had turned.

He slashed across the face of his fallen opposition, revelling in the fact that the predator had become the prey. The double-headed axe, dripping with its filthy work, lay abandoned on the sodden floor and the beast scrambled out of the way. The duel was done. He followed his fallen foe and attacked. He was the hero, the Ahani champion, and he pounced on the deflated enemy and smiled. An old proverb popped into his head. It was a proverb of fate.

'Fate is the passage of linear outcome; it is unalterable.'

Damned timing that was. The fire-man's face spread with glee. The giant's arm swung, catching him across the legs just below the knee. He expected pain, but what he got was pure agony. An audible crack betrayed exactly when the bone splintered.

His head swam, his body lurched, and he was falling in a haze. His blade was forgotten, his shield abandoned. The giant rose up, a vast fiery ghoul with a sword clasped in its hand. His sword. The weapon looked small.

What was going on? His heart was weakening, and pain scorched him. The proverb rolled through his head, and he cursed his stubborn belief. His father's fate would stain him after all. He laughed, but coughed at the same time, bringing blood up. The last laugh had long gone.

The fire-man roared, and there was an all-consuming echo from the enemy ranks. All the giant had to do was finish him off and Ahan's resistance would drain away. That would be the end of it. The sword came down hungrily, and when the blade sunk through his stomach, it was almost ethereal. He arched his body, screaming in silent agony, and then settled to his oblivion. It was not supposed to end like this, and yet fate had long claimed otherwise. What would happen to his children, his wife, and his grandfather? And his sister. None were here, and he sniffed.

He rolled his head towards his defeated army, and a grey wraith burst from their ranks. He ignored it fleetingly, but was quickly drawn back. There was familiarity in the grey. His sister was here after all.

—Anejo—

Anejo erupted into the private place, screaming. Her brother lay there, dying. He looked her over, his brow knitted together. He even wrinkled his nose. Her stomach tightened, and she gritted her teeth. Vengeance settled, and she advanced, growling through the silver mask.

The enemy had his double-headed axe once more, and swung it with intensity. She ducked, but she was in utter control. The giant wielded his weapon with surprising dexterity, and she had to weave out of death's clutches. Her blade was a spectator for the moment, and the savage bastard sneered in frustration.

"Come on! You fight like a woman!"

The giant revelled in his crude articulation of the word 'woman'. It was an insult, and he leered in her direction, beady eyes twinkling. He was a crafty fiend, that was for sure, but his antagonism only fanned the flames. She was not her brother, and she would not concede. She was a monster herself, and she was without restraint. Not here.

Her foot took her forward where the beast clearly anticipated the opposite. Her head dipped below the arc of the axe and the weapon's momentum took her opponent. She shoved a shoulder at the leather-bound chest and roared. She was the lion of her caste. The man's beady eyes pinged open, and he stumbled back, but it was not enough. She sliced with her weapon.

He recoiled and retaliated, but she was the fury. She went forward with urgency and with a deadly purpose. The axe rose in defiance and swept down, but her claws were sharp. The tip of the blade pierced the clenched fist, and the hand spasmed. The double-headed weapon fell away lifeless. She pushed the victory, slicing at her crumpling victim, and when this was blocked, she rammed a knee into the unguarded groin. His face scrunched up, and he fell to the ground. He did not concede a single sound. He was too proud. This fanned further.

She stood over him, casting a shadow upon the grinning, leering, flinching face. He was still resisting. The giant struck with his uninjured left hand, but she slammed her blade down and sunk it through the uprising limb. The sickly grin persisted.

"Fight like a woman, do I?"

She screamed the words, spitting against the inside of her mask. She ripped her hood away, released her silvery hair. The astonishment on the face of her prey was glorious; revenge was a sweet tonic. She pulled the mask away, completed the reveal, and watched her opponent's reaction. His face sank. She spat in his face, watching the saliva mingle with the blood staining his cheek. She laughed manically, not caring how the world would see her. This was her moment; this was her time.

The moment had to end, despite the enjoyment she took. She breathed in deep, so deep, pulled her blade free, and it flashed in the midday sun. She planted steel through the gawping mouth of her prey. She pushed harder, harder, harder, until steel speared the back of the skull and into the soil below. She pushed further and further, ignoring the rattling echoes of life that came from her victim. Only when the hilt was in his mouth did she stop. The emotional consumption ceased, and the monster in her retreated.

There was nothing but silence, an eerie vacuum. Sixty thousand men and only silence. The world was her audience. She spun about, and the reality of her actions settled like the heavy weight of a manacle. What had she done? The girl who craved anonymity had made the ultimate spectacle of herself. She shivered, crouched, and tried to hide herself. Her brother was right. She was reckless.

She knelt beside him, cradling his head. Tears were flowing, unencumbered jewels of sorrow and embarrassment. How had she been so blind?

"Please don't die; I need you." Only now was she recognising the truth in this statement. How stupid she was.

His mouth opened silently, and then closed. Her brother's eyes went glassy, the life literally leaking from him, but even here he looked disapproving. She was a fool and a danger. She should never have been here.

But then, she would not have been here for him. There was never seemingly a simple truth.

"We need you, Felip. I need you; Ahan needs you; our grandfather needs you. You are the heir I could never hope to be. You are Jinal resurrected, and you must remain. You have to stay with us!"

She shouted at him, as if that alone could sustain him. He opened his mouth once more, but coughed. More blood splattered her, but this time it was Felip's. Her brother's.

She lowered herself, putting her mouth to his ear.

"Please."

There and then the breathing ceased. He was gone, and she was alone. The armies around her melted away.

"Come."

Keles was pulling her, but she ignored everything except her brother. Her dead brother. So many questions lay unanswered, so much friction lay unresolved. Now she would never know her sibling, not properly. The chance was gone. Why had she never given their relationship the deserved time? Did he really hate her? No, that was not the case, but now she would never know why. That carved a great hole in her heart that would never be filled. How could it?

"What was he going to say?"

It was desperation as much as anything, but there was no answer. There never would be. This was final. Keles levered her to her feet and put her face in his chest, and there she wept. Her near-brother held her closer than he ever had before, but it barely registered. She had just lost her true-brother. She went limp and let herself be consumed. There was no fight around her.

Her world was her own, and it was darker than ever. The Gathering Dusk consumed her.

## Chapter Forty-Eight

—High Consul—

Victory, but at what price? Rianja, Magister in Chief of the Jinq, and High Consul of Ahan, looked on. The precision order of the Mandari resistance was restored; the mandahoi were killing once more; and the dark tide was turned.

It had hinged on a vicious duel, a personal battle fought beneath the banner of his family. Beneath the banner of his grandson. From the reports he'd received, it sounded like the fight almost ended in defeat, but a mandahoi intervened. The enemy's teeth had been pulled – they were broken – but what was the cost? When the enemy did finally break, it was a glorious sight.

The whole dark mass shuddered and spasmed. The front ranks reversed, grinding against the rear files who themselves sought cover from the continuous arrow storm. The enemy wrung itself, devoid of direction, and then it snapped. The eventual flight was explosive, and beautiful. There were still thousands of them, tens of thousands, but they could not be coaxed on. They were done. They were beaten.

"I will be in my tent. When my visitors arrive, send them straight through."

His squire's broad grin twisted out of shape. "Sir. Can I ask what is wrong?"

"No. You may not." He needed to be alone and to gather himself. Tears were threatening, but he would not show such weakness. He had to be strong for his army and his people. And for his son. He feared that Keles was now very important.

It took unwelcome time. The battlefield was a big place, and it was full of obstacles. The noises were discordant and harsh – the victory cries of the majority; the moans of the dying; the sobs for the dead. He wanted to revel with the masses, but he couldn't. There was something unknown. Whatever the news, it would be painful. His reign had failed.

The victory chorus turned sober, and clammy silence embraced the gloomy tent. He tensed, part old age and part horror. He could wait no longer, and his feet took him to his nightmare. He swept from the tent, and the uncertainty collapsed upon him.

"Dear _Rhanna_ , no." His stomach rebelled, but he hid the discomfort. He was a leader. That was what it was to be a leader. That was what it was to be the Mind. He stared impassively at the deceased being carried slowly towards him. His mouth stayed tight and sharp.

Felip was lifeless; utterly lifeless. The giant frame of Keles cradled him, Felip's head and legs hanging limp. Like a doll. He looked for a sign, for any sign, but there was none. Felip was surely dead. The curse had struck.

Then he focussed on the other mandahoi. That wasn't right. That definitely wasn't right. His throat tightened.

Walking ahead of Keles, battle staining every part of her except her loose silvery hair, was Anejo. She was tear-stained, mud stained, blood stained, and foul. As a grandfather, it was mortifying. He wanted to hug her, comfort her, reassure her, and weep with her, but he also wanted to shout at her. What was she doing here? How could she do this? One thing had become painfully clear – she was not responsible enough for office.

It dawned on him, and his anger subsided. His world turned grey. Grey was symbolic. His lineage was gone, his granddaughter could not be trusted, and the success of his line – a line that carried Dara's duty – was snapped. Now his entire validation as a ruler rested with a bastard. Could he truly rely on Keles? The man had eloped with a _rootman_. This was a victory like no other. It was a void.

And Anejo was a heroine, of sorts. She was the hammer that smashed the anvil, the third Child of Destiny. And yet she was reckless. He wanted to cry. It was all too much. At his age, too. So little time.

Instead he sighed, and went back to his tent. In privacy, he permitted a tear which he quickly concealed on his sleeve. But that didn't stop anything. The solemn party entered, and he shivered. Anejo's face was misted with a fine coat of blood. It was on her lips and in her eyes. Her grey uniform was a ghastly shade, sodden with a cloying mix of sweat and blood. Her light hair looked out of place; an unsullied afterthought. He had failed her.

"I'm sorry, grandfather." He should have stopped her apologising, but it was too embarrassing. Too damning.

He stood and walked to her, his legs light and fragile, barely supporting him. He wanted to weep for his deceased heir, but he could not. His grandson was laid on his desk, and he stood straight, hands behind his back. He was still a leader. He would not show weakness. Not now. Not ever.

He took Anejo within his arms, and she slid into shuddering sobs, her face nestled in the crevice of his right arm. He would have to join her soon, when they were alone, but he must be the Consul just a moment longer. He must be a father for just a moment longer.

He looked at Keles, to his trusted Mandahoi General. This man had failed him, and he must now rely upon him. On his bastard son. The line was still complete, frail and precariously thin, but complete nonetheless. The fate of all Mandaria rested upon its execution, and failure was not an option. Two threads had snapped today, and the third must bear the weight. He did not know what to say.

"So, we have won."

Keles nodded. He could not meet his son's eyes.

Anger swelled in him, anger at this man in whom he had placed so much trust. But what had Keles done wrong? He had done his job; it was Felip's folly. Anejo was uncontrollable, and his grandson was damaged property. If anyone needed blaming, it was he as a father and as a grandfather. The pressure against his control grew, so he pushed on with the formalities.

"I rather suspect that the men deserve to celebrate a substantial victory. The price of that victory is something that we will have to consider once the corpses are cleared." He looked to his grandson fleetingly. "We would like some peace if that can be arranged?"

Keles nodded, betraying something heavy in his eyes. He regretted their father-son enlightenment talk, but he couldn't worry about that now. Keles could wait for his fate. Although, actually, one thing did need firm articulation.

"And Keles," his head jerked, "you will immediately sever all ties with that exile, Kato. We may have victory this day, but that night follows day is the very definition of inevitability. They will be back, and Ahan will need you." The rest was left unsaid. Not while Anejo was about.

Keles nodded, then flashed a look, something unreadable. Then Keles left the tent, leaving the two of them to their grieving. The canvas dropped, bathing the tent in gloom, and he abandoned his official station. Instead, he stepped delicately into his failed existence as a grandfather. The tears welled, dripping into Anejo's hair. In that moment, it was just the two of them. The victory outside was irrelevant. He hugged his granddaughter as tight as his frail old body could muster, and looked to the roof of the tent. "I'm sorry _Rhanna_. I have failed you."

After three hundred years, Dara's line was drawing to a premature close. Or was it? Not on his watch.

He squeezed Anejo even tighter, if that was possible.

## Chapter Forty-Nine

—Xen—

Xen was alone again. It was strange, being without Anejo. They had been in each other's arms ever since the fight, solemn sisters united by grief. Now Anejo was beyond her grasp, at least for a while. What strange people the Mandari were.

"What are you thinking?" Actually, she wasn't completely alone. Keles lay beside her.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"Do not pretend to understand me. You are not completely forgiven."

"Sorry." An arm emerged and draped itself loosely across her belly, stroking her skin with delicacy. Her body fizzed, and she smiled. But it wasn't her greatest smile. She was still polluted by her recent ordeal. She couldn't get it out of her head.

She spun herself over, trapping his arm beneath her body, and his easy strength pulled her onto his chest. His eyes were penetrating. She had to break that bond, even though it was fresh forged. She needed to understand him.

"How can you do it?"

He scrunched up his face, and the smile faded. "Do what?"

It was ridiculous, but she had never confronted him on this before. Perhaps she had grown. "The killing." A tear splashed onto Keles's bristly cheek. "The memory of it burns my soul."

It was about time she cried. She had been so strong for Anejo.

"It is battle, only that. It is necessary."

"That may be as well, but each of those victims had a face. They all had a history. They were accumulated lives."

He was cracking under the strain. "They were not victims. We are not murderers."

"But we are! Life is the preserve of the gods. What right were we granted to sever those lines with such clinical indifference? They were not just problems to solve. They were people."

He gulped, his apple bobbing up and down. "You must not think of it like that."

"But I can't do otherwise! Each murderous blow was not a single act of requirement. A life was ended, and a path of fate cut short. That burden must live with me forever."

"They were soldiers―"

"And we cannot hide behind a shroud of independence either. Each of those men were fathers, sons, brothers, lovers. What if it was me? Would my death be an act of necessity? Or would your heart be broken just a little bit?"

In some ways, she hoped he didn't answer. But this was a new Keles, a man she didn't yet fully comprehend. The silence stretched, just like the smile on his face.

"I would never let that happen."

Evasive, but still comforting. She slipped into the crook of his outstretched arm. "What next?" This was dangerous territory.

But he smiled harder still. "We will be together." He squeezed her shoulder, stroking confidence into her. "And I am confident that the shadow of secrecy will clear."

"What?"

"Honestly. I cannot yet tell you how, but we can be together in the open as a.... As a normal couple. We can be one." There was a pause in there which was telling, but she didn't know why.

"How?"

"I cannot say, I truly can't. Not yet anyway." His grin broadened so far that it almost fell off the edge of his face. This was not her Keles, but she liked him a lot.

"But... Are we not mandahoi?"

He stroked her hair with his free hand, flicking it casually. "You may not always have to be."

Excitement. So much excitement. This was beyond her wildest, but then it struck her. New Keles; new master. "What about him?"

Her heart accelerated, and her breathing sharpened. She waited for the obvious answer, short of breath.

His face hung once more. "What about him?"

"Are you weaned off him?"

"Xen!"

"Well, are you?"

His apple bobbed once more. "I would be amiss to ignore his wisdom. Ahan will come to accept him, you will see."

That was a no. "He'll get you killed!"

He shrugged. Shrugged!

"It is a dangerous world. And besides, he has knowledge of things that he should have no right to. I have seen a glimpse, but I have just scratched the surface. He knows things." He spoke of the man as some sort of god. It was annoying.

"I know things."

"Please Xen, no more. This is a condition of our future."

Well, that was final.

She rolled onto him, their naked bodies sandwiching a thin sheen of sweat. Her head lay on his chest, enjoying the slow rhythm of his heart. Her heart. She looked into the deep inky night outside the window, and her mind wandered.

"Poor Anejo." She wished good news on her closest companion. Closer than Keles? Maybe not much longer. She looked at Keles. The _Solemn Sister_ was painting his face.

"Is that compassion, or even sympathy I see? You are a changed man!"

He tried to laugh it away, but it was disingenuous. The silence hung, and his smile slipped.

"What is it?"

"Oh nothing. I was just thinking on Anejo. They must be about ready."

Oh yes, of course. The funeral. She looked at the black outside the window. It really was deepest night. This was the time when the _Stranger_ was departed, early morning in the autumnal stretch. The outline of the mountains was sharp while the moons stared down, but there was no light yet. It was not quite time.

And then it flared, in the distance. A brilliant flash erupted in the mountains, spreading elegantly and then dying back to a subdued glow. Felip was gone, and she sniffed.

The moments of silence passed between them, just the sound of breathing, the occasional sniff, and the disturbance of the ruffled sheets. The embers of the funeral pyre glowed, and that tickled her.

"Why do the Mandari burn their dead? And why have the ceremony at such silly times, in the mountains? It is a mighty hardship for the mourners."

Keles exhaled casually and flexed his fingers. Old habits don't die. "We are all Mandari, Xen."

But that wasn't true. Anejo and her family were from the isle – from Mandaria itself. Or at least their descendants were. Many of their customs had drawn into line with the rest of Ahan, but in death their separation was clear. "Why do they burn their dead?"

Keles seemed twitchy, which was odd. It was not a sensitive subject. "They burn their dead so that the cannibals cannot get to them."

"What?"

"It is rooted in their history. Look it up some time."

"But what about the time of day. Or night, even?"

"They do not like to bury their dead under the gaze of their god, and hence they say goodbye in darkness. They also avoid the time when the _Stranger_ is out."

"And the mountains?"

"The cannibals, Xen. Please, can we talk about something else?" For a man who made death his trade, this was strangely evasive behaviour.

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing." That wasn't true, but she suspected she would get no sense now. He would tell her in his own time. But she had her own ideas about the gap between the privileged Mind and the subjugated Body. It was something that had never got between her and Anejo before, but this night was different. A line was being drawn between them. It was only subtle for now, but it was there.

"Come now, let us make the most of this time. Tomorrow will be another day, and I intend to keep it that way as long as possible."

She smiled and kissed him. She had her bear, and that was all that mattered. And there was passion in the air.

—Anejo—

The night air was filled with burning remnants of the fire. There were subtle hints of city life in the distance, but the dancing flames were all distracting. The blaze had consumed her brother.

The ceremony was small – oh so small. It was always the way with Mandari ceremonies. This was a place where the Jinq of Ahan went to depart, a place where only the Jinq stood. This was the accumulated total. Her grandfather should have been next, but instead it was the heir. Felip would be a keen loss, not least because she was the alternative. She sniffed, hiding a snort.

Rissé was inconsolable, and her children clung to her skirts. It seemed cruel to bring those so young to such a morbid affair, but such was the Mandari way. Felip's spirit would watch this gathering, and he would want to see his children one last time. Besides, it would be good practise for them. It was a cruel world.

Her mother was there, along with her grandfather, but that was it. The consolidated total of the Jinq presence in Ahan. It seemed remarkably fragile. Why? There were so many questions. So many.

Not least those which plagued her. The three questions.

Number one: what was causing the fractious opponents of Ahan to unite together? Answer: The Gathering Dusk. That point had been rather spectacularly proven.

Two: how did the enemy get into Ahan? Response: the Nadari let them through, a point which she had thankfully unveiled. She was a murderer no more.

Well, not in the legal sense anyway. The recent battle with dusk still haunted her, and she had never managed to get the copper smell from her skin. She scrubbed viciously every night. But no, enough of the self-loathing. There were important political matters to consider.

What the two questions meant was shattering. It meant that the West was threatening, the North and South were dangerous, and even the East was not without risk. Friends were in short supply, and foes were lining up. The conquerors were fast in danger of becoming the conquered.

But that was not her problem. At least not yet. There was another question to answer, one that no-one else worried about. But she did.

Three: how had Kato known in the first place?

Silence. Only silence.

"Ohh..." Rissé wailed once more. She shivered at that, and her mother put a loosely comforting arm around her. The fire would burn a long time yet, until dawn, and the relatives must remain. They would stand guard, and fend off the cannibals. The fact that the cannibals were unique to the isle of Mandaria and had been expunged centuries ago did nothing to alter tradition. And nothing clung to death like tradition. There was no alternative. So she had time to think.

What was Kato doing there? Where was he now? She wanted to question the man, but she needed to find him first. Why had she not taken her chance to push him in Saphos? Oh yes, that was it. She had been immature and reckless back then.

Now she was mature.

It was the experience from the battle that did it. The things she had seen would not leave her even if she wanted them to. She was stuck with all that, scarred with the actions that had defined her. She chewed her lip again. She must stop that disgusting habit.

Dawn slowly crawled over the horizon, and a light drizzle infected the air. She pulled her cloak tight around her, shaking the worst of the moisture out of her hair. Her grandfather was still resplendent in his finest white. The clothes were thin, and that perhaps was folly for someone so old. But Rianja di Jinq was not one to let his frailties get in the way of his duty. He was a true commander.

The small congregation left the pyre, heading back to the city where they would start the process of the rest of their lives. The ladies and the children went first, followed by her and her grandfather. He pulled her to one side.

"Felip was destined. Do you understand?"

A strange start to a conversation. "Yes, grandfather."

"Well I'm glad you do, because _Rhanna_ appears to disagree. Whatever I do, providence seems to draw you into its clutches. Though your actions do little to deter this." He peered at her from under bushy eyebrows. "I do not know what your role is, but _Rhanna_ has purpose, and I am minded to let him have his way. He has got us this far."

High praise for their all-powerful god. She glanced at the great statue above Altunia, which was just visible in the dawn. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that your betrothal is off, although the truth is that I never actually had a chance to give our Nomej fellow the good news. You are a mandahoi, Anejo, and that is where you shall stay. But be warned. You must be my eyes and my ears."

This was too good to be true! She was being given her life back, and she nodded, smiling. Her grandfather glared at her, and she smothered her glee. "Yes grandfather."

"And you will be my hands, my whisper and my shout. We cannot afford to have a fractured nation, not in these times, and the Mandahoi must recognise this need. You will show them."

She shuddered. It was the cold, wasn't it? "What of my duties to Ahan?"

He paused, and rose up, showing off his height. "Your Mandahoi duties will be your duties. I have in mind to search out a more suited replacement for our departed heir." I trust you are not offended?"

What? Who? There was no-one else, except the boys who were years from responsibility. This seemed a strange place for such a revelation. Best to leave it for the moment. "Of course not, grandfather."

He stared for a long moment, and then ushered her on. He turned, lingering on Felip's burning pyre.

She descended the long track from the pyre, and gazed at the _Friendly Finder_ , the perky little moon that always hung in the East. These really were marvellous views of the wide sea. The _Father_ hung low and sombre on the horizon, and this charged her soul. _Father Fortune_ ; the Fallen; the Departed – these were all his names, but he looked anything but. He looked magnificent.

_Mother Bright_ burst over the horizon in a sharp instant, and the _Father_ disappeared. But he had left a poignant mark on her soul, just like her brother had. She would finally listen to his advice, now that he was dead.

##  Epilogue

—Frenk—

Dear _Solemnity_ , this was a boring job. Frenk scratched his arse. Wall walking may be uneventful, but at least that was a role where one was given space to drift effortlessly within a daydream. Down here, on the gates that guarded the Old Town, the task offered neither peace nor interest. Life on the gates was a constant barrage of interruption and tedium.

"Oi, you. Where's your paperwork? Pah, you can go back where you come from."

Cal, his fellow guard was more animated. He loved all this, the power it represented to be about other people's business. He was a nosey sort, always digging around for gossip truffles, and this work suited him. It also gave Cal the right to turn his social superior's away, a delight for someone constantly at odds with the injustice of their birth.

"Bloody scroungers, they were. They would've clogged up the marketplace an' all that."

He had serious doubts on that notion, but he did not say as much. The traders who'd been refused entry looked just the sort of people the Old Market wanted. A lack of formal papers was, however, an unforgivable bureaucratic error, and so entry was declined. It was an injustice for certain, but it was easier than the paperwork he'd have to complete in order to get them entry. It made his day's tedious work that little bit more bearable, and that was reward enough.

That and the fact that he didn't give a damn. He had other things on his mind.

"Good work, Cal. Keep this up 'n' you'll be a sergeant before long, like me."

In truth, he doubted that Cal would ever make sergeant. He was simply not smart enough. It didn't hurt to keep the troops rubbed up the right way, though. It made his life easier after all.

Cal was beaming, clearly dreaming of the pleasure he could work with those extra hammers on his uniform. Idiot. He grunted and fingered the embroidered signature of his own station – three hammers; a sergeant. He had to cover the grin up as something between a hiccup and a cough when Cal looked at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"What's up with you today? You've been right quiet, you 'av. You been thinking about that beauty you've got tucked up in your lair?"

"No I bloody haven't, and I don't have her tucked up in my lair." The anger flared. That was exactly what was on his mind. "I'm doing a favour, helping her out. It's the least I can do."

Cal smiled greedily and winked. The implication sickened him, and he shook his head, turning away. He was always thinking of her.

The memory of her heavenly form laid just below the thin sheet was more than he could bear. He flushed. If it wasn't for that damn kid who came as part of the package, he may well have tried his luck by now. Dear _Father_ , he was due a slice of fortune, and she would be the greatest slice of all. Unfortunately, the _Father_ was long gone. The _Departed_ hung faint and lifeless in the early evening sky.

"You saying you haven't had a dip?"

"No I bloody haven't! That's my sister-in-law you idiot, or does that not mean anything to you?"

"When something's that pretty, there ain't no meaning to nothing. I gotta give in to the little man." He winked callously towards his genitals, the crude idiot.

The truth though was that he wished he did have the low moral standards of his companion. Then at least he may have the balls to try it on, even with the screaming nipper on the other side of the room. Everyone needed some fun after all, and perhaps those close-fitting shifts she'd been wearing were a sign? Was he missing something?

"Well, she's my sister-in-law, the widow of my deceased brother. That is the end of it for me."

And that was the end of it. She was Cris's widow, the partner of his fabulous little brother who'd been born with the dragon's share of every conceivable faculty: wits, looks, intelligence, dexterity, build. He had been the darling of the family, the super son who was cruelly snatched from the world by a darkness which had since been spectacularly turned away by the Jinq overlords. Cris had had everything, including the flawless young wife who presently resided in his cramped quarters. She'd been evicted from her own house when Cris's income stream dried up. Now he had gained from his little brother's misfortune, only there was a kid in tow. Had Cris died just a year earlier he may have benefited with none of the downside, but the reality didn't stack up. In that child was the image of his brother, and that child denied his path to desire. He just couldn't do it.

"Sarge, this one's a stubborn little beggar."

Would he ever be left to himself? He supposed that a job where your thoughts were your own was no job at all. Damn shame.

Cal stooped over a young man who stood defiantly himself. The gates to Altunia's Old Town were open, but an open gate did not imply invitation. None would pass unless they bore the correct paperwork and the right image. Altunia's Old Town was the pinnacle of Ahan, and no detail would be left unchecked. He stroked the embroidered hammers on his uniform.

"Does he have paperwork?"

"He has this."

Cal turned over a document that was loosely rolled. It had been tied with leather chords, but these hung-open where Cal had already inspected. When he unrolled the paper, the writing within was of a beautiful construction. And it was crafted in the symbolism of High Mandari, a little used language in Ahan. Cal was squinting at the page and clearly couldn't read it. Idiot. He could read it. After all, literacy was one of the requirements for a sergeant. He scanned the document, marvelling at the delicate form of the letters, and then turned upon the young man. This didn't stack up.

"Where did you get this?"

"I was given it by Archmaster Hephesta."

"Pah, you little liar." Cal clearly recognised the name and disapproved of the lie. But it was Hephesta's elegant signature at the bottom of the document. This was worth its weight, and some.

"What is your name, and what is your business in Altunia?"

He shrugged, nonchalance where there should have been immense pride and a gleaming smile. This boy was no mandahoi.

"My name's Kun and I've come to make a life for myself."

"You won't find much in there. They'll spit you out even before you've decided what you're about. There's no room in Altunia for amateurs of anything."

That much was true. The Old Market was a viper pit of trade and dirty dealings. Only the hardiest merchants dared go in, and even then it was just the extremely fortunate who rose to the top. This young vagabond – and he looked like a vagabond too – would never survive, would never master the protocols. He suspected that this strange lad had altogether different intentions.

And yet he had a letter of reference from Archmaster Hephesta. Who was he to deny the word of the _sapling_ commander? The boy smiled.

"You'd be surprised what doors that letter can open."

True enough, and it was something he was painfully aware of. Who was this boy? There was something about him, something painfully suspicious. But his comrade clearly didn't sense the same thing. Cal was now digging around the bags of some other poor trader who did have the correct documentation. Ah! Of course. There was always another way.

"You'll let me search your bag? Common procedure I'm sure you'll understand." He stretched his hand toward his fellow guard. The boy looked edgy; like he was about to flare up. He tensed. He'd sniffed something out, and he wanted to dig deeper. He wanted to alert his commander, confirm the letter with the Mandahoi, and obtain a true identification if required. This boy was going nowhere until—

The scream ripped through him, and he spun around. She was running towards him, nothing on her feet, her nightdress clinging to her body. The sun was just up, illuminating her. She staggered towards him. Her golden hair shone in the morning light, and she looked the most beautifully entrancing thing he'd ever seen.

Only she was frantic, like a wounded animal.

"What's wrong?"

"He's dead, young Cris is dead. I went to wake him, to feed him, but he's not breathing!"

Guilt oozed through him. Just moments before he had been wishing for this very thing, rueing the fact that his nephew had been born at all. But now that it had come into being, he wanted to beat himself. The pain on the widow's face floored him, and he snapped like brittle.

She was dragging him back to the site of the catastrophe, and he followed. What else could he do? He was abandoning his post, ignoring his duty, but this was more important. The vagabond dived through the streets of Altunia, and he stopped and called out, but that was the end of it. What else could he do? Cris's wife had to be his priority, didn't she?

—Aran—

The Citadel loomed, and the great white avian was perched upon the suspended isle. Aran moved stealthily towards it, revelling in the near isolation of the early hours. It was a time he was becoming worryingly familiar with. Only the hardiest revellers were still up, those that layered the elegance of Altunia with its inevitable sordid note. He edged toward his goal, closer to the task that had haunted his scant and fitful dreams. He would succeed.

Silent, silent and closer.

The darkness that plagued his confidence had started talking to him, hissing from the depths of his ever-warping soul. It was gaining control over him, earning power by suggestion and promise. With it, he could do things he dare not do alone. He didn't need to fear anymore. He had succumbed to it on the whole, and it flexed within his muscles, massaged his mind, and guided his movements.

He gazed up at the imposing statue of _Rhanna_ , a white shadow in the black ocean of night. But despite its monstrous majesty weighing him down, he moved silently, carefully, and with purpose. That was the power of what lay within. He was going to do this.

The bridge...

The prospect of breaching the island citadel was daunting, a step too far perhaps. But he continued with purpose. He had been about the Old Town, investigating, and where the fortress was usually formidable, here and now there was a pass. The Jinal Bridge was still short of full repair, and although the building-site was locked up tight, there was a way.

The scaffold...

A complex lattice of wood and twine encased the entire structure, providing workers with uninterrupted access to the bridge from all angles. The scaffold was also braced against either bank, and that shadowed path presented him with his access.

He peered from the corner of a shop and leapt out, sprinting for the edge. He swung efficiently beneath the bridge, gripping the woodwork like some tree abiding primate, and within a heartbeat, he was scrambling across the suspended framework. His limbs were guided by the darkness, which whispered encouragingly in his ear. But there was a part of him he kept to himself. That was the true part of himself; what made him who he was before all this. He was making way for the darkness. He was making way for Kun.

Hsssssss... Weapon!

"Oi, what're you doing down here?"

He thrust a short knife deep into the neck of the workman. He could just make out the eyes in the dark space, the whites of them. Warm blood leaked over his hands, flowing down his arm and soaking his black uniform. He pulled the weapon away with a satisfying sucking noise, and sneered at the dying man. Then he left him to plunge into the rapidly flowing river below. The splash of the corpse was barely audible.

Ahaha, the joy! Oh the blessed joy!

A shiver went down his spine. It was the old part of him rebelling against the cold nature of his new form. But his former self was a dying entity, weak and withering. He moved on without pause. Blood soaked though his uniform, but it barely registered. His moral self was locked away.

Fortune touched him, the way being laid to transform fully. Waste pipes running from the Citadel exited beneath the bridge, their ugly purpose hidden from sight. Normally these would be barred with iron, a preposterous precaution given their precarious positioning, but here and now they lay open. He crept through, and scrunched his nose up. It stank in here. Waste shafts were also becoming familiar.

Saphos was where that had started. A lot had started in Saphos. He strained against Kun, and then died back.

Once inside the Citadel, it was easy to move about. This was a place that was residence only to the ruling Jinq family. It was vacated overnight. The growing temple was eerily still, tools laid randomly about. He moved through the shadows, slithering silently towards his goal. He was going to the imposing palace that dominated the eastern end of the isle. That too was completely still.

Of course, there were guards on the walls, but this was the time when tiredness dragged hardest upon those in all trades. Dawn was closing, the eastern horizon turning a hazy blue. The foggy eyes of those waking to a new day of work would be mirrored by the heavy lids of those who were about to end their shift. Only he existed in this early state, and he was soon skirting the high palace walls, searching for his way in. It was frustratingly closed. So close...

There is always a way! Keep looking.

Voices. The spoken word was something that had become alien, a rare breach in this time of semi existence. It slapped him. He went rigid. The noise was coming towards him. The tedium of the conversation was somehow dangerous, but he was ready. He was more than he used to be.

Your time, this is your time.

Purpose filled him, an idea melting from the chaos of his mind. He closed in on the white stone, ducked into a porch, and settled into the shadows. He looked around, searching with his hands as well as his eyes. He quickly pulled himself up the sides of the structure, clinging to stonework and wooden beams. The voices were closer, coming towards him. His heart stilled. It was time.

"When're you off?"

Silent, stay completely silent.

The other guard coughed. "Soon hopefully. These night shifts are like punishment."

Silent...

"Punishment? It's the easiest work in town, and well paid. You're too adventurous for your own good. You should take advantage of these shifts while you can."

The other guard tutted, but did not speak further. The two exchanged grunts and then went their separate ways. The adventurous one continued on his lap about the palace, while the lazy one came at him.

Then the man was below, his form visible in the barely growing light. His chance had come. He was silent, invisible, ready. The key entered with a heavy clunk, and he dropped like a wraith. The door swung inwards, and his victim fell to the ground with a dull thud. The throat of the guard was yawning. Warmth spread up the arm once more, but it was cold also, the chill of more murder. So much murder, but it was necessary. This was the price of retribution.

Go to her.

He slipped through the palace with no semblance of direction except his instinct. She would be high, her quarters would be prominent and well placed, and in such a building, the path seemed obvious. Moments later, he was stalking down a grand balcony. One side was open to the cavernous entrance hall, and the other was lined with dark wooden doors. This was his goal; his place; his victory.

His blade, an elegant if over-elaborate piece given to him by the young Nadari lord, was drawn. He was poised for action. Blood dropped to the polished stone floor, a soft patter. He moved with a stealthy quality, easy and threatening, and his guide was ever-present.

Here, this is it! This is it!

Two arrow straight blades were suspended decoratively above the door, which itself swung open with just a whisper. He entered Anejo's private rooms.

She was asleep, silent but for soft breathing. A sheet was over her, white of course, and her silver hair was fanned across luxurious pillows. He moved over her, smiling. Then he raised his weapon for work. He was ready, his other hand joining the first and strengthening the potential. This was his moment, his time to prove himself. He would rectify a wrong; justice would be done; she deserved this. She absolutely deserved this, and his weapon hung poised above her.

But the pure part of him disagreed.

She was the only friend he'd ever had. Maybe not friend, but close. How could he kill her? How could he end the life of this kind individual, this person who had given him warmth and purpose where others had ignored him? Yes, she may have neglected him on occasions, but he didn't understand the pressures of her life. It must be complicated.

Do it!

The hand wobbled, but only wobbled. The darker side of him was forcing it on, but he wouldn't relent. He had a heavy moral weight, but failure in this act would only worsen it. It would be penance, retribution, a fair price for a clean slate. But no, how can more death pave the way for cleanliness? Murder must surely be additive, and the burden of that would be too great. He would die inside.

Do it!

His hands quivered, a sign of his internal struggle. He grimaced. The darkness was winning out. He was weak, too fragile and frail minded. He had to concede. He had already conceded. After all, he had sought the alternative existence, and here it was.

This existence. This is what he wanted.

Victory! Now do it.

He smiled once more, and exhaled. The true part of him was being pushed further and further away, but such was his predicament. He had little choice. This would be done, and the blade dropped.

The sun tore through the light muslin curtains, blinding him. The weapon sheared away, and when he looked back, she was awake. _Mother Bright_ had done her damage. Anejo sat up in bed, staring straight at him. He resurfaced once more. He wanted to smile.

Kill her now!

The sound of alarm bells struck, a heavy clamour that smashed his control. Time was very much against him, but the contained part of him was resisting.

Kill her!

He swung the blade down, swift, sharp, and deadly. But it only struck steel. The high-pitched ring melted with the duller clang of the alarm bells. Anejo had her own blade raised, a weapon she apparently slept beside. Then the door slammed open and his time was up. Kun receded further, the darkness screaming in fury. His head pounded. He had failed.

And then he did smile. He had failed.

—Anejo—

"Who are you?" Anejo was sure she recognised the eyes, and yet they were nothing like she had ever seen. She should have been terrified, but it didn't come. She had her trusty weapon to hand, and there was a reason for that. How many people did she know that wanted her dead? It was not a question she wanted to think about.

Steel scraped on steel, that horrible grating tone that shears the body. She quickly pulled herself from her sleep-fog and was alert. He was an assassin. It was as simple as that.

"Who are you?"

Guards were creeping across the room, closing in, but her assassin seemed almost oblivious. He was smiling. He shuffled back, blade outstretched. Guards swarmed towards him, but his eyes were locked on her. He didn't look away. She recognised him, and it definitely was a him. Even behind the black _deadwood_ uniform, there was something familiar. Those eyes, they were almost inhuman. Something was different, and yet something was also oddly familiar. A dark memory stirred, but it was intangible, just a fleeting scrap.

"Stay where you are!"

With that one command, the assassin backed away, edging towards the balcony that overlooked the powerful river. She eased out of bed. Her nightdress clung to her lithe body, sweat coalescing on her skin. Her heart exploded, and the reality of the situation was hammered home. Someone wanted her dead.

"I said, stay where you are!"

The assassin was almost oblivious to the command, and the heavily armoured guard zipped past her. She returned the stare of the assassin guest, and her head swam. This was a _deadwood_ , the obedient right arm of the murdered Nadari Governor. This was a dagger from Jinqué. She had killed in Saphos and she had belittled him in Callij. And now he had tried to kill her in her own home. This was retribution of the finest vintage.

Only it failed. And there was something else. Something.

"If you don't halt this instant, I'll have no other option." The guard didn't elaborate on the other option, but it was quite obvious.

The assassin was creeping back, edging towards the stone balustrade of the balcony and the unmanageable drop beyond. There was nowhere for him to go.

"Stop now, please. Your defiance is misplaced."

Her heart was beating terribly, but she was steady. She walked towards him, easing past the tensed guard, but the assassin barely reacted. He had reached the balustrade, was cornered with a void at his back. Nowhere to go. The assassin had failed, and she wanted to see behind the polished dragon snout. She wanted to know the face of her would-be killer. Who was he?

"Defiance is all I have."

There was something dark in those words, and they stalled her. But she moved on nonetheless. Her polished blade was still before her, and the sound of her feet on the stone was the only noise other than her heartbeat. She had him trapped, and she would persist.

"You have nothing to gain from this. Hand yourself in, there is nowhere to go."

Time stretched achingly, each step bringing her closer to him. She could almost smell him, could touch his steel with hers, could reach out and offer her hand. She continued, forcing him back against the stone railing. His eyes flashed briefly over his shoulder, but he turned back and relaxed. He settled and sheathed his weapon. He was doing the right thing.

"There is always somewhere to go."

What did that mean? The assassin fell casually backwards, and tumbled to his death.

She rushed forward, leaned over and watched the body fall. She imagined the body striking rock and breaking upon the cliff-face, but the path was clear and the assassin struck the water with an almighty and painful sounding slap. No-one could survive that.

The balcony was crowded. Guards packed in, watching for the dead body to float to the surface. Two archers had their weapons drawn, a pointless precaution on two counts. She was caged by all the bodies squeezed about her, and she wanted to escape. She wanted to go to her grandfather and weep. Again. Her life was well and truly changed, and her breath shortened. People genuinely wanted her dead. She turned and tried to push her way through the bodies.

And then the high-pitched twang stung either side of her, and she spun instinctively around. Below, a short way further down-river was a black body floating at the river's surface. It was still and unmoving; a puppet being pulled by the run of the river. Or not. Her would-be assassin was swimming, and he was heading towards the shore.

"Get horses, raise signals, stir every man to the task. I want that intruder retrieved!"

The guards fled the room and she was alone once more. No-one had even asked how she was. It was her existence that mattered now, not her life.

And now there were two questions that were important: how did Kato know, and who was her would be killer? The questions burned bright. They were challenges etching themselves in her soul. Mother strengthened her grip on the day, but she shivered.

## Thank you

Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it, please consider taking a moment to leave a review at Smashwords or your favourite retailer. Self-published authors rely on word of mouth, so your voice is very important!

Thanks again.

James Hockley

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