When Silver Burned: Chapter 9-12 (Patreon)

9 - Children of War (INTERLUDE)

It was a windy, overcast day when General Silas Nevor arrived in the city of Parlest. He felt awkward in his casual attire, the weight of his armor that had become part of him absent. People eyed his sword as he walked through the crowds, no doubt wondering if he was a military man, or merely someone who didn't give two shits about the laws of Araz. In truth, it was both; he was never particularly fond of the weapon regulatory laws in this far region of the Ember Republic. It wouldn't stop people from carrying blades on their persons, only ensured that when a strike eventually came, it came from an unseen place. 

Once he had to ask for directions, but he managed to find his way otherwise. Terrin's home looked exactly the same he remembered; a large two-story house with beautifully crafted wooden beams that made it stand out from the regular brickwork uniform the surrounding structures wore. At the front, a small section was fenced off, empty save for a single cart with a bundle of animal hides on top.

Silas was contemplating whether he should open the fence gate and knock, or call out from there, when he saw movement from above. Up on the balcony, a young woman was leaning on the railing with her eyes on Silas. Next to him, a much younger boy had his back to the street, busy with something in his hands. 

Before Silas could shout a greeting, the girl jumped on the railing, caught onto the house walls, and proceeded to climb down, quick as a squirrel. She landed on the yard kicking up dust. Only after straightening her shirt did she address Silas, wordlessly raising a brow.

"Stairs. They collapsed?" Silas asked, hands clasped behind him. "No? I understand. You see, me and those devils don't get along much. We do not. A real pain on the joints." When he got no answer, nor did the youth come any closer, he reached out a hand as if trying to grip a ghost's forearm. "I'm General Silas Nevor. I've come to see Terrin Zares. Terrin. Good man, good friend of mine. Last I've heard of him, he lived here with his wife Mera and their newborn. You must be Cinder then?" 

Cinder was the splitting image of her parents. Wispy blonde hair, an athletic frame born of hard work, and searing eyes that only comes from protectiveness towards something one loves fiercely. 

Seventeen years. That's how long it took for a brand new life to turn into a woman. And it takes a single strike to take that all away. Silas shivered in the face of the shocking reminder, etching this moment in his mind so that he may draw from it in times of need. 

Dig the well now, dig before drought sets in, and dig it deep.

"General, huh." Cinder looked him over with a lopsided smile. "Could be a general, I guess. An Arch could also pay us a personal visit, and I wouldn't be able to tell otherwise." Her eyes wandered to the sword at his side. The pommel, in particular, which carried the seal of the Republic, one of the seven ever created.

Silas drew his sword with the blade facing him, handle extended toward Cinder. Seeing her hesitate, he grunted. "Come on, lass, while the invitation's open. These things, not everyday you get to see one of these. Use that head your father gave you. If I wanted you dead, I'd have brought a crossbow. Bloody things require pissant training."

Her smile never wavering, Cinder opened the fence gate and approached. She slowly reached out, brushing a hand over the seal. The genuine grin that spread on her face was a hundred times more bright than her previous expression. After another look, she turned her attention back to Silas. "Know any war stories?"

"I do. Stories, yes." Too many of them, Silas silently added.

"Alright then." Cinder nodded at last. "And don't worry about our stairs. On your account, I'll forward a hard stomp next time I come across them."

Silas followed her inside. The hall was spacious enough to contain said staircase, a set of doors leading to the dining room, with an opening to the study further back. In short order, he was directed to the diner and had his sword belt hooked on the chair he was seated at. He faced Cinder over the table.

"Your parents. They aren't home, I take it." Silas said, more a statement than a question. 

Cinder waved an impatient hand. "They should be back soon. But until then, I've questions to ask. Actually… One moment." She got up, dashed out the door and stormed up the stairs. No liar, that one.

When she returned, the boy Silas had seen earlier was with her. "Let me introduce my squire, Kalsin. I'm sorry, sir, but I doubt you'd be his match in a fight."

“I’m your brother, dummy,” Kalsin muttered.

Cinder just smiled slyly.

Silas looked from one to the other, wondering if he was being toyed with. The boy was nothing like Cinder, and definitely nothing like either of his parents. 

Where the family's mane ranged between Terrin's brown to Mera's blonde, Kalsin's hair was raven black. His face was angular and grave, or as grave as a young boy at his age could manage. But his most distinctive features were his eyes; cloudy gray so bright they were bordering on silver. It borrowed him an ethereal visage, as if he could stare right into your soul, and not be in the least impressed by what he saw.

Silas gave him an encouraging smile, one his subordinates wouldn't get to see in a lifetime if he had any say in the matter, and even his wives rarely did. He nodded toward the book held tightly to the boy's side. "Studying. Good, that's good. Apologies. I didn't mean to interrupt."

He wasn't great with children, but he must've said the right thing. Kalsin perked up. "It's not a book. Well, maybe it is, but I wasn't reading." 

As he was fumbling for words, Silas interrupted him. "That right? Let's see it, then."

Cinder snorted from the seat she'd thrown herself down at, legs propped up on the table. She watched the scene unfold with wordless amusement, as if the general just got himself caught in a bear trap without any means to disarm the mechanism.

Both younglings watched with rapt attention as Silas reached for the book, one with mischievous eyes, the other squirming. Wondering what the hell he got himself into, but playing along nonetheless, Silas propped the book on his lap and opened it around the middle. 

On the right page, two stick figures stood apart from each other, holding swords that were hard to differentiate from their arms. They were closer when Silas turned a page, but still locked in the same position. He licked his lips, stalling, unsure what to say. Searching for any good comment he could latch onto, he turned to the last quarter of the book, but coming up empty when he couldn't even tell the two stick figures apart, let alone from the swords they were supposed to be swinging.

"Ah. That's interesting. Yes." Silas said. He leveled a glare at Cinder, whose face was reddening by the moment, her shoulders shaking with laughter that wanted to burst out. For a moment he was worried he'd insulted Terrin's son, but surprisingly, Kalsin only rolled his eyes. 

"Just watch," he said, standing beside Silas. Then he bunched up the pages of the book between his fingers, and slowly started to let them roll from below his thumb. The stick figures came alive under his hands, clashing together in a theater that, while lacking the realism of true combat, was a fine artistic depiction of it. He could even make out when one of them pulled out a dagger, getting around his opponent's defenses. The fight ended in a rather dramatized struggle on the ground, and even with the childish exaggeration he could make out the squirming deathrattles of the defeated party. Or perhaps he was only imagining that last detail.

Considering the eye for detail that was required to create the little mock-fight, Silas found himself impressed. Dedication, no matter what form it comes in, tends to leave an unmistakable mark. His feelings must've shown on his face, because Kalsin was glowing with pride, shooting a smile to his sister.

"Silas?"

Silas looked over to see Terrin standing in the doorway. He stared at his old captain as if he'd seen a spectre, his expression mirrored by Mera who stood next to him. Both their once lean forms had filled out during the elapsed years, putting on a healthy weight that was the common price of familial comfort. Terrin's beard had grown long, and Mera's golden locks were flowing free instead of the bun she used to prefer. 

Silas stood. His hand instinctively twitched, but he held the gesture, nodding to them each instead. "Colonel Zares. Huntress."

As if his words were quarrels sent into a wall of glass, the tension shattered. Terrin rushed to embrace him, followed by his wife. Silas grunted under the pressure, but returned them with equal strength until it was hard to keep the smile from breaking up his expression. They assaulted him with questions that would've been considered improper back in the army, and he kept his answers short so that he could satisfy most of them. Yes, family was doing well. No, the city wasn't being invaded. Of course, he still held his position, though the chain of command had changed considerably.

Silas held up a hand, forestalling the onslaught and gesturing at the kids. "There, I've had the pleasure to meet your children." Cinder and Kalsin had grown quiet, observing the reunion from their seats. "Bright, the both of them. Bright. Just the right amount of wits and insolence, the exact features I wouldn't want anywhere near the Inner Line of Defense. Or the Old. Or anywhere in the army, for that matter."

Terrin laughed. "Good. With all respect, sir, I'd sooner decorate your backside with a ring of fletchings than to let you pit 'er together with a band of conscripts dodging law's arm."

Perhaps it was his imagination, but Silas swore he heard Terrin say 'her' instead of 'them'. No one else seemed to notice, however. He probably misheard. Those cursed ears. The gears of time spared no man. 

"Father," Kalsin said, his hands fidgeting on the soft cover of his book. "I've finished the drawings, and it’s a duel between a hunter and a disguised mythos. They fight to settle a feud between them. And treasure, too, sitting atop a dragon's hoard." He sneaked a look at his sister, miffed, "And, and a magic sword is also involved, I think."

"Great. That's great, Kalsin, can't wait to see it." Terrin smiled at him, but Silas could tell his mind was elsewhere. "Give us a minute, rascals, eh? Old people's got some catching up to do."

"Sure, Dad." Cinder said, standing with a mock salute. She took Kalsin by the shoulders, leading him outside and closing the door behind them. Silas could practically feel the heat from Mera's gaze burn a hole through Terrin, but the man himself didn't appear to notice—that much better for his health. He moved about the room, producing a bottle of wine and filling three glasses without spilling a drop.

Silas accepted the drink, only taking a single sip before putting it down. If it was a good harvest, he couldn't tell. He never basked in alcohol of any kind, not during a campaign, not even off-duty. A muddled mind? He just didn’t see the appeal.

"So. This place. Children. Hunting small game, eh?" Silas said, noting the various trophies hung on the walls. "Just as well. You and your obsessions. You still visit that shrine you couldn't keep your mouth shut about, Terrin?"

"No, place got overgrown a long while ago. Got better things to keep me occupied nowadays."

"Why are you here, Silas?" Mera asked. She had her arms folded, her glass untouched on the table. Silas considered her question, but she got ahead of him. "Is this about the mythos sightings we've been hearing so much about?"

"In part," Silas admitted. He was a prism with his own manifestation, far above the power of an abyss, and yet she could always make him feel like a bug pinned under a sharp knife. Nearly as sharp as the blades she used to carry with herself. He didn't let his discomfort show, though. He had a reputation to uphold, even among friends. The chair creaked as he leaned back in his seat. "Lately, our armies have been stretched thin. The East is under constant pressure, which, as you know, wouldn't be a problem in and of itself. We've dealt with the Veiled before, and even with weakened forces, we can continue to do so. For now."

"For now," Terrin echoed, not quite able to hide his foreboding tone. He shared a look with Mera.

"Letters. Mhm. Damned things make my head hurt before I even open them. Imagine. I'm sitting in the command post, boy comes in running with a letter. A wyrm infestation to the north, provide three nail battalions minimum, by the suggestion of His-High-Fuckin-Archness. So I call a good man of mine—overworld, mind you—and put him in command, then I send the units on their way." Silas waved his hand, as if batting away a fly. "So now there's a gaping, three thousand man sized hole in the Inner Line that somehow I'm magically supposed to fill. Naturally, I start reorganizing. Mhm. Then comes in another letter, this one about some damn-if-I-know sort of dragon burning up shitville and their neighbors, military support expected. Starting to see a pattern here?"

"A pattern that shouldn't exist," Mera pointed out. "Hunters should be more than capable to take care of the mythos problems. We were, in the past."

Silas snorted. "You mean those self-proclaimed opportunists? No offense, Mera, I owe you much. But first and foremost, it was always the military who shielded humanity from the monsters at our gates. Not the Civil House, not the Arches, and certainly not your past vagabond associates."

"Show some gratitude, Silas." She said with a shake of her head. "You know hunters work for free."

Silas suppressed a grimace. An argument as old as time itself. Technically, yes, hunters worked for free, but instead they helped themselves to whatever wealth the mythos' victims left behind. Graverobbers, the whole lot of them. "Be that as it may, the increased number of non-humans wasn't followed by an equal number of hunters to match. And there's no guarantee the incline is stopping any time soon."

Mera switched tactics. "I never took you for someone who danced to the tune of the Civil House, Silas. The Arches—aside from their personal little pretend-armies—have no legal jurisdiction over the military. Never have."

"See how you specified 'legal', hm? Well, legality nosedives through a three-story window when it's the lives of innocent citizens in mortal danger. Pure politics, I don't rightly care about, but the safety and goodwill of the Republic’s inhabitants is another matter. The common man pays taxes threefold; to the Civil House, to the churches, and to the military. Three systems of power in which they can decide to put their trust into, to defend them. I can't afford to lose the support of the population, and the Arches know it."

Terrin absorbed it all in silence, tapping a finger on the table. A war of his own raged in his eyes, and Silas could understand the origin of his conflictions. Terrin looked out the window, eyes on the cart and hides resting on top visible under the gray tinted sky. "Look, I'm sorry but—"

Silas pointed at Terrin, interrupting him. "I need my best men. The best. Flattery aside, you're one of them, even if your surge only reaches root. The fight, it's moving to too many fronts. You could make a real difference there."

"Really. Really?" Mera said. "That was your plan? Barge in here after nearly twenty years of absence to wave your flag of righteousness in a call-to-arms, expecting us to leave behind friends and family."

Silas didn't take his eyes off Terrin, waiting.

Seeing her words find no foothold against the general, Mera turned her attention to Terrin, stepping behind his seat. She smoothed a hand over the back of his neck, caressing. "Don't tell me you're considering it, dear." Silas barely restrained a shiver. He failed to see the appeal of a significant other who might slit your throat on a whim. He even felt a whiff of the abyss' morale-influencing surge.

Terrin took Mera's hand in his, kissing it. His words were directed at Silas. "I miss it, you know. The fights, the danger. But my responsibility rests with my family now."

"I understand," Silas said. He’d expected their refusal from the start.

He received a look of surprise from them both. Their reaction nearly made him laugh. "You served me well. A strong sense of duty never fully disappears, only shifts to other things. Of course. Yes, I understand. Children, hm? How old are they? If memory serves, your eldest should be seventeen by now. Has the looks of her father, she does."

"That's Cinder," Terrin grinned. "You just missed her birthday a week ago. We rented an entire tavern for the evening, free drinks, threw one hell of a party."

"And the other, Kalsin? What is he, ten, eleven?"

"Nine. Good kid. Smart, eager to help out." Terrin hesitated, something clearly nagging him. Mera picked up the thread. "We're just a little worried. Kalsin hasn't come into his surge yet."

Silas raised his brows. Strange. The first stirrings of the surge usually appeared around the age of seven, the sense fully developing by the time of puberty. It was a basic part of humans, just like having two arms and legs.

He let the thoughts disperse. After all, his question served a different purpose, one that might help him salvage the situation. If duty shifted once, it might shift again in the future. "Raising your kids is a higher priority for you than anything I could offer, and I respect that. I do. So you will raise them. They'll grow up. Like all adults, they'll find something to do, as independence dictates. Once that happens, I'd like both of you to join me as leading officers."

He waited. It appeared as if the world was holding its breath. Terrin was absently stroking Mera's hand, who in turn was standing with her lips pursed.  "We're not the fighters we used to be," Mera said quietly. "And years from now, we'll be even less so."

"I don't need you to fight. A root and an abyss? No, your surge isn't what I need, I've overworld under my command. What I need is people I trust to get things done. Nothing more."

It wouldn't be easy to convince them. But there was a chance. Sometimes an idea only needs time to take root, waiting for the harvest later down the line. After all, people seldom want to die a meaningless death, and so he trusted each elapsing year to make his offer more and more appealing.

At any rate, he'd done all he could do. Silas stood, fastening his sword belt with brisk motions. "Think on it. If I still happen to be wasting good air and not feeding the worms, visit the nearest military headquarters. They'll expect you, and they'll know where to find me."

An hour later Silas was walking out the city gates. His job was done, onto the next. It went about as well as he could expect. He hoped they would come around, eventually. 

But even as he went, as he made his way through the throngs of people shifting in and out of the city, a pair of silver eyes remained in his mind like an unsolved puzzle.

10 - Prodding in the Bright

Kalsin never really pictured what the heavens could look like, but if the gods allowed him a peek, this certainly wouldn’t be it.

He could just make out Jack's group ahead of them as she marched with her éj-lantern held high no more than a dozen feet away. The world was awash in shades of gray in the rocking lantern lights, dark glass sucking in lucent rays and leaving an aura of relative darkness that shielded their sight, weakening toward the edges. When Kalsin accidentally jerked his arm and the lantern swayed, it almost borrowed the radiance a fog-like quality. Except the air was cold, dry, and his eyes started watering if he stared into the white wall for too long.

The boy, perhaps a decade younger than himself, kept close to Kalsin with his teeth picking at his lower lip, shooting glances at the lantern as if to reassure himself the protective dark remained in place. On Kalsin's other side, a little farther walked the old man, and even half-leaning on his daughter he seemed to have trouble keeping up. His skin was pale, sockets gaunt, graying beard painted white entirely under the light and putting another couple of years on his already ancient visage. The girl with features similar to that of the boy, carried not only the old man, but also a weight of responsibility that made her look the senior of the two.

Treyant dictated a quick pace ahead, her hive’s morale-boosting surge spiking in their minds every few minutes like a mental banner to rally around. When the old man stumbled a step, she must've sensed it because their pace slowed a notch and remained from there onward.

Kalsin lowered his arm holding the lantern for a moment before raising it back up. "Sorry," he said when the boy flinched. 

The boy muttered a reply and Kalsin smiled. It wasn't even on purpose. His arm felt like a lead lever just begging to be pulled.

"First time out during Blindlight?" he asked, stepping over a hole in the stone paving.

Again mutter was the answer, though somewhat louder. Kalsin looked toward the older man with a concerned frown, asking if they needed help without asking, and received a mute stare from the girl. Negative. 

Kalsin shrugged at the boy. "Here's a few pointers that helped me in my earlier days. Your head, better if you keep it angled downward. Peering into the light will only give you a headache, and that's the best case scenario. Sounds boring, hm?"

Kalsin pointed at the road. "See the cracks in the paving? There's something I want you to notice. Watch it closely."

They walked for a good five minutes before the boy broke his self-inflicted trance and asked. "What is it?" When Kalsin let out a laugh, the boy was confused only for a moment before understanding dawned. He smiled. "Oh."

"Distracting yourself usually works for a while, but I have an overeager imagination. When I grow tired of numbing my mind with one thing, I move on to the next. The guessing game is an old favorite of mine." Kalsin closed his eyes for a second, as if thinking hard. "I make a prediction. Like, how long until we need to turn a corner? Or, in exactly sixty seconds, is the ground going to be a darker or lighter shade of gray?"

"You travel during Blindlight a lot?"

"Have to," Kalsin said. "In the delivery business, clients are rarely reasonable. Late package; partial pay. But I've found the best method is talking—provided you've a companion at your side. Out during Blindlight is a good time to settle differences. Words might get heated, but people aren't suicidal enough to follow up with fists. If the lantern’s glass breaks, it's over."

The mention brought the boy's attention back to the éj-lantern. He studied the darkly pulsing sphere for a while, and Kalsin studied him in turn. Fourteen at least, seventeen at most. The brittle light of curiosity about the world hadn't been snuffed from his eyes yet, and Kalsin envied him. Keep it, treasure it for as short as it lasts.

"Not everyone is out to get you, you know," Kalsin said quietly. 

The boy stared at him for a moment. He had an uncertain look to him. "I don't—"

"You do," Kalsin interrupted, but smiled to lessen the strain. "Is it your father? Sister? They protect you, so you feel it's your responsibility to protect them in turn. But hiding things from everyone will only make them more prone to dig in, even if they have nothing to do with it. You don't want that kind of attention. You don't want the weight that comes with it."

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Of course you do. I do as well. Everyone who takes the services of a darkfinder does."

Surprise colored the boy's voice. He looked askance at the girl, whose wary eyes kept on the ground despondently. "Really?" he asked.

"Mhm," Kalsin said. "But the thing you will learn is that people are selfish creatures. Some good, but ultimately selfish. So when you talk about your troubles, they all listen, but really, they don't care much. Not unless they get something out of it. Even if that thing is a mere sensation.

"Now, don't look at me like that. The point I'm trying to make is not a bad one. The opposite, really. Our main concern is ourselves, but we crave companionship. It's a truce. It's a bargain. You and I, we have no connection whatsoever, no involvement between our lives other than this short trip, and yet we utter words from our mouths to give an outlet to feelings that want to break free."

"Don't trust you." The girl said. She had closed the distance and was walking with the old man leaning on her. 

"I was to deliver a package to one of the overworld. Spark," Kalsin said. Making up stories came easy to him from the years and years of practice. "He didn't like it much, so he tried to take out his frustrations on the nearest soul, which was me. Happens once in a while, but I've no clue how my employer thought sending a Scarrd into a Clenn residence was a good idea. Wealthy, too. He has resources that I cannot evade easily. So here I am, several month's wage gone in the 'finder's pocket and will probably receive no compensation from my boss."

Though the story was a complete lie, Kalsin found it strange that it felt good to get the fabrication off his chest.

"Julien would've liked him," the old man suddenly replied. His speech stopped for an erratic breath. "Are we getting ready for the weekend festivities, Olu? We can't afford much else. Vault's near empty. No. It's so... it's so bright in here." He squinted, then faltered a step as the girl grunted, righting them both. She shushed him not ungently, then noticed the boy's questioning look. 

Eventually the girl addressed Kalsin. "Ours isn't a big secret. Father is sick. Broke his surge when he tried advancing to hive."

Kalsin held back a wince at that. Advancing wasn't a simple task. It was a risky, days-long affair to attempt, and it was rare. Maybe one in a thousand ever tried to advance, and even less succeeded. He took a closer look at the old man, and he could see it. The way his eyes rolled, he focused on one thing that appeared as if he completely forgot about it, then a minute later his pupils widened as if seeing it for the first time. He'd been a rot, but he wasn't in control of his mind-enchanting surge anymore. He had become a victim to it.

"I'd imagine it hasn't been easy," Kalsin said.

"No," the girl said. "But the real problem came from a loan our family had taken a year back. Father, he..." She trailed off.

"Rot business can lead to dark places. Nothing new." Kalsin nodded. "Information brokers? Mob bosses? Spies?"

"The second. Long story short, we couldn't pay it back in time, so father tried breaking through to hive. We would've had a better ground to stand on, we thought. Financially, too, with a better paying job maybe."

"But it didn't work out," Kalsin finished her story. The old man failed his advancement, he went insane, and they gathered what little they had to pay a darkfinder and flee the city under Blindlight. "You have no family to help? Distant cousins, anyone?"

"No. Not in Grenstel, at least."

Kalsin lowered his lantern for a second to reach for his belt. 

"No need for that. We have enough to start again, and then, I guess we'll see where things go," the boy spoke up. "You were right, though. It does feel nice to share."

The weather had gotten colder, and Kalsin felt his fingers tingle with reluctant numbness. They went on the side of the road, nothing but whiteness on the left, a sturdy iron fence running with no end on the right. A cemetery, if Kalsin had to guess. While he was unfamiliar with the city, Treyant led them as if she could've found her way drunk and with her eyes shut. Every minute or so her hive surge tapped their consciousness without expending energy to bolster or undermine morale, which was the main strength of hives and abysses. Her technique was so subtle that she probably could keep up without tiring for days. It gave them no comfort, but accomplished the primary purpose of pinpointing the darkfinder's exact position ahead of them.

Though Kalsin had already made up his mind, he still wanted to make sure. "You've lived in Remallon for long?" he asked the boy.

He nodded. "Since I was born."

"I've had another message to deliver, but I never got around to it. It's for the azTél family."

He observed their reactions closely. 

But no such luck. 

"Never heard of them," the boy said with a shrug.

"Well, I'm sure it's not that important," Kalsin said.

With agonizing slowness, Blindlight continued its ascent above the city. 

Three targets out of the picture. Nearly a third of their time gone.

11 - The azTél Siblings

They were standing in front of, according to Treyant, a safehouse right at the edge of the city. They could only see a harshly chipped wooden gate and the suggestion of a gray wall stretching upwards toward the sky, the rest of the building outside the bounds of their vision. 

"We'll rest here for a spell," Treyant said. "Need to be fresh if we're to climb the walls."

"It’s getting late already?" asked one of the women in Jack's group, pulling on the reins of her blindfolded horse.

When Blindlight dominated the sky, it remained hanging there without pause, with no cloud able to obscure its ungodly radiance. Nights were exactly the same as days, and unless you had an extraordinarily developed sense of time, it was impossible to tell one from the other. Even your own body betrayed you as the headaches and bleary vision from the radiance’s exposure blurred together with natural tiredness until you couldn't tell which was which.

Treyant walked up to the gate with key in hand. "No more than five hours of sleep. Stay indoors, keep the shutters closed, and be ready when I return from preparing our passage."

Kalsin's eyes had to adjust to the dark inside the safehouse. When the last of them filed in and the gates closed behind, he could barely make out hanging armor racks and spiraling stairs. A spacious, out-of-use stockpile tower. The darkness was a refuge that soothed his overstrained senses. 

A hand squeezed his arm and it took Kalsin a few moments of rapid blinking to notice Jack back at his side, towering over him with that familiar, protective presence.

As if obeying a silent agreement, each group dispersed to explore and search for an isolated spot they could call their own for the night. A few of them stumbled, still disoriented. Kalsin and Jack took the uppermost floor. Dust caked the low-grade spears lining the walls, and the cold, hard floor offered little comfort under their bedrolls. On a positive note, at least the ground was even, a luxuriant rarity for those who spent most of their days camping in the wilds. 

Following a short meal, Jack stuffed her legs under the covers and stretched against the wall at her back. She began untying the knot holding her hair, then pinned Kalsin with an expectant gaze.

"Not our people," Kalsin said, keeping his voice at a comfortable murmur. "Runaway family with a debt they couldn't pay. Not a particularly believable story, at least no more than any other, but the story itself makes no difference. The important bit is that they weren't lying. Not about their past, and not when questioned about the azTéls."

Jack tilted her head sideways a fraction.

"Yes, I'm sure. As sure as I can be. The boy was easy to read. The girl less so, but you know I would've seen any deception thrown my way even from liars by trade."

Kalsin unclasped his sword sling and placed the scabbard next to his bedroll. His movements came sluggish as he laid down, both from a day speared by Blindlight's intensity and the mending of his arm. He checked the bandage. Still adequate. The neat surface wounds posed little trouble.

He felt Jack’s concerned gaze on him, lingering in the corner of his vision as if poised for an invitation to help. He pretended he didn’t see it.

"What about your end of the alley?" Kalsin asked, glancing up.

Jack slowly finished untying her hair, the long mane falling down one shaved side. She then shrugged and gave him a salute-like gesture.

"So it's not them either. They're soldiers?"

Another headshake. Jack thought for a moment, then put her hands together and bowed with a reverent expression, which proved an amusing performance considering she was a giant bundle laying with her back propped up.

"Ah," Kalsin said. "Never would've guessed they were the religious types. Followers of Hadúr, yeah?" 

The god of conflict was a popular one among hunters and fighters, soldiers and mercenaries; those who risked their life on the daily. The deity wasn't heralded as an evil warmonger, however. 

Hadúr encompassed the ideology of the necessary resolution between death and life, war and peace, how one cannot exist without the other. Some considered him a safe middleground between the law-abiding, all-knowing Tűzmother, she who created Warmlight to illuminate the necessary known, and the shrouded mystery of Vadász, bringing forth Blindlight to safeguard that which must never be revealed.

To the church, the gods were a means to coerce money from the common Scarrd, a fee that allowed them entry into Éden during the afterlife.

To Kalsin, the gods were just another set of variables by which people defined themselves.

"Could be a front. Are you sure their involvement is completely out of the frame of possibilities?"

Jack touched her mouth while arching her brows, then lightly brushed the scar on her jawline.

Kalsin stared, then tore his eyes away from the nasty sight. He cleared his throat before speaking. "That couldn't have been an easy topic to bring up." If someone asked him about his scar, Kalsin would've turned their nose into tissue paste. That, or flee and hide in a corner until he bottled it all back up.

With a not-a-big-deal wave of her arm, Jack mimicked a flapping mouth with her hand, grinning. They didn't mind her question, then. Opposite, they had been content to share.

"Huh. Never thought about it, but I suppose it makes sense. Belief in Hadúr could very well solidify the acceptance of duality between Clenn and Scarrd. Content with their role. Wouldn't take a cure if offered on a golden tray."

Jack brushed her hair in a deliberate way, making it spill forward and down one side of her head in a way that covered her scar. Face downturned and her dark eyes on him, she made a small beckoning gesture.

“I’m fine.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Kalsin let out a breath and scooted a bit closer with his bedroll, close enough for their sides to touch. Jack didn’t wait for him to offer—she immediately reached out and put his arm in her lap.

Kalsin scoffed. “Look, it’s all white and bloody immaculate. Satisfied?”

Jack ran a gentle hand across the cloth a few times. 

Kalsin looked away. Though he didn’t retrieve his arm on instinct. 

Her idle touches felt… soothing. Soothing enough to let exhaustion slowly take over as he laid there in the darkness. Somewhere far away, he was aware of Jack's watchful presence, and wondered at what point along the way her company had morphed into a rock solid shield he surely couldn't continue without. 

Did she truly believe in their cause? He'd been clawing at the possibility of redemption for himself, for Cinder, but all they had seen so far was the coins looted off dead bodies in their paths. If this lead failed and the destination turned up empty, he'd have nothing. Nothing but wasted years for himself and, even worse, for the only people who cared enough to follow him. 

He felt like he'd barely closed his eyes when Jack shook him awake. The tower was rousing, the sounds of creaking planks and thudding boots coming from below. Kalsin kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, gathering all the energy before having to leave the island of solitude once again.

With Jack’s large silhouette protectively looming behind him, he made his way down the steps and joined with the others at the entrance.

Treyant stood there, and with her signature brisk manner announced it was time to leave the city. The prospect seemed to bolster the spirit of many among their numbers. He caught a relieved smile shared between the two kids at the old man's side.

Kalsin turned to observe the couple, also aware of the cowled priests nearby. He needed an excuse to go along with one of those groups, and preferably arrange Jack to go with the other. For once, fortune seemed to smile upon him, because he was approached by the man and woman in hand. 

Kalsin reflexively scanned for their scars again, and found his mood stained by irritation when he couldn't spot them.

"Excuse us. If we could borrow a minute of your time?" the man asked. His expression was hard to see in the dark, but his voice was friendly enough.

Kalsin extended a hand in greeting. The man matched his grip as the woman stared at him, then quickly looked away, unable to stomach the scar nestled between his ghostly bright irises.

"I'm Áron, and this is my fiancée, Erazza. We were wondering if you were willing to sell us your éj-lantern."

Over their shoulders, Kalsin could already see Jack orbit around the cowled figures like a bee detecting honey-potential. He tapped the glass hanging on his belt with a frown. An offer to buy his lantern? It was an odd request. One he wouldn't accept in a hundred Blindlights, but that was best left unsaid. "Why, if you don't mind me asking. Are you not satisfied with Darkfinder Treyant's service?"

"Oh no, we knew her from before. Friend of a friend," Erazza said. "She was the one to make the suggestion, actually. Our destination leads us away from her planned route, and we're in something of a hurry." She shifted the satchel on her back. "We can pay in hard coin."

"All lined up? Good, we're moving out," Treyant's announcement interrupted them. She pushed the gates open to let in a sense-incapacitating radiance. The éj-lanterns automatically gathered the incoming light and reflected it, creating gray bubbles of mobile refuge. Kalsin took his place at the end of the procession with Áron and Erazza in his circle. He didn't give a definitive answer to their proposal. Better to string them along.

They stepped out and continued their advance through the white expanse like razor in endless butter. The glare of Blindlight was harder on the senses this time, having ramped up after prior exposure. Though Kalsin kept his head down, he had to blink rapidly against the eye-strain and massage his temples. It hadn't been a minute since they left behind the safehouse, and he was already on edge.

"I never caught your name," Áron said. Kalsin noticed him observing the sword at the small of his back with a blank, unguarded expression. 

A bout of impulsiveness told Kalsin that such a blank expression would be a perfect, clear canvas to stir some waves upon. Time was running low. So he decided to take the risk.

"Kalsin azTél," he said, making the split second decision. The effect was instantaneous. 

A flicker of abject shock registered on Áron's face, eyes widening. It then shifted into terror as he realized they both knew he just gave himself away, then locked adamant with a stubborn token of resistance. Erazza, for her part, was much harder to read. If it wasn't for the subtle alteration of her stance giving her easier access to the hatchet holster at her side, Kalsin wouldn't have guessed she even heard him.

Kalsin shrugged apologetically without slowing his walk. "Fair play, you caught me in a lie. The real name of my family is Zares, but that's not a road I want to mud through anytime soon. Nobody wants to hear a sob story."

They didn't utter a word. Of course not. Those unaffiliated wouldn't have reacted to the name at all, carrying on with the pleasant discourse as usual. But Kalsin had caught them off guard, and now he knew the pair was involved with the azTéls, and they knew that he knew in turn. But they didn’t know what he knew. Which made him a threat.

Maybe that headache wasn't related to Blindlight after all.

"They're after you, the law," Kalsin said, voice turning serious. "The collector of Remallon, Quin, is leading the case. He received intel that heretics were about to flee the city in darkfinder company."

"And you know that how?" Erazza asked, having drifted closer to him with hand still hovering dangerously low.

In place of answering, Kalsin reached into his pocket and slowly, carefully extracted a crumpled piece of paper. "Stole it off his unconscious body." 

Áron took it after a moment of hesitation. He glanced through it, then gave Erazza a light shake of his head. 

"Not good enough," she said. "This city’s crawling with forgers and cheats by trade. And Bellé would never betray us."

"Perhaps. But would you state the same about everyone else here? Priest robes would be a prime disguise of choice for spies. A lone assistant making a shot at easy leechouse money. Warriors lying about their service to the divine."

Kalsin switched hands to hold his lantern, shaking out the limb. "You're skeptical; I understand that. Being hunted for what you believe does that to a person. But I don't think you're willing to murder someone who, maybe, just on the off chance, could very well be your ally."

"You're assuming a lot of things."

"I'm assuming I won't find deaf ears by saying you're in mortal danger. Somebody reported your route to the Civil House secret service. That's a fact. And while I'm not sure Quin managed to read the message before we took it off his person, it's better safe than dead."

"We?" Erazza asked, eyes snapping around. She stopped her foreboding advance, but she still looked ready for anything.

"Jack, my partner," Kalsin nodded in front of them, the shroud of his bodyguard's lantern just barely visible. "Or Jacqueline, but don't call her that. You don't want to get on her angry side. Plenty of bad memories in her past too, I reckon."

Erazza and Áron exchanged a look. "We're not interested in calling you anything. Either of you," she said with finality to her tone.

And that was that. They wouldn't budge, Kalsin could tell, clear as Warmlight. Not with conventional methods, at any rate. 

The beginnings of a plan started taking root in his mind, coalescing with each step as they went through the light. Reckless, but provided with the right conditions, perhaps it could work. 

Oh, well. The shitting lengths he was willing to go to prove a point.

Treyant's definition of city-edge was a generous one because it took them just about another hour until a seemingly boundless blockade of stone barred their way. The darkfinder raked her nails lightly across a chalk mark on the wall, then erased it with the sleeve of her coat. She turned left and continued leading them along the base.

They were clumped closer to one another now. When Jack signaled a question to Treyant, she reassured them in her flat, not-at-all reassuring tone. Guard patrols were present during Blindlight due to the high-profile marriage being held, she said, but their effectiveness was greatly reduced due to their shrunken field of vision. She'd timed and placed their route accordingly.

To Kalsin's relief, it wasn't a ladder or a secluded staircase that waited for them, but rope. The thick line was hanging from the side of the wall and disappeared into the light above. With all colors having been washed into a uniform grey, the rope and the wall blended together perfectly. Kalsin would've never spotted it without the darkfinder directing them. 

"Now. Me, the old man, and my assistant here are going to leave on accord of some fabricated business through the main gates, horses and bahten in tow." Treyant nodded to her hooded accomplice, who had already begun herding the mounts. "While you lot—you’ll take the wall."

"Spare me the complaints," she said, deflecting the kids’ brewing retort before they could give it voice. "The fellas on gate duty know my face. We've dealt before, corrupt as can be. I can get away with bringing one extra, but the rest will have to go unseen. And so the climb for you it is."

"We're not splitting up," stated the girl, still half-carrying her father. 

"Wings," Treyant said flatly. "Last I checked, neither horse nor bahten possessed the appendage to get over a thirty-feet-high city wall. Similarly, your old man doesn't seem capable of pulling his weight. The original plan was the climb for everyone, but animals, invalids and another pair of éj-lanterns left this the most realistic alternative."

The girl moved a step toward his brother. "What? No chance. The deal we struck specifically stated the three of us remain together. That's what we paid for, darkfinder."

Treyant's face soured as if caught in the laborious process of chewing through lemon. Kalsin felt for her. When you've a plan drawn out before you, crafted and arranged by your own two hands, there isn't anything worse than others barging through the foundations you've laid for the future. But at the end of the day, personal businesses valued two things; money and reputation. Both were prone to dwindle with unsatisfied customers. That's why the best plans were the flexible ones.

"Fine. Your little family leaves through the gates," Treyant muttered, looking none too pleased. "But I'm charging you extra for guard-bribery."

Nobody dared disturb the darkfinder as she gave hushed directions, first to her assistant then to the family crowding her. When she was more or less—probably less—satisfied with the proceedings, she finally turned to the rest of them. 

"Instructions." She gave the rope a few experimental pulls. "Lantern bearer goes first, respective hangers-on follow. Once you're up, pull on the rope to signal your group has made it and the next batch starts the ascent, but don't wait for them. There's another rope hanging from the outer side of the wall. Descend immediately. You'll see chalk markings lead farther away from the city walls. We'll meet there.

"If you people get antsy about heights, you're in a world of luck because you won't see fuck-all beyond a couple of feet below your noggin. See you on the other side."

With that positive note hanging in the air, the darkfinder left them in the gray. 

12 - Diplomacy at Knifepoint

When they finished fastening their lanterns on the designated hoops of their hunters' belts, Jack was the first to the rope, but not before Kalsin caught her eyes. He pointedly looked at the two warrior women, then back at her. For a moment Jack watched Kalsin with a barely noticeable tilt of her head, then gave a slight nod. She turned to the women and went into an animated series of hand gestures to explain something. The specifics didn't matter to Kalsin. As long as the two Hadúr worshipers were drawn into her group, Kalsin would be left alone with the azTél couple. Siblings. One or the other. Hopefully not both.

Yeah. He was probably better off referring to them by their names.

"See to your gear," one of the women spread the wisdom as she went over her belongings, no doubt born from ill experience. "Don't imagine you'd want anything to slip." She then quickly droned off a quiet prayer.

Jack's group went first. She drew two fingers at her eyes, then motioned upwards and tapped her lantern. Keep your heads up and trained on the pocket of my lantern’s darkness. Then she grabbed hold of the rope and started the climb only using the strength of her arms. The cowled priests went next with impressive agility as they braced their legs against the wall, and the warriors followed on their tails with the last woman having to hustle in order to stay in the éj-lantern's radius. In seconds, Blindlight swallowed them all.

Kalsin stretched his neck this way and that, stealing glances at the azTél pair. He'd made his intentions clear. Seeing their reserved postures still firmly locked in place, he knew time wouldn't soften them. Time that he didn't have to spare, in any case. Erazza's eyes clouded for an instant with the telltale, far-away look of a rot's surge. The age-old ache of longing hit Kalsin in the chest so hard he had to look away, blinking rapidly. 

He never knew what the surge felt like. Over time, as the years of his childhood passed and swept by, he'd accepted his disability as much as he could. He'd learned to live without it. But sometimes, at odd intervals with no regard to reason, the long buried pain of otherness came to the surface before sinking below again.

If only he could've saved—

A sharp jerk of the rope pulled Kalsin from his thoughts, its corded length rising several feet in the air, then dropping back down. The signal that Jack's group had reached the top.

Kalsin nodded to Áron, then to Erazza to get ready. His grip found the rope and he swung his feet onto the wall with a muffled thud of flaking pebbles. Then he started the climb. One hand reaching up and then one leg stepping higher, bracing himself so the other limbs could follow. 

He saw Áron follow below him with Erazza close behind, but as his concentration slipped, so did his feet. He swung out on the rope before regaining his footing, steady again. He was already high enough so that he couldn't make out the ground below. 

His arms burned as he pulled himself upward. Though he wasn't Jack's equal in physical strength, a life of violence and routine exercise made sure that he could hold his own. They'd trained together often, though always as equals and never taking defined roles of teacher and student. Good gods, Jack as a teacher? Would be a proper nightmare. He endured enough abuse with her posing as his bodyguard already.

Soon Kalsin spotted the top of the wall, rope hooked over and disappearing behind the stone parapet. With feigned clumsiness, he made his feet slip again, kicking in the air. Áron cursed below him, drawing back in fear for his safety lest he catch a flailing boot in the head. 

Should be enough.

Kalsin climbed the remaining distance as fast as he could, and in a second he was pulling himself on the parapet. As he'd expected, Jack's group was nowhere to be seen, probably on their way to the ground already, outside the city.

"Hold it," Kalsin called out, his tone colored by grim depth. 

Áron jerked to a halt, still about four feet from the top. His gaze met Kalsin's, then slowly trailed down to the serrated knife he was holding against the rope.

Nobody moved. Kalsin watched from above, knife in hand, as Áron and a barely visible Erazza immediately below him hung frozen, like flies caught on an invisible web, staring back at him without daring to move a muscle. 

"It's quite a drop," Kalsin said. "One that you may survive under normal circumstances. But we all know perfectly well that without an éj-lantern, you won't last a day in the midst of Blindlight. If it's not the injuries that kill you, or the radiance that burns out your sockets, it's the patrols that will surely apprehend you to the collector."

Kalsin could feel Áron gauging the distance between them. Probably thinking about surging up, which might've worked—except for the fact that they had no idea about Kalsin's disability. Just as quickly as they might've been able to climb, Kalsin could've surged, too; quickening and strengthening himself to tear through the rope. Or so they assumed. 

That assumption alone was enough to keep Kalsin in control.

"I won't repeat myself. All I've said was true without exception. We've come too far to let stray words and stubborn prides fuck this up. I spent years, years in search of a vestige of hope. I'm just as much of a heretic as you are."

Kalsin did not blink, gathering all the gravity to aid his words as he burrowed his eyes into theirs. Then he slowly, almost gently lifted his knife from the rope, sheathing it. There was no need to state the obvious. They had been at his mercy. If he wanted them dead, he had every chance to make it so. 

Áron's arms visibly shook as he pulled himself to the top. Kalsin jumped off the parapet and onto the wall and they followed, each wearing a troubled expression that was a far cry from the guarded blankness from before. 

Kalsin knew they didn't trust him. Not yet. If anything, he'd probably ruined any and all hopes of a friendly relationship with either of them. But he had proven himself enough to get past their initial defenses, which was the only thing of real consequence. Men didn't have to like one another to form an alliance. Having a common goal born of necessity would suffice.

Crossing straight to the opposite side and knowing what to look for, Kalsin quickly noticed the rope hanging down the outer wall. He vaulted up onto the parapet and grabbed the rope, turning until nothing but empty space was at his back. That’s when Erazza spoke.

"All this, for... What do you want with us, really?" She looked at his scar with naked disgust. It satisfied Kalsin to see her true feelings come to surface, as opposed to the polite glance to the side previously.

"Well, it's not like I can visit the local library and ask about books dissecting the topic of curing scars."

"Please. No academic interest warrants this much foolishness. There's more than curiosity that drives you."

Kalsin tsked. "Truly a revelation of tits-curling proportions you two have come to. I would applaud had I possessed empty hands." He steadied his grip on the rope. "I don't want to learn about the cure. I'm looking to use it. With reasons to be taken at face value," he said with a clear meaning at the scar between his eyes.

Áron, standing with his arms folded next to Erazza, wrinkled his brow in response. "We—"

"We can talk later. Once we've caught up with Jack, we're going to part ways from the darkfinder's caravan." Kalsin interrupted. "It's what you wanted to begin with, yes? Only now we're doubling the headcount. Strength in numbers and all that. Don't fall behind, now." With that, he let himself drop below. Which lasted exactly a second as his legs found purchase against the wall, grip steady on the taut line.

The descent took them about half as long as their climb, much to the relief of Kalsin's semi-labored muscles. He'd also taken the opportunity to close his eyes and rest his vision from Blindlight's glare. When his feet touched ground and he peeled his lids open again, the throbbing in his temples resumed with double the enthusiasm. 

They were in a shallow ditch with pieces of wooden rubble crunching under their steps, the remains of stakes from age-old sieges. A handful of arranged logs sat on the edge, giving a convenient purchase to pull themselves out from the dent in the ground. Drawn onto a log's surface was an arrow of white chalk pointing away at an angle. After advancing about twenty steps or so into the rocky pasture, they soon spotted another arrow, then another further out, directing them along the darkfinder's prepared route. She'd been busy during their napping time.

The outskirts of Remallon was a barren expanse of infertile soil with only the sporadic patches of green to liven things up, but Blindlight stole even that little cheer of color during the end of months. Dew glinted on the rocks halfway to frosting over, on cracked clay mounds and wilted grass. The air was devoid of smells and movement, as if the glaring whiteness had a particularly strict general looking over its shoulder, holding its breath under sharp scrutiny. An uneasy, yet familiar feeling had settled over Kalsin's shoulders. No matter how many times he'd faced the light, it always held the potential of unsavory surprises. 

The hushed voices found them first, and it took Kalsin a good minute to catch sight of Jack's pocket of darkness. The warrior women were lazing around on a flat boulder, one of them deep in the middle of some retelling as the other nodded along. If Blindlight bothered them, it didn't show. 

The cowled priests, who'd been standing in unison like washed out ghosts in their baggy lapels, whipped their heads around as Kalsin approached. He noticed the lower side of their face was covered by dark cloth, reaching up and disappearing beneath the cowl’s shade without letting an inch of skin breathe. 

Kalsin nodded to them as he approached Jack, his bodyguard standing to the side, looking oddly incomplete without her shield and heavy armor plates. She was rummaging through her unstrapped shoulder bag on the ground with her éj-lantern propped next to her feet, jaws working double-time. 

Kalsin crouched next to her and tapped her shoulder lightly. "Are you well?"

She looked up sharply. Her eyes were bloodshot. 

Kalsin winced in sympathy and tightened his grip on her shoulder, her muscles hard and unyielding under his fingers. Stress was taking a toll on her. Punching through monster bones was one thing, but with intrigue taking the front stage the past few days, she was like a fish caught on shore. Having to watch her friend, the one she's supposed to protect, getting tortured with no chance of vengeance? A bad start. Add the glare of Blindlight on top and leave her without brickleaf to take off the edge. 

Kalsin knew he’d break from half that much strain. And yet she endured. 

"Not much longer, now. I've found them," Kalsin whispered.

Jack’s mouth quirked with relief, glancing over at Áron and Erazza, the azTéls watching from the shroud's edge. They didn't return her smile, though Erazza did give a barely noticeable nod of uneasy acknowledgement. Smart, that one. When a woman of Jack's stature extends a friendly gesture, one does not simply refuse if they value their health.

"Anything noteworthy on your end?" Kalsin asked. 

Jack finished the inspection of her bags and unwrapped another candy. After a moment of deliberation, as if pondering the meaning of life, she popped it in her mouth and crunched down on it. 

Kalsin said, "Not sure what to make of those priests. They make my skin want to crawl south."

Jack wiggled her hand with pinky and thumb extended, a confirmation the feeling was mutual. She then mimicked a flapping mouth with one hand, pointing at the two priests, and shook her head. She then thrust a thumb herself and made a crude gesture. She grinned, laughing silently as Kalsin digested her self-deprecating humor.

Kalsin gave her a sidelong look, thinking real hard how to answer. Ignore her? She'd just laugh harder. What about... no. Too insensitive. He sighed. "Well, if they don't talk, they don't talk. They were in good company with you then, as you’re always running your hands about something. Please tell me you taught them signs that are actually useful, and not some… inutile handcockery."

Unfortunately, Kalsin didn't learn if the silent priests acquired vulgar crumbs of wisdom from his bodyguard, because that's when Sap, followed by Hollow, materialized from the white. Then a sweating assistant came rushing inside their gray circle as he pulled another set of horses, with Treyant and the family closing the line. 

The darkfinder's commanding presence pulled the group of strangers back to attention. Kalsin approached Sap, not sparing any pats on his scaled neck, murmuring reassuringly. He figured it was a... sappy reunion. Heh.

Treyant's face was drawn as she called out and gathered them in a ring to discuss how to proceed. The warriors wanted a weather forecast, or more specifically they wanted to know how much longer Blindlight would last, to which Treyant said it was deep into the night currently, so Warmlight could be back in a couple of hours. Which technically had a thirty-three percent chance of being true.

When Erazza smiled her thanks and announced they would split off and continue separately from this point forward, Treyant must've known from the start because she just simply nodded. A frown crept on her brows, however, when she heard Jack and Kalsin would accompany them. 

"I could lend you my lantern, if you need it," she said slowly, watching Erazza's face like a hawk for her reaction. "I have a few more in storage. For this last stretch, Giant and Wraith over here can provide darkness just fine."

Kalsin stomached the jab, though not without a pang of melancholy. He'd been called Silly, Wraith, Moonface and Rollback before. He knew he was an ugly fucker without constantly getting reminders, thank you very much. Damned silver eyes.

Áron shook his head. "What's a darkfinder without her éj-lantern?" He raised a hand to forestall Treyant. "No, it's all right. We've had a heart-to-heart with these two, and decided we're better off traveling in company. Your offer is warmly appreciated, though, Bellé."

His words seemed to appease Treyant. "It's your bed to make," she muttered, probably as much of a blessing as she was going to give. "Fine, enough standing around. Blindlight ain't going to wait and I've a mind to cover as much distance as possible before it's gone."

She pointed to the warrior women, commands pouring from her mouth like liquid poetry. "Big gals, take your horses from my helper already before they pull him on his face and trample his scrawny ass. Might not look it, but that backside is worth good money. Old fella's dead on his feet, so one of you be a good priest and lend a shoulder. Boy, don't look at—"

They never got to find out what the boy wasn't supposed to be looking at, because the old man's head exploded into bloody chunks as a crossbow-bolt tore through his skull.