I watched as the detachment of Disfavored soldiers smashed headlong into the barred door, a tide of glinting metal and stoic faces; a solid wall of shields, spears and bloodied iron plate. They exemplified the values that, at least in this Fatebinder's humble opinion, Ashe's Elite clung to: bashing into an immovable object (a wooden door) over and over again with all the progress that entailed.
Very few of the Disfavored seemed affected by the howling storms of dust and stone that rocked the valley every hour – though my own robes were stained and torn in a number of places. I sighed; there was something to be said for a legion of warriors that could look impeccable no matter the weather and even more to be said for those that didn't have to pay a Court-aligned tailor the rings required to mend enchanted cloth.
I was sat on a rock, overlooking the soldiers at their work while two Oath Bound, impassive as the rest of their ordered brethren, flanked me on either side. They did not make the most interesting of travelling companions for a Fatebinder, but they did make for fine guardians.
"You know, I rather expected actual menace from a threat to the Overlord's rule. Something more sizable than a single village and eight men, with what can only be five more besides," I said, studying the blood stained corpses that now lay in the dirt roads of the small village and the hut that even now, the Disfavored were failing to break into.
The Blade Grave was littered with them, outcroppings of civilization that never advanced or prospered due to the havoc wrought by Kyros' Edict of Storms.
I hadn't been present when the Edict was proclaimed and remain ever thankful for that fact. Detailed reports from my fellow Fatebinders made the destructive magic's effects all the more apparent – bodies, torn apart and forced to endlessly churn in the storm, weapons and armour became missiles, killing friend and foe alike. No doubt however, that the ever so proud Regent and his ilk deserved such a fate for their cowardice and transgressions against the Empire.
The village, nameless as many were, had caught the Archon of War's eye for a reason seemingly trivial to me. Some rumour of an Unbroken presence that'd proven (in part) true. The familiar sigils of a blade, entwined by ribbons glinted off of broken shields even as they were covered by the efforts of Kyros' unnatural storm; though many other bodies lay without the Unbroken's heraldry.
"The size of the threat should not matter, Fatebinder Rael. It's that they defy the Overlord. Is it not enough to threaten his Peace?" Oath Bound Ralaic said. Her voice muffled behind the wrought-iron mask she wore – a visage not unlike those worn by the Scarlet Chorus, its features set in a comic grin.
I couldn't disagree; the law was rigid in that regard. If you refused to submit to the will of Kyros, to bend the knee in the face of an encroaching, alien power – you'd be crushed. I let my tempestuous sight travel, gazing at the carnage and the myriad of unaffiliated corpses. Had they been at arms to aid the Unbroken, or simply to protect what little they could call 'home'?
"Enough, certainly: I've seen men executed for daring to claim, and I quote under the authority of Tunon's Court, 'By Kyros, this is the greatest blade I've ever forged!' with the distinct misfortune of being overheard by a Fatebinder. Visha, I believe." I flicked a pebble away, watching as it was swept up into the impossible storm all around us.
Ralaic turned, attention torn from the ongoing conflict while her companion – the similarly masked yet male Oath Bound Raluic – stared on. His helm was fashioned into the shape of a theatrical scowl.
The Oath Bound were alike, though I'd never seen their faces beyond the masks. Both stood just under six feet, were built of learn muscle and had sun-kissed skin. Blonde, thatch-like hair was strung back in identical plaits and Ralaic at least, had an accent natural to those born within the Northern legion.
For all I knew, they were twins.
"We speak the Overlord's name on a near daily basis, Fatebinder. You don't suggest we're going against his law by doing so?" she asked, the fragile hint of worry creeping into a usually neutral tone.
Sighing was an old and bad habit of mine, one I'd been meaning to shake until I took note of the effect it had on others. Was a Fatebinder of Tunon's Court sighing because the law had been slighted? Is he being forced to raise his hand and dispense justice? Is the world around him so petty and beneath the whims of Kyros that it is simply worth sighing for?
In these exact circumstances, I sighed because I meant it, it was a long suffering sound and the tilt to Ralaic's head spoke of her quizzical nature, "I do not. Kyros' name alone has power – that is true. However to speak her name along with an oath, as our poor forge-hand mentioned prior did, is to make a legally binding contract. One that can be called into question under the watchful eye of the Court."
The Disfavored were getting nowhere, I noted as I spoke – voice raised to be better heard over the constant din of wind and swirling dirt. The door must've been scavenged from the ruins of an Unbroken fort, or Kyros willing, Sentinel Stand itself.
"Tunon takes an interest in all matters of law," I went on, grossly understating the Adjudicator's passion, "And so, he can and will hear out those that fall back on this ever so petty one. Most Fatebinders – though of course, I am biased, consider it a rather inane thing and rarely waste time on it unless stationed near or within the Court."
Raluic grunted, a sound that I took to mean, "Agreed," as I always did.
Where Ralaic was vocal, Raluic had said only one word to me - back when the Oath Bound had been placed under my service, and that word was, 'Move.' I'd been sitting on the surly warrior's bunk at the time.
A barked order from the Captain in charge of the Disfavored drew my attention away from the story and towards the soldiers, as one they stepped away from the door and formed a phalanx – spears held straight and shields out. Twenty, not counting my little Fatebinder retinue, the Disfavored gleamed and one in particular, a striking figure with a crest of purple-dyed beastman hair set atop their helm broke off and marched the few feet between the Disfavored regiment and my chosen seat.
I was certain that my lack of regard for basic order or the Disfavored chain of command had left a gulf between us; though I liked to imagine that she respected or at least understood that my loyalties lay with the Court and Kyros alone. The scorn on Vorick's face said otherwise.
A scar marred what might've once been a pretty face, mutilating and twisting the thin corner of Vorick's lips into a snarl. Ashe's Aegis had its benefits, but few could want to live with an injury so disturbing without a cause to fight for.
"Lord Fatebinder." Her greeting was curt, green eyes glinting sharply in the shadows cast by her iron helm, emeralds in a scornful pit.
"Captain, while Graven Ashe does protect his chosen few I'm forced to wonder – what force of enigmatic power that rivals an Archon keeps your men from breaking down a door?"
Calculating eyes scanned my face, cold and harsh as the iron she adorned and cared for so particularly. Vorick turned to face the door and pointed, her gauntlets forming sharpened points on each finger. It wasn't without some hesitance that she went on to explain, "An Earthshaker by the name of Tyro. We found evidence, correspondence, between Tyro and an agent of the Unbroken trapped at Sentinel Stand."
"They arranged to meet here, under armed guard," Vorick eyed the dead Unbroken with contempt, "When Tyro fled, we followed and much to our good fortune, Ashe sends us a Fatebinder. What did he tell you this was?"
The question startled me, though the reason for the venture made far more sense now. The Unbroken were in direct defiance of Kyros' law and while the domination of the Tiers had yet to sweep through the Blade Grave – in part due to the Edict still raging through the broken land, their association with an Earthshaker was troubling.
Were they trying to find a way to break the Edict without adhering to its terms? It was possible, though foolhardy; a trait the Regent had proven to possess when he refused to surrender peacefully and forced the Overlord's hand.
"The Archon did not deem fit to tell me anything, Captain. Honourable as Graven Ashe may be, it rather seemed as though he wanted nothing to do with the Court or its agents. Perhaps that little rivalry with the Archon of Secrets has something to do with it?" I prodded and pried; whatever reasons the Court had for maintaining a presence in the Blade Grave didn't concern a glorified Disfavored bounty hunter.
Few held any illusions, the Archons of War and Secrets would rather rip each other apart than work together – the Court's presence put a stopper on that.